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The scratch of Qifrey's pen against parchment was rather loud in the quiet. He was working on spells while his students were asleep. And you? You couldn't sleep. You figured it was best to just sit around Qifrey as his presence was comforting.
You sat curled in the oversized chair near the fire, knees tucked to your chest beneath one of Qifrey's blankets, pretending to read the book open in your lap. In truth, you'd reread the same sentence six times. Your attention kept drifting.
Qifrey sat hunched slightly at the table, hat discarded nearby, silver hair spilling over his face while he worked. Every so often, he glanced toward you without meaning to. Like checking to make sure you were still there.
It should've made you feel warm. You didn't feel that warm at all.
Earlier that day, you'd gone into town together. Just for ingredients, groceries. Nothing that was incredibly important. But you'd caught your reflection in a shop window while walking beside him, and the image had lodged itself painfully into your mind ever since. Qifrey wondered if you were looking at the fabrics in the window, wondering about if you wanted a new dress or something.
It wasn't that at all.
Qifrey looked elegant without trying.
You looked—
You shut the book harder than intended, rubbing your temples just barely.
Qifrey looked up immediately. "Hm?"
"Nothing."
His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long before he set his pen down. "You've been quiet since we came back."
"I'm always quiet."
"You are absolutely not always quiet." He spoke. The floor creaked softly as he crossed the room. He stopped beside your chair, resting one hand against the back of it.
"You're upset."
"I said I'm fine." You looked away, not wanting to see.
"Mhm." That gentle, knowing tone made irritation flare hot in your chest. You hated that tone. It meant he could see through you again.
You stared harder at the unread page. "Can we not do this tonight?"
His expression softened. "Do what?"
"The thing where you keep asking until I say it."
Qifrey was quiet. Then, carefully, "If I stop asking, you'll sit here hurting alone."
"I already am." The words slipped out. That's not what you meant to say. You immediately regretted them.
Qifrey didn't recoil, but you saw the hurt flicker briefly across his face before he hid it. He crouched beside the chair instead, bringing himself closer to eye level with you. "What happened today?" He does that a lot.
You laughed weakly. "You really don't give up."
"Not when it's you."
Your throat tightened. You looked away from him toward the firelight dancing across the floorboards. "...I saw us in the window."
Understanding dawned across his face almost instantly.
Oh.
Oh.
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. "And before you say anything— yes, I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me I'm beautiful." Your voice cracked slightly. "You always say that."
"Because you are."
"There." You looked at him finally, frustrated tears burning behind your eyes. "That. That's exactly what I mean."
Qifrey blinked softly.
"I'm tired of hearing it because it doesn't help." Your hands clenched around the blanket. "You say I'm beautiful and lovely and soft and whatever else, but it doesn't change the fact that every room I walk into, it reminds me I'm bigger than everyone else in it."
The words spilled out now, ugly and aching.
"I see the way dresses fit other witches. I see how easy they move. I see how graceful they look." Your voice dropped quieter. "And then there's me." You laughed bitterly. "And I know you mean well, but sometimes it feels like you're reading compliments from a script."
That finally made something in his expression falter.
"...A script," he repeated softly.
You looked down immediately. That's not what you wanted to say, but it's what came out. You didn't know how to fix the words you said, you spilled. Silence settled heavily between you. The fire crackling was loud.
Qifrey rested his arms against the side of the chair, thinking for a long moment before speaking again. "I think," he said slowly, "I keep repeating myself because I'm afraid there's some perfect arrangement of words that will finally make you believe me. And when it doesn't work..." He smiled faintly, though it looked tired around the edges. "I try the same thing again anyway."
You swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," you whispered.
Qifrey shook his head immediately. "Don't apologize for hurting."
"But I hurt you."
"A little. But I'd rather you tell me the truth than smile while suffering beside me." He spoke softly, his glasses falling down his nose just gently.
Your eyes burned. He reached out then, slow enough to give you time to pull away. When you didn't, he took your hand carefully between both of his.
"You know," he murmured, tracing his thumb lightly across your knuckles, "I don't look at you and think about your weight nearly as much as you think I do."
You huffed softly. "That's easy for you to say."
"It is." He nodded once. "Because when I look at you, I notice other things first."
You glanced up reluctantly.
"The way you hold your teacup with both hands when it's cold." A tiny smile touched his mouth. "The way you lean into books so completely that the rest of the world disappears." His thumb brushed gently over your skin again. "The sound you make when you're trying not to laugh."
Heat crept into your cheeks despite yourself.
"And," he added softly, "the way you look at my apprentices when they're excited about something. Like you're already fond of them before they've even finished speaking."
Your eyes stung again.
"That's what stays with me." His gaze held yours steadily now. "Not numbers. Not shapes. Not comparisons to strangers in windows."
You looked away quickly before you could cry. "...I still don't like how I look."
"I know."
You expected another reassurance. Another beautiful, lovely, soft.
Instead, Qifrey simply rested his forehead lightly against the edge of the chair near your arm and said quietly, "But you deserve to be loved while you're still learning how to live with yourself."
You covered your face with one hand, shoulders trembling once.
Qifrey immediately stood, concern flashing across his features. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," you whispered through a watery laugh. "No, you idiot."
Relief crossed his face so quickly it almost made you cry harder. You reached for him first this time. Qifrey melted toward you instantly, wrapping his arms carefully around your shoulders as you buried your face against his robes. He held you close without squeezing too tightly, one hand rubbing slow circles against your back.
"You're very difficult to care for sometimes," he murmured into your hair.
You let out a muffled noise of offense.
"And yet," he said, voice warm now, "I remain unfortunately devoted."
Despite everything aching inside you, a small laugh escaped your chest. Qifrey smiled against your temple at the sound, holding you a little closer.