Work Text:
Oruggio has made him stew with all kinds of vegetables and lamb meat in it - the least attractive kind of stew really, but one of Qifrey’s favourites. That put aside, he can see how it must’ve been a relatively convenient, yet nourishing dish to make amidst the stress and danger he’s put everyone through. The dark circles under Oruggio’s eyes have grown more prominent than ever, and so has the paleness of his skin.
Qifrey’s stomach churns uncomfortably and his barely-there appetite diminishes almost completely. At this rate, his guilt could feasibly kill him one day. He’s close to losing himself in self-torturing thoughts when Oruggio grabs his attention by waving a hand in front of his face.
Oruggio doesn’t say anything but there’s a certain degree of expectancy to his gaze, not quite demanding, but assessing nonetheless, so Qifrey murmurs “thanks” and takes a bite. He notices from the corner of his eye that Oruggio’s face softens with minute relief almost instantly, and Qifrey is a foolish man who doesn’t learn from his past mistakes, because he realizes in that moment that he would rather sacrifice himself all over again than offend this man.
He loves you.
Qifrey reminds himself. He thinks it carefully like a prayer, like a blessing, like the biggest responsibility of his life. Suddenly, he can’t bring himself to reach for another bite.
He loves you and it’s not going anywhere and this is what you chose.
Ice-cold trepidation seizes his heart and he almost drops his spoon altogether. This…is also new. The sheer lightness he felt when Oruggio found him, frantic and ablaze with fury, could only be matched with the almost achingly gentle way he pressed their foreheads together later and renewed a vow made long ago. The lightness that is nowhere to be found now, as he sits with the most recent promise he gave to Oruggio. One of honesty and openness, one that promised protection and love in return. Forgiveness and unconditional love were granted to him so easily once again - and there - there ought to be more to it, because this time he’s gone and failed not only his closest friend, he’s failed his husband -
The food is going cold but Qifrey’s not sure he can stomach more at the moment.
The desire to hide, to run away and free himself of the vulnerable state he’s in, is getting more and more overwhelming by the second. He could leave the kitchen, and enter another room, or another and another, and it would feel like momentary solace. He would open the curtains and gaze into calming landscapes, stare into the faraway nothingness and forget the gentle light Oruggio’s radiating even now, as he sits to his left, unimposing and open.
Accepting light into his life is more difficult than admitting there is darkness.
Even so, he could go to another room and grant himself a small moment of reprieve, but Qifrey’d still find himself in a space Oruggio’s carefully decorated and breathed warmth into. He’d still find himself in the embrace of the clothes Oruggio’s cleaned and prepared for him. He’d still continue living in the skin that was touched with reverence by a man, whose love he’s utterly undeserving of.
He loves you. And this is what we chose.
He’d suspected as much for years, but still, learning the lengths Oruggio’s prepared to go for him has been nothing short of terrifying. Quite possibly even more terrifying than purposefully allowing his own life to slip into the unsteady grip of fate. It stands to reason that Qifrey would do anything to protect his family. That this conviction is fully reciprocated by the other man has been harder to reconcile with.
Qifrey’s properly lost himself in his thoughts when he hears a sigh and the scrape of a chair beside him.
His reaction is instantaneous and intuitive.
Qifrey grips Oruggio’s sleeve in blind panic, to keep him from moving away.
Oruggio jerks a little, taken aback, but then turns to him fully, now alert and with a hint of fear on his face.
“What’s wrong!?” he asks, some of the earlier dread returning to his voice full force and Qifrey feels sick for being the cause of it. Oruggio’s sweeping his eyes over him with worry, looking for possible injuries or causes of distress and Qifrey cannot make his heavy tongue work.
So he tugs at Oruggio’s sleeve once again and grabs his wrist with his other hand. He’s not sure what expression he’s wearing, but Oruggio seems to see something in it and relaxes in his stead.
“I’m not -” Oruggio says and then cuts himself off, making an aborted gesture towards the countertop, “I wanted to make some tea. I’m not going anywhere, Qifrey.”
All at once Qifrey feels weightless, like all the strings that were supporting his body, have been cut off. He slumps a little with his relief, but can’t quite meet Oruggio’s eyes again. What right does he have to seek the man’s presence after everything he’s put him through? When Qifrey himself has always acted of his own accord, never letting Oruggio in on his plans?
He will forgive me again. Because he’s a kind person. It doesn’t mean I deserve it though. It doesn’t mean I didn’t hurt him. It doesn’t mean things will be the same again. It doesn’t –
He clenches his eyes shut, pained. The ocean in his head is talking too much again.
“Qifrey?” asks Oruggio, soft and worried as always, even when Qifrey knows he should be absolutely livid with him. Is this man even capable of holding grudges?
Qifrey’s already spilled all the apologies in his body before the other man. Continuing to do so, even if he’s earnest, would feel cheap somehow, so he bites back the words that threaten to come out impulsively at this point.
He is pure liquid on that warm kitchen chair, shapeless and on the verge of trickling into little aimless streams at any moment, kept at bay and given meaning only by Oruggio’s capable hands. It’s a thought that would visit him often: be it when he was a frightened child or now. A brief moment of clarity would arise, along with the freshness of seawater still on his tongue, and heavy salt painting his mouth as he’d look up at his closest friend pulling him up to the surface. For just a moment, Oruggio would look like an angel who'd travelled all that way to redeem him.
The corner of Qifrey’s mouth twitches involuntarily. Oru would surely think he’d gone mad if he were to tell him any of this. He’s already looking at him strangely – albeit with a hint of curiosity - because of the abrupt change in his mood. Qifrey allows himself a small genuine smile then, as he grips Oruggio’s hand securely and bends down.
“Don’t - ! ” comes the belated protest and Qifrey doesn’t allow Oruggio to move even an inch as he presses his lips to the center of Oruggio’s palm. There’s a minute tremble where they’re connected, but Qifrey’s not sure if it’s his stress-weakened body or Oruggio reacting.
Undeterred, Qifrey moves his mouth worshipfully along the delicate skin marred by near invisible scars and burn-marks. He knows all of their locations and shapes by heart, has devoted a lifetime to studying them and following their healing process with a careful eye.
He turns over Oru’s hand and kisses his knuckles next. Moving his lips gently along the delicate veins that move life through this enigma of a man, he feels fingers slip into his messy hair. There’s a light tug at the hair above the nape of his neck and he thinks he’s about to be pushed away, when Oruggio steps forward and pulls him in until his forehead is resting against Oruggio’s chest and the hand in his hair is holding him securely in place. His friend’s unsteady breaths do nothing to calm his nerves and when Oruggio cups his jaw and bows to press a lingering kiss on the top of his head, there’s nothing that can stop the sting of tears that spring to his eyes.
“What am I gonna do with you?” Oruggio asks lightly and so, so fondly. It makes the animal of Qifrey’s guilt rear its ulgy head again, but this time there’s a warm, solid weight against him that can help keep it at bay.
The fingers in his hair resume their soothing dance and the sound Qifrey makes is pitiful even to his own ears, but mercifully Oruggio doesn’t comment on it. Only seems to hold him closer and murmur reassurances that slowly put Qifrey in a relaxed state of half-sleep. All the while, the lightness in Oruggio’s voice doesn’t diminish in the slightest and even without looking, Qifrey can tell that his dear partner is smiling.
Oh, Qifrey thinks, seconds away from dozing off, I really have drawn myself an angel. Now, Qifrey is smiling, too.
Cradled in his husband’s arms, he thinks of contraptions and recipes, imagines the beautiful constellations outside that are shining down at the atelier - the home - he has created for himself.
It is beautiful here, he thinks. And decides that it is blissful to be so far away from everything after all.