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The kettle clicked softly above the fire. You watched it, waiting for the whistle, although... watching it never sped it up. Somewhere upstairs, brushes clinked in a jar where one of the girls was late night studying. It was probably Coco, to be honest. She always studied late.
The atelier was quiet enough that your thoughts had nowhere to hide.
You sat cross-legged on the floor near the low table, your gaze snapped back to what you were working on. Sorting through stacks of parchment and half-finished spell diagrams while trying very hard not to look at Qifrey.
Which, unfortunately, was difficult.
He sat opposite you, hair spilling over one eye as he carefully repaired a student's practice page. Candlelight softened the sharp edges of him. His visible eye moved slowly over the page, thoughtful and patient.
You had spent years beside him now. Years teaching together. Traveling together. Fixing problems around the towns together. Sharing meals at impossible hours because neither of you remembered to eat until midnight.
Somewhere in all those ordinary little moments, your heart had ruined you.
“You’re staring again,” Qifrey said lightly without looking up.
Heat rose immediately to your face. “I am not.”
“You are.”
“You can’t prove that.” You huffed, looking away immediately.
A smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Mm.”
You hated how fond that sound made you feel.
The rain outside grew heavier. It hit rough against the windows and the wind blew which rattled the frames.
You forced yourself back to organizing papers, though your hands had started trembling again. Ridiculous. You had faced tattooed witches before., difficult students, injuries, exhaustion. The brimhats themselves.
And somehow this was worse.
Qifrey finally closed the book in his lap with a soft thud. “You’ve been restless all day,” he said. “Did something happen?”
“No.”
“That was sooo convincing.”
You exhaled sharply through your nose.
He tilted his head slightly then, studying you more carefully now. Concern settled into his expression almost immediately. It always did when it came to you.
Qifrey cared. Qifrey cared too deeply. He remembered your favorite tea without asking. Sat beside you when nightmares kept you awake. He deeply and utterly cared about you.
Anyone would mistake it for love. You already had.
Your fingers tightened around the parchment in your lap. “Qifrey,” you started.
He hummed softly.
Then the words died in your throat. Coward.
“You know,” he said after a moment, voice warm with amusement, “usually when someone says my name like that, they’re about to confess to something terrible. Olruggio does it and Coco...”
Despite yourself, you laughed quietly.
“There,” he said. “Better.”
It didn't feel better. He eased tension like it was second nature. Smoothed rough feelings before they could fully emerge.
“I think,” you said slowly, “I’m in love with you.”
The room became still.
Qifrey’s expression did not change immediately, which somehow made it more painful. The candle crackled softly between you. Rain against the windows. Your own heartbeat growing louder and louder.
Then Qifrey smiled. Devastating. “Oh,” he said quietly. Qifrey set the repaired book aside carefully, buying himself time. You watched the movement of his hands instead of his face. “I care about you very much,” he said.
There it was.
The beginning of the end.
You swallowed hard and nodded once, trying to save him from having to continue, but Qifrey always insisted on honesty when things mattered.
“You’re one of the most important people in my life,” he continued softly. “And I think… perhaps because of that, I should be truthful with you.”
Your chest hurt.
“I don’t feel the same way.”
The words were gentle.
You looked down immediately because your eyes had already started burning.
“Oh,” you echoed faintly.
Silence settled again.
Qifrey shifted forward slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I think I should.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He looked like he wished that were true. Your throat tightened painfully. You stared at the paper in your hands until the ink blurred.
This was humiliating. Some awful hopeful part of you had believed he wouldn’t. All those late nights. All those soft looks. The way he always sought you out first in crowded rooms.
You had built a home out of crumbs and convinced yourself it was real.
“I don’t want things to change,” Qifrey said quietly.
You pressed your lips together hard before speaking. “They probably will for a while.”
His visible eye softened immediately with guilt. You hated that too. Hated making him look at you like you were wounded.
“I should’ve kept it to myself,” you muttered.
“No.”
“But—”
“No,” he repeated gently. “I’m glad you told me.”
You shook your head, smiling weakly despite the sting in your eyes. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Qifrey fell silent. He was a fool.
The candlelight flickered across his face, and for a brief moment something unreadable crossed his expression. Something tired. Then it vanished.
“I know this hurts,” he said.
“You don’t know that.”
Another silence.
Qifrey’s gaze had drifted downward. His fingers rested loosely against his arm, almost tense beneath the fabric.
There was a distance in him suddenly. A wall.
You had noticed it before over the years, in brief moments like this. Times when he looked like he was standing very far away despite being right beside you.
You had never known why.
“I wish…” He stopped himself.
The sentence dissolved unfinished.
Qifrey looked toward the rain-streaked window instead of you. “There are parts of me that make this difficult.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.”
“I know.” A faint smile touched his mouth, tired around the edges. “But I don’t want you thinking you were foolish for caring about me.”
You suddenly thought of all the things Qifrey never spoke about. The way he redirected questions about himself. How he smiled through conversations that became too personal. The careful distance he maintained even with those closest to him.
There were locked doors inside him you had never been allowed near.
Perhaps he believed if you ever reached them, you would leave. The realization hurt almost as much as the rejection itself.
“You really are terrible at letting people love you,” you said quietly.
Qifrey let out a soft breath that almost resembled a laugh. “Yes,” he admitted.
Tears finally spilled over despite your efforts. Embarrassing, awful tears you immediately wiped away with the heel of your hand.
“Sorry,” you whispered.
“You never have to apologize for crying.”
“That sounds like something you tell the children.”
“It’s something I tell everyone.”
Qifrey watched you carefully, helplessness flickering briefly across his face. It looked unnatural on him. “I don’t expect you to just stop feeling this,” he said after a moment. “But… it’ll pass.”
The words were meant kindly. But that didn't mean they hurt any less. You stood abruptly before you could embarrass yourself further.
“I think,” you said carefully, voice unsteady, “I’m going to go home.”
Qifrey rose immediately too. “Should I...” He couldn't even finish before you interrupted him abruptly. Too quickly.
“No.”
His expression dimmed slightly.
You closed your eyes briefly, then sighed. “No… I just need a little space tonight.”
“…Alright.”
He respected distance better than anyone.
You gathered your cloak with clumsy hands and moved toward the door. The rain outside could already be heard against the wood.
Before leaving, you paused. Qifrey still stood near the table watching you quietly, candlelight glowing around him.
He was beautiful, and kind. Gentle and now? He was unreachable.
“I don’t regret loving you,” you said softly.
Something fragile crossed his expression. “…Thank you,” he whispered.
You nodded once and stepped out into the rain before he could see you cry again.