Page 143 of The Holy Academy of Witches

Cillian’s first order of business was to close the curtains and light the fire, making the space even cosier than it was on entering. We fell effortlessly into our pattern from the weekends, Cillian making his way to the kitchen for snacks while I kicked off my shoes and grabbed the waiting blanket before burrowing into the warm love seat, its soft upholstery just as comforting as the blanket.

“Sweet or savoury?” He asked as he rummaged through the cupboards.

“Savoury please, I’m starved.” He joined me soon after, his arms overloaded with several bags of ‘crisps’ and trail mixes which he unceremoniously dumped near me. I dug into the nearest bag, not caring what it was, and caring even less when Cillian began to walk away instead of joining me on the couch.

“Where are you going?” I mumbled rudely around the food I had stuffed into my mouth.

“Giving you space.” He said without turning around. His voice was soft, and I wanted so badly to look at his face. To understand the reasons he had for rushing me here only to leave me alone.

“Why?”

“You said you didn’t want to talk,” He said it like it was obvious, like I should know he wouldn’t be pressuring me to spill any secrets I wasn’t ready to. “Eat your fill, Sage, there’s maraschino cherries and ice cream if you want as well. Take your time, I’m just going to be in the bedroom until you’re ready.” He opened his door and softly closed it behind him, not giving me a chance to deny that was exactly what I needed, what I was avoiding.

I slowed my chewing, taking in the space that I’d come to partially claim as my own. It was surprisingly empty of dust, and I wondered how often Cillian had snuck out here between his own classes or if he had some sort of dust-repelling enchantment in place. Probably the latter, as the whole cabin looked frozen in time. Like the last month had never happened and we had just gotten back from an outing. Our matching leather jackets hung in the corner while the floor underneath was still littered with some of the scarves and gloves I had discarded in a rush. I wrapped the blanket closer around me as I took in all the little messes he’d left in his usually immaculate space. The half-assembled puzzle of a canyon I’d insisted on buying, Adeline’s lost sheet music I was meant to have memorised months ago, as well as a few of my sketchbooks that I’d thought had gotten lost during the move to Adeline’s dorm. I wondered if he’d left them out on purpose, if they made him feel as warm and fuzzy as they were making me. I wondered if he too saw them as reminders of our time together, or if Adeline was completely wrong and I was annoying him by leaving all my things everywhere.

I didn’t want her to be wrong, I wanted so badly to believe her genius extended into this subject as well. Was that too much to ask? But it felt like I was asking for a miracle. After all, how many times had I complained and harped to the universe about the forced bond, how would it be fair for me to have my freedom and keep him too? I wanted both, but he was Cillian. And I was just Sage. It was already too late though, the cat was out of the metaphorical bag and I couldn’t pretend I possessed any of the skill necessary to stuff it back in.

My feet were carrying me to the bedroom before I could stop to talk myself out of it. I knocked softly, my hand shaking as the door inched open.

Cillian was sitting in the armchair, dappled by the Christmas lights he must have hung sometime after I’d come here to snoop. The twinkling light seemed to soften the space, lighting the edges of his cello and bow, drawing attention to the shadows of his eyelashes brushing his cheek. Eyes closed and lost to the act of playing the instrument that may as well have been a part of him.

I paused in the doorway, struck by the speeding crescendo followed by the deep resonating notes of the melody I recognised as his original song, “Storm.” It was beautiful, a mix of rise and falls that put me in mind of a crashing wave. I soaked in the ability to watch without him watching me, enjoyed watching his hair flick about while his fingers flew over the cello’s neck. Even on my best days I struggled to not feel a little jealous of the endless skill he and Adeline seemed to possess. Today, when I was feeling more than a little self conscious, it was a bitter crash of unhealthy comparison, and breathless awe. Awe at the raw emotion he could capture and inspire with a series of notes he’d transformed into a living thing.

As the notes faded into a soft and gentle end I felt the tremors in my hands worsen, the prick of tears a threat I quickly blinked away. I felt the press of visions begin at the back of my mind, my tumultuous emotions waking them.No,I told them, squeezing my eyes shut.Not right now, later. The colours swirled with uncertainty, and I did my best to beat them back. Trying to build back up the walls that were crumbling around me.

Cillian’s heavy steps pressed forward, and I froze. If I opened my eyes now, I would see his stupidly perfect face. I would see whether he had figured me out, and if he was as smitten as Adeline believed, or as uninterested as I feared. Either way, it was the end of an era. Hope had cut away all the delusion I had of keeping up the one sided facade, so much so I was clinging to the single thread of fate, and his response would either be the blade of an ending, or the loom of beginnings.

A callused finger swept a stray curl from my face, damp from the tears I had already unwillingly shed. I looked up to see his wintery blues trained on the tracks of tears, as if they had the answers he had hoped to get from me.

“Why are you crying?” He whispered.

“I’m afraid,” I sob.

“Afraid of what? Did you see something?” He stepped closer and I wiped at the tears that were threatening to fall at his concern. He gripped the hand before I could let it drop, kissing away the tear that laid there. I took a shaky sob inwards, the hope in my chest sharpening to an unbearable level.

“I am afraid to ask how you feel about me,” I managed to say.

“Is there any doubt?” He asked, looking at me with a raised brow.

“Why do you look at me as if I should know? When it is something that has never been said?” I asked incredulously, a bit of my usual fire flaring at the familiar look.

“You can’t be serious, Sage.” He stepped back.

“We never called off the fake dating, never discussed why we continued as we did. I still don’t recall if you even acknowledged the bond was broken. How am I supposed to know?”

He dropped my hand then, a look of horror on his face as he continued backing up. Perhaps this was it then. I had broken the rules of our game by forcing him to voice its parameters. I looked away from him, unable to handle the ache in my gut at the idea that this was over.

“Sage, look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a coward, and it hurts too much.”

“Sage, you are not a coward.”

I laughed, a wet choking sound at that. How wrong he was. If I was anything, I was a coward. He strode towards me, arms outstretched and I stumbled backwards, unwilling to feel his touch again now I could not believe it was meant for me. He strode faster, catching me up into his arms. I flailed about, refusing to listen to the voice that screamed to wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him for solace. He was not meant for me, and I could not grieve that feeling. I could not bear to commit that feeling to memory only to have it be the last.

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