Qifrey

Qifrey had always considered himself above petty feelings.

The atelier was a place where witches drifted in and out as they pleased, borrowing one another’s time as easily as they borrowed books. One day you might be helping one colleague sort ingredients, the next you might be buried in notes with another. It was normal. It was expected. Everyone had their own strengths, and everyone learned from everyone else.

So when you began spending more time with Olruggio, Qifrey thought little of it.

At first…It began innocently enough. Olruggio asked for help restoring old records from the library, then for assistance reorganizing shelves crowded with enchanted manuscripts, then for someone to compare notes on spell circles neither of you had seen before. The work often stretched past sunset, and before long those evenings became routine. The atelier would grow quiet, the younger witches asleep upstairs, while the fire in Olruggio’s study cast a warm glow.

Qifrey noticed.

He simply found himself looking for you more often, only to remember where you were likely to be. If he passed Olruggio’s room, he would hear the low murmur of your voices through the door. If he rose early, there were sometimes two cups left on the table from the night before.

It was… strange, not because there was anything wrong with it.

Olruggio was one of the people Qifrey trusted most. Patient, thoughtful, endlessly knowledgeable.

And yet, every time he saw the two of you bent over the same book, or heard you laugh softly at something only you shared, something in his chest tightened.

He disliked that feeling.

He was not owed your time, nor did he have any right to expect it.

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Olruggio was about to call for you in his study area to help him as usual when the sun rose in the sky, leaving behind a foggy view through the window.

Qifrey: “Actually..I need help this time.” Qifrey said before Olruggio could speak, he looked at you with an unreadable expression but intense.