Archive of Our Own

Living in the Great Hall had never gone as swimmingly as Qifrey would had hoped. Even after close to four years stuck in that place, the oppressive air surrounding him—fed by constant judgemental looks and scowls thrown his way—drowned any traces of enthusiasm he might had felt that day. Because of that, nothing really seemed to be looking up for him trapped in the labyrinth of soulless walls.

And frankly, he despised it. Ever since he had first gone to the Outside World—still guilty at the thought of testing Olruggio's trust at the beginning of their friendship—he'd wanted to completely escape the Great Hall. His dream of moving out to the Naakiwan Downs must've been the result of both his rebellious dreams, but also his affection to the first ever place he'd visited with his friend in tow.

Although they both passed their Third Pentagram Test, went through Hell and back following their attempt at the Tower of Tomes, Qifrey couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety overtake him whenever that hopeful dream engulfed his every waking moment. Just knowing that he'd had to wait another few years to prepare for the Fourth Test managed to kill off some of the ambition he'd been trying to build for a while now.

He wasn't the type of witch to really enjoy the process of learning magic. Heck, he wasn't even sure if he loved magic anymore, especially after what he'd found out that faithful day. Realising that his destiny was cast in history like ink is cast upon the human body, the mere thought of carrying on didn't bring him the feeble optimism he once felt when he first found out about the Tower and all its promised answers. Yet, Olruggio, as much of a push–over as he was, always managed to spark his curiosity once more, leading him to wander further away from the constant cycle of hopelessness and guilt he felt, and back down his apprenticeship's path.

While he couldn't know for sure whether he was fascinated by magic or not before arriving at the Hall, he knew that he fell for the love and care his best friend showed towards it. Call his heart weak to anything of sentimental value, but he knew better than to push past the breaking point—be it his ever–growing affections towards Olruggio or the love for magic that he gently nurtured in his heart.

All this introspection lead to a rather ordinary day within the Great Hall in which Qifrey stuck to his old ways and tried to avoid his master as much as possible before nightfall. As ordinary of a day as it could be, judging by the sudden increase in stares thrown his way compared to the usual. Most of his fellows and adult witches never seemed to understand that Qifrey was his own person as well, not some child stuck to Olruggio's hip wherever he'd go. Nevertheless, hearing all the hushed comments speculating about his lack of friend, partner, or however else they decided to label them, could only amuse him in a rather sadistic way. He wasn't the centre of all impromptu tabloids for no reason, after all.

Paying no mind to all the dramatised and over–the–top theories about a potential scuffle between the two of them, Qifrey made his way to one of the many libraries hidden underneath the ocean, with no objective in mind. He simply wished for peace and quiet, to relax in a place too open for Beldaruit to casually poof into existence without being immediately tackled by every apprentice around.

While searching for a spot drawn away from any prying eyes and hushed remarks, his eyes instinctively fell upon bundles of white and red hair, sinking into a puddle of conjuring ink. As much as he wished to walk past his fellow, he knew just how annoying it was to wash black pigment out of pristine locks, even when using magic. And so, he quietly made his way over to the apprentice witch and shook their shoulder, "Alaira, your hair is getting soaked. You should wake up or at least move a bit more to the side there."

The girl's head immediately snapped upwards at Qifrey's voice. Her eyes, while hazy at first, regained their sharpness once she realised who disturbed her slumber, "Look at what the cat dragged in! I never would've expected to see you here—Well, that is without your fellow in tow."

Qifrey's hand defensively flew up in an attempt to fix his glasses, "I don't understand what you mean." He turned around and began making his way deeper into the library. He heard some quick shuffling behind him, but paid it no mind.

"Heee—What do you mean by that?" Alaira fell in step right beside him, cutely hiding her hands underneath her robe. "I've literally never seen you in a library without Olruggio. He's the one who forces you to study, after all." Snickering at the small scowl pulling at Qifrey's lips, she couldn't help but add, "Today's ought to be a special day indeed!"

Before he was given a chance to retort, Alaira cut his path and stopped right in front of him, "So, what are you searching for today? Grimoires with a bunch of decorative spells? I have you covered! I’ve actually seen a bunch of other apprentices flock to some bookshelves here and there—"

"Slow down, Alaira," he said, raising his hands to placate her unfounded enthusiasm. His sight fell on her sparkly and widened eyes, "Why would I want to dive into some glyphs I'll never really get around to use?"

"Well, duh—Because Silver Hearts is tomorrow! Almost everybody in this Hall is preparing something for their special someone!" Alaira bundled her robe against her rosy cheeks, "I don't get how you never participate in this celebration. You've evaded it every year since you moved here."

He could only scoff at her childish attitude, "Almost as if there'd be a single witch out there who'd want to confess anything remotely positive to my face." He took a side–step around Alaira, but stopped again when he felt a forceful tug on his robe.

"You really are dense," she came right back by his side, cloak still held tight in her fist. "Just because nobody out there would want to confess to you—which I genuinely doubt—that doesn't mean that you yourself can't do the same."

Qifrey stopped in his steps and watched Alaira's back as she walked further into the library. Many thoughts came to mind, but none of them scared him as much as the mere idea that she might know something about his newly realised crush on Olruggio. If word did get out, things would end up terribly for the both of them.

"Yahoo, Estus to Qifrey!" She waved a hand in front of his face until it seemed to snap him out of it. "Goes to show that I am on the right path with that line of thought, aren't I?"

Oh, how he wished he could use a Memory Wipe spell on her right then and there. Alas, "I think that you've been reading too many romance books lately. Maybe you should focus more on your studies, rather than mere sentimentalises."

"How rude! I both read and study, mind you!" She huffed, not before turning around and pushing her finger right into his chest, "On the other hand, maybe you should expand your horizons a little and stop focusing solely on a possible revenge plan." Qifrey's eye narrowed at her words, part of his facade fading to give way to buried resentment and anger.

"Plus," she stepped away from him, "all of those escapades you and Olruggio have at night? Don't think that some of our fellows haven't caught onto that. They’ve actually been spreading rumours about you guys—"

"What kind of rumours?" He didn't dare take a step forward, yet the question just slipped through with no hesitation. Alaira turned around and giggled under her breath, most probably at the sight of an incoming blush painting his features.

She poorly covered her growing grin, "Ah, you know—Run of the mill." Glaring at her, she gave in and braced for any possible impact, be it verbal or even magical, "Some would say—or so I heard—that you guys are going out together at night to make up for lack of privacy in the Halls."

"Make up for lack of—We're not together!"

She shrugged, "No can do. You know just how gossipy witches are, especially those our age and who are stuck in such a dull place." Alaira then pointed to a table a bit further away from them, one which he usually frequented with Olruggio, so as to not draw too much attention from their fellows.

Once sat down, Qifrey seemed as uncomfortable as ever, which resulted in him evading her gaze with every chance he got. Alaira sighed in defeat and took a few more steps away from him, letting her hand graze over a row of grimoires. Her eyes softened at the motion and Qifrey's mental alarms were calling off a warning.

"I don't mean to pry, but why haven't you said anything to him until now?"

He slammed his cheek onto the wooden table, covering half his face with his crossed arms, "I really don't understand why everybody has that perception on things. I really don't like him like that…" He heard a stack of books being plopped right next to his head, followed by a soft hand combing through his hair and ruffling it.

"Yeah, right. I feel like sometimes you forget that I'm the closest witch to both of you guys. I see things."

"So, you see things." He rolled his eye, half covered by his arm, "I ask you this then—Have you seen something in him?"

Her hand suddenly ceased its movement through the white locks of hair. Before he had the chance to fully raise his head, Alaira tipped his face so his gaze would lock onto hers. Her eyes narrowed, "You guys are disgustingly obvious and oblivious. He looks at you like you've created the greatest spells in the history of witch kind, while you look at him as if he'd hung all stars in the night sky." Her hand slipped from under his chin and he recoiled from the sudden lack of support, "Get a grip. While you'd say that rumours about you come from a bad place, I would've expected something worse than a mere gushy crushy rumour about you and the genius of our generation."

He couldn't argue with that logic. If people really were about to be mean just for the sake of being mean, he would had heard—and he had throughout the years—rumours and gossip which danced on the fine edge between lies and nasty twists of truth. Some childish recollection of Qifrey and his best friend's nightly romantic escapades was truly harmless in hindsight. He remained the unapproachable and cold fellow, while Olruggio was still being flocked by both girls and boys their age every time he'd be seen alone in public. Not that it was a pleasant thought though, but jealousy was something Qifrey had discovered quite recently.

"Maybe you should shoot your shot," she said pushing a grimoire in front of him, thus snapping him out of his own mind. He instinctively opened it, not really thinking further than that. He began flipping through the pages while listening to bits and pieces of some gossip Alaira's picked up on the past few days.

Noticing that he'd been eyeing a page for a few tick marks now, she pulled the book out of his grasp with a small protest slipping from his lips. Her eyes sparkled once again, "You want to model him some flowers? That's so cute!" He blushed a shade deeper than before, fidgeting with his cap's ribbon in a fruitless attempt to calm his nerves.

"You'd probably need to know a few things before you design a spell for Silver Hearts, though." She raised her pointer finger and squared her chest, "First—and it goes without saying—no stupid and dangerous spells! We don't want you hurting him." Nodding along with her, she continued, "Second, although it might seem counter–intuitive, some of the most appreciated spells are those which focus on a spell–making area they don't specialise in. Which means…?" She pointed his way in wait.

He twirled the ribbon around his pointer fingers, "My own speciality? Really? But, I don't think he'd be that impressed by it…"

"He was literally more than impressed when you first learned how to cleave water into two. You'll be fine, trust me." She then pushed herself up on the table, raising three fingers right in front of his face, "And third—make sure that this spell is memorable and hasn't been done before!"

Qifrey spluttered, "Not done before? Isn't that a bit excessive?"

Alaira tsk'ed his way, "You're thinking too deep about it—Loosen up!" She balanced herself on his shoulder, her arm wobbling every few ticks, "What I meant to say is that your spell should represent both your affections and his person in a never–been–done–before spell. So, no cheating and blatantly copying something from a grimoire!"

Her fellow cocked his head in thought, leaning it against Alaira's knuckles. After humming and mulling it over, he piped, "Sounds like you have first–hand experience with that last one there."

"Me? No way," she said pulling away from him and sitting back down in her seat. She leaned her head against the back of her hand, winking at him, "But I did hear a few stories about young witches trying to impress a certain fire apprentice with basic or barely innovative spells. Safe to say, he wasn't impressed in the slightest."

He scrunched up his nose, "You're only putting more pressure on me."

She grinned his way, "Nonsense! You know much more about him than them. Plus," her eyes softened and Qifrey's alarms were going off once again, "I've never seen a fire witch be so enamoured with the very thing threatening his entire identity."

If she didn't manage before, now she sure hit the nail on its head. Everything she said and tied up with that last remark made Qifrey's heart lurch so high up in his throat he could barely breathe. His face was most probably redder than a gem tomato by that point and—somehow!—he could feel it increasingly flame up to no end.

After finding out the truth—after realising that he was cursed and bounded to a life of constant misery and anxiety—he never gave himself the freedom to indulge in such sentimental ideas and dreams. He knew that there must had been something going on between the two of them, little things which made other fellows raise their eyebrows in both curiosity and disgust. Growing up together, the boundaries of intimacy muddled to the point where "childish" actions like holding hands, hugging, and any sort of physical contact remained part of their weird relationship.

Boys their age would scoff and call them names under their breath, while girls would either squeal in excitement or gossip until their voices faded. Olruggio never minded their reactions, but Qifrey did, as much as he trained himself to not let such words reach his ears.

Back to the present moment though, Alaira looked more than pleased by Qifrey's reaction. She cleared her throat, noticing that he'd been quiet for quite a few tick marks now. That drew his attention back to her, "I suppose that if you want to win the race, you should be the first to go visit him tonight. Which means that you should hasten both your hand and mind and come up with a spell for your future boyfriend."

"He's not my b–boy—" His face grew even more unbearably hot.

"Future!" She ran around the table and grabbed him by his underarm, making Qifrey loose his balance for a moment. Alaira dragged him until the very double doors of the library and pushed him through them. Just as he started demanding answers for her sudden behaviour, his fellow simply shrugged and confessed, "You're not going to find anything interesting in here. It's time to make use of your wise master."

His nose wrinkled at the mental image of asking Beldaruit for any help on this. He wasn't going to live it down until the dawn of witch kind.

And so, Alaira merrily waved her hand at him, wishing Qifrey all the possible luck he might've needed.

Once he snapped out of the small trance he was left in, Qifrey quickly turned around and began making his way back to the atelier. Luckily for him, there weren’t too many other apprentices around at that time, most probably either studying or fussing over what spells they should draw for the following day. He was more than grateful to all the stars above that he could walk down those stone halls and not worry as much about witches mocking and disrespecting him at every step.

Unluckily for him, while he was shimming through some twisty corridors, he exited right into an open space, at the centre of which sat none other than Beldaruit, alongside a flock of children and fellows his age. Not only were they excited to see him—well, his smoke–sculpture at least—but some were also trying to convince him to help them with their Silver Hearts spells.

Seeing the mess of witches pleading for his master’s guidance, Qifrey scoffed and turned around to evade the room. However, before he could take two steps down the same hallway he came through, his face made soft contact with a warm and cloudy mist. Realising his mistake, he immediately backed away and unfortunately fell to the ground below.

When he looked up to confirm his suspicions, Beldaruit’s smoke–sculpture was staring back down at him, “Well, it seems like my little apprentice really can’t go one day without me! How adorable.”

Qifrey scoffed and slowly dragged himself off the cold stone–paved floor, hoping that all the previous excited witches would follow Beldaruit once more. Sadly, he forgot that once he was around, nobody else dared to approach either of them.

He dusted his cloak, slowly coming to peace with what just happened, but also realising that he was officially trapped between his master’s palms. He adjusted his skewed glasses, “I only ran into you because I forgot the map in my room. These hallways are still too difficult to make sense off when I’m alone.”

“Ah yes! You’re alone!” His master’s sculpture took a quick look around his entire body, “It’s rather unusual for Olruggio to not be by your side.” Qifrey could already feel his cheeks warming up, but he sat put and managed his facial expressions between neutral and completely irked.

Beldaruit’s smoke hand landed on his upper back, leaving a light breeze which tickled his nape in its wake, “Now then, I believe that we should hurry back to our atelier and have a short study session, don’t we?” Once fallen into his trap, he couldn’t make his way out of it, so he sighed in defeat and followed close behind him.

While Qifrey didn’t like being around his master—for a large variety of reasons culminating with his aggravating enthusiasm related to magic—he could appreciate the extra layer of defence he offered against other witches’ comments.

After a few marks of walking, they arrived in front of their atelier and Beldaruit’s smoke–sculpture dissipated into thin air. More than used to this custom of theirs, Qifrey pushed through heavy wooden doors and was met with the unusually comforting room covered wall to wall by rows of grimoires and other books.

As he was stepping deeper into the space, his master—in flesh and bone this time around—clonked his way right next to his apprentice, facing him head on. He gently pushed upon his pointed hat, with enough force that it’d only go slightly askew, “I have to command your ingenuity there, Qifrey. Hiding in a library of all places? You’re rather crafty!”

“Maybe I just went there to study on my own,” he curtly replied, feeling another wave of irritation bubble beneath his skin.

It was safe to say that Beldaruit had grown used to his attitude, “My–my, what a fiery temperament!” He waggled his finger in desperation, “Now, it isn’t nice lying to your elders, especially when they can keep tabs on you by listening to the word spread through the grapevine.” He turned away from his apprentice, situating himself nearby Qifrey’s desk, “Don’t you say that it’s time to study a little?”

It was right then and there where he realised that there was no way of evading him now. If he wanted to come up with a spell for Olruggio by midnight, he only had a few more clock marks to go, barely enough as they were. And, if Beldaruit was going to force him into useless studies—Qifrey clearly having more pressing issues on his hands—he wasn’t going to be able to finish anything in time. Who knew if somebody else would approach Olruggio in the meanwhile and win his heart—He couldn’t have that!

Cursing Alaira for putting such foolish beliefs in his head, he took a breath and steadied himself in front of his master, action which didn’t go unnoticed by the older witch. Beldaruit levelled his gaze with Qifrey’s, patiently waiting for his pupil’s answer.

“Actually,” he piped up, his voice above a whisper, “could we work on something of my own choosing today?”

Beldaruit’s eyes widened in shock. Qifrey couldn’t believe the words he’d spoken, so he could imagine just how surprised his master must’ve been. He covered his mouth in awe, “My own apprentice is willingly proposing what to study for this afternoon?” Qifrey could’ve sworn he saw a tear form in the corner of his eye.

He pushed past the increasingly warming of his cheeks and offered, “Could we focus on some decorative glyphs for today, Master Beldaruit?” His gaze was completely stuck to the floor below, finding solace in eye–tracing the wooden planks’ grain swirling around his feet.

His moment was short–lived though, as a pair of hooves appeared in his line of vision. He swallowed dryly and raised head until he was met with a pair of worry–filled eyes analysing his every move.

He grimaced at the sight, “Did I say something wrong, Master Beldaruit?” With no instant reply, his face scrunched up some more in both annoyance and disbelief, “Is my proposal too beginner–friendly for my magical level or is there another reason for which you seem so—”

“Qifrey,” Beldaruit replied, gently taking the cap off his head. He gingerly smiled at him, all traces of worry melted off his features, “I suppose we could focus today’s lecture on that. However, I do wonder—”

The young witch braced for impact.

“What brought this on?” He began playing with the ribbon attached to the cap, weaving it between his each and every finger. “I admire your sudden curiosity surrounding decorative spells, but I just cannot ignore that your request comes at a rather—ah, interesting moment.”

Qifrey’s face flamed up once again and he was sure that this time around he was even redder than back with Alaira. With no way of escaping his master’s eyes, he instinctively crouched to the ground, hiding his head in–between his crossed arms and knees. He could barely deal with the crush–induced embarrassment within the four walls of his private quarter, let alone with his mentor not only in the same room, but right in front of him.

The sealchair quickly knelt to Qifrey’s level, carrying an even more flustered Beldaruit on its back, “I–I mean, by your reaction I can imagine that it might be for the sake of Silver Hearts!” Before he could calm down in the slightest, a faint whimper came from his curled–up apprentice, making him lose all composure he had left.

He took in a deep breath—not really used to such outbursts coming from Qifrey—and softly combed his fingers through snow–white locks of hair, “You don’t have to tell me who it’s for if you don’t want to. But, I believe that it’d help both of us come up with a more promising idea for tomorrow—”

“Midnight.”

The older witch raised an eyebrow at his whispered correction, “Why midnight, my dear? Surely you can wait until tomorrow morning for this, right?”

Qifrey lifted his head from its burrow, a light streak of tears connecting his eye and chin. Beldaruit’s heart clenched at the sight—maybe he was growing a bit too old for this whole apprentice thing. His hand slid down to his left cheek, gingerly wiping away any leftover wetness from his face. He then dared to ask, “Are you maybe afraid that this person might reject you?”

He lightly shook his head, unwillingly knocking his Master’s hand away in the process, “I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t do that. After all, I know them better than anyone else in the Great Hall.” Qifrey smiled at that thought alone, taking great pride in having experienced all of Olruggio’s facets throughout their years of friendship. Although, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of immense gratitude he felt towards the fire witch. Just when exactly did these emotions turn into something rooted so much deeper into his heart?

While he didn’t directly continue the discussion, Beldaruit wore an all–knowing smile on his face. His eyes lost all their previous worry, instead replaced with giddiness, “So then, should we focus on some sort of water spell?”

“So I heard,” he complied to his Professor’s proposal. He mulled over his choice for a moment, until something became evident in his mind, “Wait—I’ve never said that they wield fire best. How did you…?”

Beldaruit was already a few steps away from him, rummaging through some of the many bookshelves crammed inside the room. He threw him a look over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling, “I might be old by your standards. However, I am not blind to the matters of the heart.” Once he found a couple of grimoires he deemed appropriate, he crossed to Qifrey’s desk and opened them to specific pages.

“Moreover, I’ve heard some rather intriguing gossip about you two. Something about escapades at night, was it?” He began giggling, all the while his apprentice was stammering his way through a good–enough explanation for such baseless rumours.

Wiping a fake tear from his eye, he let out a breathless laugh, “Don’t worry, my dear. I know exactly why and where you’re going together at night. No need to defend yourself.” He tapped his chin in thought, “Today a birdie told me that even Olruggio was planning a spell for tomorrow. I wonder for whom!”

“That’s one way to put more pressure on me, Master Beldaruit. I’ve had a big enough share with Alaira—I didn’t need any more coming from you.” Although he tried his best to scowl, his cheek was still painted rose with tears, which made him look more adorable than threatening.

“Ah, that wasn’t the intention!” he said, putting his hands together in forgiveness. He clonked the short distance back to Qifrey and slowly guided him towards his desk. Once he saw the grimoires, he sat down and began flipping through the pages.

After he told Beldaruit his core design of the spell, the older witch began bouncing a few ideas with his pupil, in a constant attempt to hasten the creative process. While most of them were deemed too “over the top, even by your standards,” Beldaruit kept proposing him many types of precious plants with glyphs to match, runes which would make the sculpture span much further than his quire, and many more absurd concepts.

At one point though, also seeing that Qifrey wasn’t much more lucky with his ideas, he proposed to take things from the bottom–up. That’s when his apprentice realised, “He’s from Ghodrey… That’s it!”

He turned around to face his tutor, eye lit with inspiration, “Is there a glyph for the Evergreen Rose, Master Beldaruit?”

─༻𖥔*・☽・*𖥔༺─

After clock marks of drawing, redrawing, testing, and tweaking his spell, Qifrey finally felt like he was ready to present it to Olruggio. It was more than a little nerve-wrecking working against time, even more so with Beldaruit overlooking every line and curve he drew onto the countless scrap papers. He focused most on mastering the runes and all additional glyphs needed to make the spell truly eye–catching. The sigil for the Evergreen Rose was a real pain to draw perfectly and it took Qifrey too many tries to get it just right.

When he thought he had his best attempt yet, he shyly walked over to a clearly fake–napping Beldaruit and handed him the paper. He was chewing on his bottom lip, unable to calm down his traitorous heart.

The older witch snapped an eye open as soon as he heard sharp shuffling next to him. He took the paper in between his fingers and glowed, "Ah, this is quite a good one! I'm glad you pushed out of your comfort zone with it." His master looked as pleased as ever before, which only made Qifrey double–guess his enthusiasm in the first place.

"You should transfer this onto your quire now that it is ready," he carried on, still staring at the piece of parchment. As Qifrey asked back for the paper, Beldaruit leaned forward and quietly added, "Tradition goes that the spell will be cast by the witch you offer it to.”

His apprentice’s face gained a new flush of colour at the hint. He clenched the parchment against his chest and down gazed at the wooden floor, “Isn’t that something that could be interpreted as something a bit more than a simple Silver Hearts spell—?”

“Nonsense! It’s only customary during Silver Hearts!” Beldaruit’s hands flew over his head in a rather over–dramatic gesture, “Where have you even heard something like this, dear Qifrey? I thought you weren’t that interested in our traditions.”

His head snapped up and instantly levelled the older witch with his gaze, “Of course I’m not! I’ve only heard a few things about courtship here and there. That’s all.” Although a half–lie in his book, Qifrey hoped that it would slip past Beldaruit’s keen senses.

Unfortunately for him, the Wise is not only well–versed in magic, but also reading other witches, especially first own pupil, “My–My, heard from here and there, is it? Colour me surprised, my dear apprentice, but last time I checked, you’re not the type to really listen to others, but Olruggio or Alaira.” He began to superficially rub his chin in thought, “Unless that girl decided to share information on such matters with you.”

“Ew, absolutely not.” Qifrey scrunched up his nose in disgust at the mere thought of talking about anything like that with Alaira. “I’d never hear the end of it if that were the case.”

He stood in wait for his professor’s acknowledgement, but luck wasn’t on his side that day, “Ah, now I understand why you liked being cooped up all night in your private quarter and reading grimoires.” Beldaruit smirked at him and Qifrey felt his heart drop, “I suppose we shouldn’t check which spells you’ve learnt from those now, should we?”

Taking pride in seeing his apprentice light up red with blush, the Wise relaxed in his sealchair and softly smiled at him, “You’ve already exchanged ornaments—be it for one reason or another. Adding another layer of affection to your story will only expand your relationship, not ruin it.” Qifrey’s hand instinctively flew back to the black ribbon attached to the seafoam green cap and began threading it between his fingers.

He vividly remembered the day he returned from the Tower of Tomes, a grave look on his face. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was more heartbroken over the lack of answers or the realisation that he recklessly brought his sole friend into a cycle of constant disappointments and twisted truths. That day, he understood that he could never fully share his soul with the other, as much as both his heart and mind yearned for it. While that was true, he wasn’t immune to the simple facts of life, one of which being that he fell for Olruggio the moment he looked at him like any other fellow, not a monster of the Outside World.

All that aside, it wasn’t long before Beldaruit kicked down his private quarter’s door during his mandatory sulking session. Just as he began both inquiring about and admonishing Qifrey for not telling him about his attempt at the Tower, he stopped square in his tracks and his eyes widened. He then sighed in defeat, while the young witch seemed as confused as ever at the sudden switch–up, “Aren’t you two a bit too young to vow your eternity to each other? Seriously, my dear, but you’ve been part of our society for years now. I can’t believe you’d fold this easily—” Safe to say that Qifrey didn’t hear the rest of that, not when he tried his best to manage his beating heart back to a normal rate.

At the sound of his Professor gently reminding him that it was almost midnight, Qifrey was instantly snapped out of his stupor. Throwing a short and curt “Thank you” over his shoulder, he booked it right up to his private quarter, carefully copied the runes and glyphs into his palm quire, and then sprinted down the halls to his friend’s atelier. Even though it was a little past midnight, he already knew that Olruggio would be more than awake at that hour, as per previous nightly rendezvous.

Standing in front of the atelier’s door, his heart began doing leaps in his chest, making Qifrey question all decisions which led him to that particular moment. He took as many deep breaths as he possibly could in an attempt to calm himself down, but to no avail.

Realising that he was standing all alone in the dark hall for far too many ticks by that point, he mustered all courage to try and knock at the heavy wooden door. Before his knuckles made contact with the rough surface though, it snapped open with such speed that it made him jump in his spot. He was met eye to eye with Olruggio who seemed just as taken aback as he was.

"ARGH—! Why are you here at this hour?!" His friend’s eyes were wide and alert, maybe more than Qifrey would’ve deemed necessary for the mutual scare.

Remembering his plan, he quickly hid his quire behind his back, clenching it with all his might, "I could ask you the same! Where are you rushing to at midnight, huh?"

"I was just going for a walk down the hallway," he answered, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. "It helps clear my mind when a spell doesn't really turn out the way I want it to, y'know?"

Qifrey cocked his head with clear interest, "What new project are you working on, my genius Olly?" Although he tried his best to say it in the usual teasing tone reserved for just the two of them, he couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped hearing his own words.

"Argh, c'mon Qifrey! I told you to stop calling me that." Olruggio's cheeks flushed light pink at the endearment which only brought more heat to Qifrey's face. To make matters worse, his friend began pulling at his bangs, something he noticed he always did when embarrassed and didn’t have the cap as protection against prying eyes. All that heat began spreading to his ears, making his brain short-circuit more than before.

Olruggio’s hand slid across his head and down to the back of his neck, "Anyways, now's your turn to answer my question. What brings you here so late?" He pushed himself off the frame, and turned halfway back into the atelier, "I'm not in mood for sneaking out tonight, I have to mentally prepare myself for what's about to come in the morning—"

"The Festival you mean!" Qifrey's voice was closer to a squeak than anything he usually sounded like. Olruggio glanced at him with a questioning look in his eyes before continuing, "The most dreadful thing ever invented by witch–kind! I wish I could just turn invisible and live my life normally for that day."

Qifrey’s heart slowed down at his words. Nevertheless, he snorted, "That sounds like a you problem, Mister Popularity. Suffering from success sounds awful, indeed."

"You should understand me more than anybody else. Just like how you might get overwhelmed from all the attention you get from those stupid, meanie witches, I also go through that on a daily basis.” He threw his hands around Qifrey’s shoulders, gently squeezing them in desperation, “Just imagine hoards of fellows coming up to me and gushing over every small thing I do! It’s ridiculous, Qifrey—And it’s gonna be worse because of today!”

His friend’s playful smile fell hearing the distress Olruggio was currently going through. It seemed like neither of them were on the lucky end of attention within the Great Hall.

Remembering his plan, he nudged him a little by raising his shoulders, "Uhm, could we go to your room actually? I have something to show you." His request was instantly accepted, but not without noticing his friend faintly blushing at his words. Qifrey paid it no mind, blaming it on some seasonal sickness instead.

Before they reached his private quarter, Olruggio stopped in his tracks and swiftly turned around to face Qifrey. His friend’s hands trembled in front of his chest, “I–I just realised that my roommate’s asleep and we might not be able to really talk in there.” He took another step towards his room, motioning to Qifrey to wait for him in the middle of the atelier.

When he came back, nothing seemed to had changed in his appearance. Without asking any questions, Qifrey let himself be guided to a more secluded area of the room, where a couch sat drowned in the ocean’s darkness. He watched Olruggio flop onto the pillows and blanket sprayed over it, while he awkwardly sat in front of him, hands still hidden under his robe.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit next to me? It’s a bit silly seeing you be so rigid.” When Qifrey vehemently shook his head in denial, Olruggio heaved a sigh of resignation and threw two pillow down on the cold stone–paved floor. They plopped down one in front of the other at his silent invitation, going as far as throwing the blanket over Qifrey’s shoulders. He could barely tell if the blanket was making him warmer than he already was.

They sat in silence for a few tick marks, until Olruggio spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper, “What’s up? You said you had something to show me? If you’re stuck with a spell I can help you with it.”

Oh, just how wrong he could be about that—about the reason of their clandestine meeting past midnight.

He began fidgeting with his own fingers, pushing and pulling at ink stained skin. His throat seemed to collapse onto itself, rendering him unable to utter a single word without sounding like a pre–pubescent boy. Luckily for him, Olruggio was the most patient witch he'd ever met.

Unluckily for him, that fact alone drove his frustrations to a whole new level.

He snapped from his wake, pulled out his quire, and pushed it into Olruggio's open hands, praying to all the stars above that he would get the memo. At first he cursed himself seeing as the other was simply turning the quire between his fingers, but then relaxed as he opened it to an open–ringed spell.

"What is this? A water spell?" Olruggio looked back at him, confusion written all over his face. "If you need help with water spells, you know I'm not the one to—"

"Close the ring," he whispered, cutting his friend's train of thought. Olruggio stared back at him, dumbfounded, "C–Close it? Are you pulling at my leg? This isn't funny, Qifrey."

He suddenly felt a wand being pressed against his palm, some ink dripping off its metal tip, "Just close it. Please." Qifrey began scratching the back of his neck, embarrassingly feeling a new wave of heat overcome his face. He couldn't believe what was currently happening.

Olruggio huffed, his cheeks puffy and slightly pink, even in the low light of the room, "Alright, alright, I get it!" He analysed the ring once more, his own hand trembling knowing what he was about to do. He then closed the circle and Qifrey’s breath caught in his throat.

They watched as the paper glowed, bathing their faces and close surroundings in golden light. Suddenly, bunches of spiky leaves sprouted from the quire, rounding up to a wild bush of Evergreen Rose. The tiny red flowers froze at their stems, making them sparkle in the light reflecting off their surface. Even though a few drops of water seemed to escape here and there, Qifrey felt a wave of relief crash into him seeing as his spell was maintaining its shape quite well. While that was true, he wouldn’t dare sneak a glance at his best friend.

After a few tick marks passed and the air seemed to settle around them, Olruggio placed the quire in front of him, fascinated by the spell drawn upon it. He then took a deep breath and faced Qifrey head on, his eyes burning holes into the top of his skull.

“I really hope I’m not misinterpreting this, Qifrey,” he began, his own voice quivering. The other witch slowly raised his head and was met with the most precious sight he’d ever seen in his life. While he was expecting a reaction out of the other, he didn’t think he’d see Olruggio all flushed with red, so much so that not even the darkness could cover for him much.

A bit tongue tied himself, Qifrey swallowed around the knot in his throat, “Depends what you mean by that.” He was too much of a coward to verbalise his emotions and he knew it. His hands trembled against his lap, waiting for something which could convince him that Olruggio’s flush was not due to anger, but something else entirely.

Seeing that he was avoiding to clarify what was the true purpose of the entire show he’d put up, Olruggio took it upon himself to sound it out for Qifrey, trying his best to tame the raging blush which was overtaking his entire face.

"I–I mean, it's the midnight of Silver Hearts. And you asked me to cast a decorative water spell you came up with," he explained, his face as red as it could get. Qifrey, however, didn’t add anything to his remark. Instead, he turned his head to the right, casting his gaze upon the wide window protecting them from the dark and cold ocean surrounding the atelier.

Not even a tick mark passed when he heard sudden shuffling from across him and the sound of leather sliding across stone. He paid it no mind until his best friend huffed out loudly, “ARGH, this is getting ridiculous and you know it!”

His heart sank hearing frustration bleed into his usually cheerful voice. Just as he turned around to apologise for his behaviour, he felt a pair of lips gingerly land against his, a tick of fleeting warmth. Qifrey instantly pulled away, his hand ghosting over the lower half of his face. Across from him, Olruggio sank to the floor, his gaze empty, and jaw dropped in something Qifrey couldn’t really recognise.

After a moment of awkward silence, he bridged the distance between the two of them, and gently patted his best friend’s shoulder. As burnt, his eyes snapped wide open and his brain was put into motion, “I’m so sorry for that, Qifrey! I d–didn’t mean to do that, I swear—”

“Olly,” he said, guiding his hand behind his back and pulling him into a tight hug, “don’t say that to me. I–I didn’t dislike it. Honestly.” His other self disagreed with the admission, but he pushed that aside. His head fell in the crook of Olruggio’s neck, breathing in the smell of ink and burnt wood which always seemed to be stuck to his robe, no matter how many times he washed it. He could feel his best friend’s hands awkwardly float around him, unsure where he should put them.

He slowly pulled away and smiled, “Happy Silver Hearts, Olly. Hope I didn’t disappoint.” Qifrey watched his expression grow from flustered, to panicked, to a more relaxed version of what he’d seen at the beginning of the night. Even so, the blush painting his cheeks never went away, making him giddy with affection.

“You really are something else, do you know that?” He leaned forward and lightly knocked a knuckle against the top of his head. Qifrey let out a small giggle, enjoying the slight teasing. Olruggio sat back down on the cold stone and looked over to the water spell, “You could never disappoint me, Qif.” His smile softened watching the plant lose a bit of its shape, “Your magic always amazes me, no matter how sophisticated or childish it is.”

Before he could hide his face anywhere from Olruggio’s sight, he was met with deep blue eyes staring into his own, “Even so, I don’t think I’ve ever told you about the Evergreen Rose before. Was it Alaira who gave you the idea? She’s been reading too much romance for her own good, lately.”

Qifrey cocked his head hearing his words. Suddenly, he felt as if he was missing some important details of the story. His gaze jumped all around the room, trying to avoid Olruggio’s in the process. He then quietly asked the other witch, “Does the Evergreen Rose mean anything to you, Olly?”

The boy scratched his cheek in thought, an stupidly endearing act by Qifrey’s standards, "Well, they are quite common in festivities around the Great Hall. You might’ve seen them during the last Solstice’s celebration." The white–haired witch felt his heart calm down for a tick there. That was until Olruggio continued his phrase, "However, back home, they’re mainly used to express affection towards the ones you love. Well, romantically that is.”

His heart rate picked right back up. Now, no wonder that Beldaruit didn’t comment against his simple–minded choice of flora. That old man really had a knack for pushing his own agenda behind Qifrey’s pure desires.

Olruggio looked at him in thought, “You can’t tell me you didn’t know! Didn’t Beldaruit aid you with this spell?” Qifrey slowly nodded, a deep scowl pulling at his lips, “That’s the issue. He did—He helped me so well that when I presented this idea against all his fancy ones, he didn’t even bat an eye! I should’ve realised.” His head dropped in resignation recognising his short–lived naiveté.

The other witch covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle any trace of a laughter, “I guess he’s just as cunning as the day I met him. Like master, like apprentice, so they—”

Olruggio felt a pair of lips land upon his covered forehead, act which promptly shut him up before he could finish his teasing remark. Qifrey pulled away, staring him straight into the deepest pits of his soul, “Don’t compare me to him—We’re nothing alike.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you sleep better at night. Speaking of which!” He shuffled in his seat, throwing his arms around his back and pulling out a small wooden box. It was as small as the ones in which Beldaruit used to keep any ceremonial jewellery, especially rings. Before he dwelled any more on its appearance, Olruggio handed it over to him, a shy smile on his face. He pried it from his fingers and carefully opened it, only to be met with a small dragon made out of light, swirling and flying around the box.

Qifrey was fascinated by the little creature, so much so that it must had clearly showed on his face. His friend snickered at the sight, “It’s not yet very stable, but I wanted to make you a contraption which acted like a bed light of sorts.” He rested his head on his propped–up knee, watching the other be completely fascinated by the box, “I know that you’ve been having some pretty rough nights recently because of your recurring nightmares. I just hope that having his guy around before going to sleep would help you, even a little bit.”

Qifrey gently closed the contraption and set it next to his overly dripping spell. Then, without a single warning for the other, he lunged at Olruggio knocking him on his back. He groaned from the flash of pain, but it was immediately soothed when Qifrey dipped and kissed him properly on his lips.

Qifrey didn’t mean to be so rough with their first—technically second—kiss. However, he genuinely couldn’t contain the overwhelming affection which was close to bursting from his chest. Just as reality dawned on him, he immediately tried to pull himself away from Olruggio, before he felt a trembling hand barely caress his right cheek, pushing aside fluffy white locks in the process. That simple gesture made something crack inside him, a feeling he’d grown overly used to by then.

When they decided to break the kiss, Olruggio pushed the both of them back up, with Qifrey half–laying in his lap. He then reached behind him and brought the forgotten blanket over the both of them.

They were both clearly flustered from what just happened, but neither wanted to address it head–on. Instead—in an act that Qifrey still couldn’t believe he deserved—Olruggio took his hand and kissed its knuckles, a silent admission of the change in their relationship.

“Maybe Silver Hearts isn’t as bad as I’ve previously thought,” he admitted, a giddy smile pulling lazily at his lips. He hid his face within the crook of Qifrey’s neck, his hair tickling the other witch. He wrapped his arms around Olruggio’s frame and huffed in reply, “While that might be true, I don’t think that tomorrow’s going to be any easier for you. Unless you want to make us official to the entire Great Hall, our fellows will still approach you with every chance they get.”

Olruggio’s groan was muffled by the other witch’s shoulder, “Ugh, you’re completely right. If only I could be invisible for a day, they wouldn’t be able to bother me in the first place.” Qifrey’ hand found its way into dark locks of hair, gently combing through them in an attempt to soothe his partner’s distress.

“I believe that just having me by your side you would achieve the desired outcome—to some extent,” he said, gently pulling at the back of Olruggio’s robe, thus facing him. “Actually, wouldn’t you like to spend tomorrow with me? We could go to the marketplace together and study a bit afterwards. Like a date of sorts…”

Olruggio’s blush was back in bloom once more, “Qif, that sounds like a lovely idea—I’m sure that our fellows would think twice before approaching us if we sat close–by.” His eyes softened before continuing, “However, now that I think about it, I’d rather spend all day somewhere away from the prying eyes of the Great Hall. I wish to indulge in the spirit of Silver Hearts—Not that our usual hangouts are bad in any way!”

Qifrey hummed in thought. While he could ask Beldaruit to once again convince Olruggio’s master to give him a day off so they could spend it all cooped up in his private quarters, he recognised that he had abused that tactic quite a bit in the past few months. Maybe he could pull at his heart strings considering tonight’s developments—It was worth a shot, after all.

“Anyways,” Olruggio stood up and stretched his back, “I think that we should now both go our merry ways. We can think of a plan and reconvene in the morning, don’t you think?” He motioned to Qifrey to take his hand, a steady force pulling him away from the cold stone floor. He swiped both his quire and contraption, before accepting the gentle tug and being guided to the atelier’s door.

Olruggio opened it as quietly as possible, hoping that it wouldn’t creak to the point it’d wake somebody up. As his now–partner took a step into the hall, he couldn’t help but pull him back by his wrist, twirling him in place. He then pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I’ll come pick you up, first thing in the morning. I already know how much slack I’ll get from Beldaruit for it, but I couldn’t really care—”

“Oi, maybe keep your affections for inside your private quarters!”

A flustered and high–pitched voice rang from further down the hall, “Utowin! Have some manners, would you?”

Both boys froze in their spots, anxiously searching for the voices’ owners. Not before long, two teenagers—not much older than them—emerged from the darkness, each one of them wearing the iconic gowns of apprentices part of the Knights Moralis. The moment they noticed the red robes, Qifrey and Olruggio looked between themselves, their eyes blown wide open. With a quivering voice, the fire witch asked, “A–Are we in trouble for that? It’s already Silver Hearts. I thought that it was more accepting to do such things today.”

Utowin frowned, “You might as well switch ornaments at this point—Oh wait, you already did that. You guys make me sick seeing you showcase your caps like that.”

“Just ignore him!” Luluci stepped in front of her colleague and fellow, a hand raised in front of her chest. “You must understand that he’s a bit frustrated himself over such matters, so please forgive his outburst.” As Utowin began shaking her shoulders in revenge, Luluci kept her shy smile throughout.

Seeing it as his sole chance to escape, Qifrey returned the gesture to Olruggio and stepped in close to whisper into his ear, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow, Olly.” He turned on his heel and sped down the hallway, earning a couple of shouts from the young pair of Moralis.