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〈 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 〉
By the lake, beneath the vast expanse of the stars, you encounter him in solitary. It's a rare occurrence these days considering he is perpetually surrounded by his apprentices. Much to your dismay. You settle behind him barely leaving an inch between you. He remains inert. He neither turns nor makes a sound. You can't decide weather his absence of a response is a dismissal or a quiet acknowledgement. It doesn't concern you either way since he doesn't act on either. So, to speak, fate is in your hands. "Missed me?"
You didn't mean for it to come out so mischievous. You rehearsed this moment repeatedly in your mind and now your vocabulary is reduced to what could easily perceived as mocking. You want to vanish. Right here, right in this moment but this opportunity could undoubtedly be the last of its kind. Inhale. Exhale. "I've been yearning to see you again." You lean on his back, head resting on his right shoulder. And right then and there, you find yourself lost in reveries of a time when you once shared silence in the same space and yet, there was no distance between you. Only trust, loyalty, and perhaps the faintest trace of love.
It feels as though it belongs to a distant past. You can’t count how many times you wished upon a falling star for things to be different, for your fates to remain intertwined. Yet your future is reduced to watching him from afar. An illicit love story, ending far too soon. Sparks everywhere, but the flame never ignites. All because of rigid rules. You wish you were more important to him, that must be it - you are not worth the taboo. Or perhaps your absence is weighing on him, too? The softest of whispers against his ear. "Set your fears aside." Followed by a breath on his nape, almost inaudible. "Join me." He remains motionless without uttering a single syllable.
"Please." Though the quiver that follows and is wandering through his body reveals his presence in the moment. "Qifrey." His name rolls from your tongue, dripping with decadence. Uttering it felt forbidden - a taboo just like the kind of magic you practice. Still, it did nothing to diminish your desire to speak his name.
Qifrey. Qifrey. Qifrey.
He remains still, but the breath he must have been holding finally escapes in a stutter. You are both suspended in the moment, as though time itself has stopped moving forward. What follows quietly is his first movement, aside from the trembling that betrays him. His unsteady hand reaches behind him in search of yours and when he finds it, he holds it tight, like his life depends on it and as though he needs grounding to gather his words before daring to break the silence. "I.." His voice is merely louder than a whisper but as unsteady as his hand. The quivering of his body found its way into his vocal cords. "I can't."
Right then and there, it feels like the rapture has taken hold of you. Like you are being set alight from the inside out, and it stings—leaving you light-headed, trapped in a vertigo of agony. You press your eyelids shut in an attempt to hold back the tears waiting to break free. And just like that, you vanish in an instant. You will not share your vulnerability with him. After all, you are an afterthought to him, never worthy of even a glimpse into the forbidden. A shaken breath escapes you.
“And yet, I stepped into the darkness and abandoned myself in the process. Only for you, Qifrey.”
〈 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 〉
Due to his past, he had always been someone who searched for the ending before allowing himself to believe in a beginning. He wore a façade, walls of steel encased in concrete, built so carefully that few ever questioned their strength. Yet they were cracking. Slowly. Imperceptibly. Again, and again. Qifrey had always mended those fractures alone. No one looked past the deflections, the practiced smiles, the aloof indifference Qifrey wielded as easily as his pen. Because the scaffolding beneath was far more fragile than anyone around him realized.
Beneath it all was Qifrey.
The Qifrey, who desperately wanted to be comforted, yet could never embrace warmth and harmony. It would only drag him deeper into the abyss. The one who carried wounds so deep they had become part of him, scars etched into the very foundation of who he was. And what was he supposed to do with that?Once, he had turned to prayer. Once, he had sought forgiveness in quiet devotion and desperate hope. Somewhere along the way he wandered too far into the vast darkness of his own innermost turmoil. He had stared into its depths too many times, lingered there too long. Redemption became something distant and unreachable.
At least, that was what he told himself. He was a sinner. That much seemed as clear as day. And that is precisely why he prefers the quiet night. The ancient canopy above him is as soothing as terrifying. He needs to feel the storm underneath his skin. He thrives off anxiety; it is the constant in his life. Chaos is his only solace, his lifeline. So why does it feel so suffocating? Surely, he should be used to it by now. Beneath the vastness of space, he feels the anxiety creeping in once more. Slow. Relentless. Inevitable.
It settles over him like a crushing weight. Unable to produce a sound other than erratic breathing. Qifrey feels as though he is rooted in the very spot. Every breath becomes a conscious effort. Every movement feels impossible. And despite how familiar it is, the fear never grows dull. It never lost its edge. Qifrey draws in a sharp breath. He knows who it is before he dares to look. In the moonlit reflection of the lake, he catches the outline of her figure sitting behind his back. He recognized the markings around her arms. The ink etched into skin. His gaze lingers for only a moment before he forces it away. He knows better than to wonder about their true nature, better than to ask about them.
He remains perfectly still. Then she leans against him. The air in his lungs betrays him. Qifrey desire it so badly it makes him feel physically ill. She has always been his greatest strength and his toughest weakness. An ethereal thing, carved from starlight and moonlight alike, sent down from the ancient canopy above for the sole purpose of unraveling him, wrecking divine havoc in its wake.
Why must she make this so difficult?
It has been a year since he last found himself to be this close to her. A year since he felt her warmth. A year since he remembered what it was like to breathe without fighting for every breath. She had always been the only thing capable of quieting the chaos in his mind. And that was precisely why he could not allow himself to seek refuge in her. He had confided in her once. Explained the reasons. Explained the dangers. Ultimately, she left but not because she was incapable of withstanding the eye of the storm but because she refused to let it wreck more havoc. When every other path had failed, she had been willing to bend the rules themselves and step into the forbidden, to stare directly into the vastness of taboo. Only for him and he hates himself for it.
Then he feels it on his skin, the silent plea. “Join me. Please,” It breaks him in ways he did not know were possible. So desperately, he wants to turn around and pull her close while assuring her that they will encounter the ever-after. A future where their lives remained intertwined, bound together until the end of eternity. He would be lying to her and to himself. Some people were destined for happy endings. Yet he had long since accepted that he was not one of them and that realization hurt far more than any punishment ever could. His inner turmoil suddenly quietens as she says his name.
Qifrey.
It rolls off her tongue with effortless grace, sweet as honey and yet laced with bitterness. Full of yearning and grief, a bittersweet mixture. Qifrey takes her hand and squeezes it tightly. Thinking through about a thousand things he could answer her plea with, but they are all deduced to the same answer. He can’t go with her. He can’t be with her, at least not yet, not like this. Admitting it in his mind hurts but speaking out the truth:
“I can’t.” It is agonizing. He feels her hot breath on him. His nape feels wet. He hates it, not because of the tears, but because he is the sole reason. She is so desperately trying to hide them, but he knows her all too well. He gathers his breath and the little courage, the glimmer of hope that is left inside of him.
“You should know, your absence has been weighing on me."
Far too late. She vanished just like a year ago and now the crushing realization hits him.
It's the second time in his life that he had let her walk away.