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Agott has read every book in the atelier and not a single one has told her what a crush feels like.
Oh, sure, some came close- notably the ones Professor Qifrey hides in his bedside table (gross) and the ones Master Olruggio hides in the hidden drawer his study (sappy, occasionally grosser than Qifrey’s, although really Agott is not even a teenager and should perhaps not be passing judgement). Those have things like stomach-butterflies and kissing (as well as gross things beyond kissing that Agott calmly completely skipped) which had all seemed promising at first. But while adult pulp romance does bear a few resemblances to Agott’s life, like an overabundance of dragons and an underabudance of career advancement, it is meant for grown-ups whose first crushes have long come and gone and therefore is not applicable to Agott’s predicament.
And then the textbooks on attraction had given three-in-the-morning Agott a brief flash of hope before she realized they were referring to magnetic and magical attraction and not any of the possible changes of heart she may or may not be faced with around a certain girl. The fairy tales that Tetia had lent her had given her had had a similar gleam of possibility but they generally glossed over the initial feelings bit for a whirlwind wedding and Agott had given those back, too. The cookbooks, the spellbooks, the history tomes had all been just as useless.
Agott feels almost drowned in hopelessness when she flips past the last page of the very last book- a weird little pamphlet about inkwell engineering that she had found in the junk drawer and flipped through as a final attempt. Books have never properly failed her before- other, wiser people usually have the answers somewhere and usually if she tries hard enough, those people will present themselves in the form of words and seals on paper.
She tosses the zine up into the air and lets it flutter down to land on the last of Master Olly’s paperbacks, then falls back onto her bed. Ugh, her bed . Why did she spend so long researching these dumb little feelings when she could have been sleeping? Agott turns onto her stomach and presses her face into the feather-filled comforter, the thin-woven silk and the cloudlike fluff beneath it.
She had let Tetia use her bedsheets to practice her new seal after the other apprentice’s attempts had ruined her own bed, and she hasn’t regretted the risk since. Tetia’s incredulous grin after she’d agreed had been nice, too, if Agott admits it.
She buries her face further into her bedsheets and lets out a disgruntled groan. What’s Coco done to her! She’s usually standoffish and grumpy and all the nice, good things she knows about herself. All the things that she built up to protect herself. She thought, maybe, the weird crumbling of her walls was a crush- because even though she had assumed a crush was more like engulfing flame than the warm, corrosive waves her feelings for Coco seems to be, she thought maybe she was just a little weird, or maybe she just didn’t know what a crush was. It’s not as if she’d ever had one before.
But she never found any information about what a crush is actually meant to feel like, so she still doesn’t know if that’s what she’s feeling. She’s never wanted to be someone’s friend before, either, so she can’t compare the feelings. And it’s not as if anyone else would understand! Everyone else is already warm and flighty and happy, so even if they had a crush, it probably wouldn’t have to break down anything of theirs. It probably would just curl right around their heart like a brushbuddy at a hearth, wouldn’t have to get bogged down by dark clouds and craggy mountains.
Agott sighs and tosses onto her back again, throwing her arms out. Maybe, even if she does have a crush, she’s just not good enough at it. Maybe she’s just too mean for it to sit in her chest right, too mean for caring. She wishes that, even though the book failed her, there was someone else who she could ask, but everyone else in the atelier is the sort of warm soup person that wouldn’t understand what she means. Everyone is- wait.
She sits bolt upright. There’s only one other person at the atelier who isn’t naturally sunshiney at the edges of their smile. Maybe, if Agott asked the right way, he would know. Maybe, if she- hmph. Well, it’s probably worth a try anyway, even if Master Olly isn’t the most forthcoming about such things.
With her newfound hope and vitality it's easy to bound to her feet and rifle through discarded dayclothes to find a pair of loose pants and an ink stained smock. She pulls the smock on over her head and straightens the sleeves of the turtleneck she’s wearing underneath it, then tosses her curls into place and tugs open the heavy door that separates her room from the rest of the atelier.
Master Olly’s little tower is difficult to miss from outside, and the hallway leading there is equally difficult to miss from inside. It has great heavy oak doors leading to it and a yellowed scrap of paper on the door saying knock please that Agott is quite sure he put up when Tetia moved in. Agott hesitates for a moment at the doors.
She scuffs her feet against the hardwood floors absently and contemplates the sign. Olruggio will certainly not let her in if she knocks, since it’s late and Master Olly is especially exasperated about Agott’s tendency to all-nighters, but Agott needs this mentorship now. It’s probably best to invite herself in.
Probably. Worst case scenario, Olruggio is in the middle of something very important and bothering him topples the whole tower down and Professor Qifrey decides it’s vital that Agott be lectured about respecting space and private time. As if Agott doesn’t understand the concept! Just, sometimes things are emergencies.
The oak doors are cool beneath Agott’s hands when she pushes them open. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness- Qifrey has not yet quite gone to sleep, puttering around with something in the kitchen, and so the hallway was nicely lit with the false fire prototypes Olruggio made all those months ago. In contrast Olruggio’s atelier is lit with only the small halo of light from his lamp in the corner and the ray of warmth from the open doors behind Agott.
“Wha-” Master Olruggio certainly sounds disgruntled, but that’s perhaps not indicative of any future lecturing. Olruggio always sounds that sort of disoriented when faced with sunlight or warmth or affection. Yes, Agott thinks she was right to come to him.
He turns in his chair and blinks blearily. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in longer than usual, and it’s a bit patchy. “Agott? What are you doin’ up? It’s… late, isn’t it?”
Agott darts her gaze to the curtains pulled tightly closed over the windows. “You would believe me if I told you it was just after noon and Professor Qifrey wanted you for lunch, wouldn’t you?”
“Not when you say it like that,” Olruggio says. He rubs at his eyes and blinks again, then yawns. “I’ve been working on some illuminatory magic, and it’s the sort of very delicate lil’ thing that requires a controlled light source, which is why the curtains are closed. You should be getting to bed.”
“So should you,” Agott tosses back. Master Olly looks exasperated. Agott steps over the threshold into his workroom and closes the heavy doors behind her. She has to pick through scattered contraptions and used up seals to make it to the desk he sits at but, once there, he lets her rest her crossed arms across the breadth of his shoulders and peer down at what he’s working on.
It’s intricate tiny things, just like Olruggio had said, spools of copper wire and the thin etching tools Professor Qifrey describes to his apprentices sometimes. The stones Olruggio is using are pale gray and chalk dust comes away in small clouds of glitter when he carves careful seals into them.
“A new prototype?” Agott asks. Olruggio never uses soft stone for the final versions of his contraptions, since the seals can be too easily chipped or rubbed away. “Is it for Professor Qifrey?” Qifrey always gets the prototypes, no matter who the final product is for.
“Yeah and yeah,” Olruggio says. He blows a gust of ground stone out of the crevices of his spell and turns it this way and that, showing off for Agott in the same quiet way she shows off to him and Qifrey. It’s a pretty seal, streamlined and simple. Agott envies it.
“It looks really good,” she says.
Olruggio chuckles. It sounds a bit like breaking ice, which is what his happiness always sounds like when he emerges from his office, like he’s become unfamiliar with emotion over the week or so he’s been holed up. Professor Qifrey likes to tease him about it, calling it crackly and saying that it’s what happens when he lets his beard get too long. Agott thinks that Coco and Tetia believe it, but Richeh and Agott know better.
“I appreciate the critical examination, Agott. You’re quite the fledgling editor, aren’t you. You’ve got an eye for those things.” It’s the sort of thing that Agott’s family would have said with irritation ( why don’t you make your own goddamn seal if you want to pass judgement on one, you little-) but Olruggio’s voice is appreciative. Agott preens when she’s sure Olruggio’s not looking at her.
“You just say that because I’m being nice to you.”
Olurggio laughs again. “No, no!” He picks up one of the rocks and flips it along his knuckles like a coin. Master Olly’s hands are more active than Qifrey’s. “I think ‘s an admirable quality, positive and negative. You’ve just gotta learn to rein it in with some people.”
Some people being Tetia and Richeh. Sometimes Coco, although recently Coco has started to accept Agott’s criticism with a smile that’s way too knowing for Agott’s liking. The brushbuddy of affection pulls out a few more bricks in Agott’s wall around her heart.
“Yes, okay,” she says, ready to move on from the topic. She came in here with a purpose, and every second she wastes with something else is another second that Olurggio has to push open the curtains and really, properly notice the time before sending her to bed again. “Master Olly, I have something important to ask you. About Professor Qifrey.”
Panic flashes across Olruggio’s face. “Did he do something?” he asks. His voice is carefully controlled, so much so that some of the roughness of his dialect is almost obscured, but Agott knows he’s scared. That’s strange.
Still, that’s not what matters to her right now. She has more important things to think about than whatever Olruggio worries about at night. Later, this moment of distress from her master might seem like the most significant part of their conversation, but Agott’s teachers back at the Grand Hall always used to criticize her for her one track mind and Qifrey and Olruggio have made no progress dissuading that part of her.
“No,” Agott says, waving away the strange air the conversation had taken on, “but-” oh, damn, she didn’t think of how to start the conversation. “But I just… do you love Professor Qifrey?”
The concern in Olruggio’s brow melts into bafflement, then, after a flash of realization, fond amusement. “Yeah,” he says, “I do.”
“How do you,” Agott presses, emboldened by Olruggio’s positive response.
“How like in what way or how like how do I do it?” Olruggio asks. He seems genuinely curious, like he’s asking not to mock the vagueness of Agott’s question but just so he can ask better. Agott curls in on herself nonetheless, not prepared for an answer. Olruggio’s loose shirt smells like ashes and fabric softener. He doesn’t mind her hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
“I don’t know,” she finally says, releasing Olruggio’s shoulders and staring at the floor. Olruggio pushes his chair out slowly, giving her plenty of time to shuffle backwards so her feet don’t get squished, and then he turns sideways to face her.
“Well, then,” he says, “let’s go an’ start with a different question. What happened to make you ask?” There’s a tiny bit of worry in the question, too, like Olruggio just thought of a reason Agott might ask that he doesn’t like much. It occurs to Agott that maybe Olruggio is worried that he’s done something to make Agott think he doesn’t love Qifrey anymore, like when they started hiding their midnight snacks better or when Qifrey stopped kissing Olruggio goodbye outside of the atelier because people from the great hall started showing up without warning. Maybe all parents worry about that.
“Oh,” Agott sighs. She’d hoped to avoid talking about her own feelings for as long as possible, but she doesn’t want to worry Master Olly. “Coco is just… I just think she’s really nice, and maybe I have a crush on her but maybe I want to be her friend. Maybe. I don’t know if I’m- if I’m able to, you know.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m nice enough either way.”
There’s a beat as Olruggio processes- emotions take him so very long when he’s hidden in his office. Maybe Agott should have dragged him out before trying to talk about anything. The room is filled with the muffled sound of the cicadas outside and Agott’s heartbeat, too loud in her own ears. She realizes that she cares a lot about how Olruggio responds.
She watches his expression carefully. He’s staring at the closed curtains as he thinks, and his face morphs slowly from blankness to panic to a split second of revelation. Agott holds her breath.
Finally the silence is broken by Olruggio’s laugh- not crackly at all now, but fond and full bodied, the sort of laugh that they usually only hear with Professor Qifrey. It’s not a laugh out of humor but joy. “Agott,” he says finally. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Are you hungry?”
Agott likes Olruggio’s cooking. It’s less fanciful than Qifrey’s but it’s usually the right temperature (a flighty concept she can only recognize when it’s done right- his soup is just hot enough and the sparkling drinks Olruggio and Qifrey only let her sip when the other isn’t looking just cold enough). So she nods, determined to continue the conversation as soon as Olruggio lets her.
Olruggio scoops her into his arms when he stands up. His ink stained sleeves flutter in the air and Agott kicks her legs in the air.
Qifrey took her on as an apprentice when she was young enough that she still hesitantly asked to be tucked into bed, so when it’s late Olruggio carries her around like he’s worried that if she’s the slightest bit sleepy she’ll trip on the knots in the floorboards and break her leg. Agott doesn’t mind. It feels embarrassing when Qifrey does, because Qifrey is her professor and Agott doesn’t want to be babied, but Olruggio parcels out affection in a very careful, measured way and Agott doesn’t mind with him.
Master Olly carries her all the way to the kitchen, although he’s probably been sustaining himself on naps for a few days so he stumbles more than Agott would have if she were walking herself. She elbows him in the chest whenever he almost drops her and he grumbles something inaudible in response.
They have bread and tapenade that Olruggio made a few days ago. Olruggio mumbles an apology for not making something fancier, but they’re both well aware of the light gleaming from Qifrey’s room and neither of them want him to come tell them to go to bed.
No one else in the atelier likes tapenade. Tetia says it’s too fishy. Master Olly says that that just means there’s more for the two of them.
Agott nibbles at her snack and stares down Olruggio.
Olruggio sighs and takes a thoughtful bite of his own bread. “Look, Agott,” he starts. He trails off, then chuckles to himself again. Olruggio is obviously finding tonight just hilarious, in a soft, pained sort of way. “When you asked me that, I was a little terrified. I don’t want you to think that I’m any sort of expert on this stuff, just because there’s someone I love. There’s probably a thousand better people for you to talk to.”
Agott puts down her toast and crosses her arms, ready to defend her thought process. Olruggio doesn’t give her the chance.
“But I like that you came to me. I mean, I know I was just one of two options, but Qifrey’s your teacher, I’m kinda of baffled that you-”
“I could have gone to someone in town,” Agott says sternly, “or gone to the library and tried more books, or asked one of Knights Moralis, since they’re always wandering around here now. I asked you, because you-” she stutters, forgetting what she meant to say. “You act like a grown up me,” she tries, “and I think that your brushbuddy had just as many walls to get around as mine did.”
Olruggio furrows his brow. Master Olly doesn’t get overwhelmed easily, Agott has found, because he splits things up into many bite sized pieces and processes them individually. It’s something she tries to do, too, but it doesn’t come as easily to her. “Brushbuddy?” he asks.
Agott clambours up onto the table to sit criss-cross-applesauce and explains the wall around her heart and the brushbuddy of affection, an analogy she’s become more fond of as the night has gone on. Master Olly is a good listener, and she ends up talking longer than she means to, the conversation spinning off into aborted confessions about the childhood she knows Olruggio already knows about and muttered attempts to express why, exactly, she likes Coco so much, beyond her shining hair and infectious grin.
“I just don’t get it,” she cries finally, throwing her arms down into her lap and scowling. “I don’t get what I feel, or why I like her of all people. She’s not even- she can’t even draw a circle!”
Olruggio laughs at that, and Agott (strangely) finds herself giggling too.
“She’s gettin’ better,” he says sternly, chuckles still poking through the words, “you shouldn’t judge other people’s progress, just because you started earlier than they did.”
Agott blushes and stares at her hands. Her toast and tapenade is long finished. “Yeah, I know. I think she’s actually doing a really good job. She learns so quickly.”
“She’s a clever kid. Qifrey thinks she has promise.” Olruggio’s face darkens again, almost so fast Agott doesn’t see it. Once again, she doesn’t really care and she does her best to make that clear, casting her eyes up to the ceiling and basically doing everything she can short of tapping an imaginary watch. Olruggio seems to notice her disinterest and he smiles and ruffles her hair. “We don’t really get to choose who we lo- like, though. That brushbuddy of yours isn’t a product of your scathing standards.”
“Love,” Agott echoes. Olrgguio raises an eyebrow.
“Did I say love?”
“You almost did,” Agott says. ”Do you think I’m in love?”
“I think you’re eleven,” Olruggio says seriously, then holds up his hands when Agott scowls at him. “And that doesn’t mean that you’re not in love! It just means you haven’t gotten the context for it that I have. I can’t tell you if you’re in love or not. But you are eleven, so what I’m sayin’ is that maybe it doesn’t matter all that much.”
Agott scowls. “It feels like it matters.”
Olruggio shrugs. “Maybe it does. But I thought a lot about that kinda stuff when I was a teenager, and whatever I thought about calling it didn’t matter as much as what it was.”
Master Olly has a bad habit of shrinking into Qifreyisms sometimes, but when Agott complains about it Professor Qifrey laughs and says that he got them all from Master Olly.
“What do you mean?” Agott demands, leaning forward and pressing her hands against the table. “What’s the difference between what you call it and what it is?”
Master Olly leans forward too. He looks sleepy, but less tired than he usually does. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes have gotten more pronounced in the years since Agott joined the atelier. His awful romance novels feature a lot of men wandering into middle age, too.
Olruggio taps Agott’s forehead. “What you call it,” he says. He taps her heart. “What it is.”
Agott blinks. The answer is, objectively, unsatisfying. Any nonsense about hearts and minds and the difference between them has always gone completely over her head. Agott is not a feeling person, or at least not a person who embraces any feelings she might have. But still… Olruggio has a point, even if Agott understands it more as an emotion than a concrete piece of reasoning.
Their atelier brushbuddy doesn’t have a name, after all. Maybe Agott’s brushbuddy of affection doesn’t need one either.
“Maybe you do have a crush on Coco, maybe you just want to be her friend, maybe you really are in love or whatever else. It’s all a bit of the same thing.” Olruggio’s eyes are soft and faraway. Agott pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin in her arms. They both contemplate for a moment. “It’s okay if you’re a little rusty at it too,” Olruggio says finally. Agott nestles her face into her elbow and blinks at him. He smiles, but he still doesn’t quite seem like he’s looking at her. “Just because the trees are a little scary when you’re used to hiding yourself up in a tower doesn’t mean you’re incapable of climbing them.”
Agott thinks about that for a moment, then giggles. “I think you should leave the analogies to Professor Qifrey.”
He huffs and stands up, shaking out his hair and putting his hands on his hips. “I thought that was a good one,” he grumbles. Agott laughs again, just a little bit. His faux grumpy expression melts into fondness again. “Did that help at all?” he asks, half worry and half hopeful that he’ll be able to put her to bed soon.
Agott fakes a yawn for his sake and it turns into a real one halfway through. “Uh,” she says, “I think it did. Thanks, Master Olly.”
“Uh-hu,” Olruggio says, “anytime.”
Olruggio tucks the covers over Agott’s face and then folds them down to below her nose, like Coco says her mother used to do. He turned off all the lights except for the magicked up candle that Agott uses as a nightlight once she’d safely clambered into her bed. Agott’s bedsheets are cool from the hour that she had spent away from them. She can already feel herself starting to slip into sleep.
“Master Olly,” she murmurs. Olruggio is sitting at the foot of her bed, fiddling with the candle.
“Hm?”
“Do you think Coco lo-likes me too? In an eleven year old sort of way?”
Her eyes are already fluttering closed, so she hears more than sees the smile in Olruggio’s voice. “Yeah,” he says, “I daresay she does. In an eleven year old sort of way.”
“I hope so,” Agott sighs. "I think maybe I'd like to be friends with her. I think she would let me show her how to draw better circles." Her pillow is soft, and the cloudy comforter above her sheets weighs lightly on her. “Goodnight, Master Olly.”
“G’night, Agott.” The weight of Olruggio near Agott’s legs disappears as he stands. The last thing she hears as she drifts off is Olruggio muttering, exasperated, about preteen girls and their tendency toward book theft.