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“How was the lesson?” Oruggio asks tentatively, making sure to keep his eyes locked firmly on his plate. There’s a cold minute silence that could chill any by-stander to the bone.
Qifrey doesn’t look at him either as he speaks. He only answers as much as he is asked, mechanically recounting the day’s events, being as curt as possible. Nothing about the dishes he’s prepared, or the kids’ achievements, or something funny that might’ve happened during his lessons. Oruggio doesn’t push again, his throat suddenly too tight to get any words out. He just wants to get back into his room and occupy himself with some kind of contraption and not think about the suffocating atmosphere in the atelier.
They had a fight. It was nearly a week ago. Things have been like this ever since then. The air between them is crackling with tension in the aftermath of their unresolved argument: every word sounds sharper than intended, every gesture more hollow than Oruggio can bear. They’ve known each other for over a decade and subsequently have had their fair share of spats in the past - from silly to more serious ones. It’s never dragged on for as long as this. As painful and confrontational as the argument had got, Oruggio thought they’d at least return to it the morning after with a more level head and mellower edges. Oruggio knows that Qifrey isn’t the type to tolerate this kind of avoidance tactics for too long. Or at least that’s what Oruggio thought .
Instead, Qifrey seems to have resorted to doing the very thing he detests with a passion. He’s closed himself off completely, maintaining this terrible distance. It’s almost like he’s become a different person. He acts the way he typically does at the Great Hall or when pretending to be civil with the Knights Moralis. And it’s the worst thing Qifrey could do to Oruggio’s heart, worse than the silence or the distance, cause Qifrey should never feel the need to act so guarded and reserved around him.
Oruggio drops his fork into the plate, not feeling hungry anymore. Qifrey’s cooking is always delicious, but even the bread tastes stale to him now. He stands up quietly and after making sure that Qifrey’s no longer eating, quickly clears the table. He’s finally done with his latest project so he doesn’t have the excuse of holing up in his chambers for a day or two, trying his best to avoid Qifrey. And it’s - it’s just so ridiculous. There’s only so much a professor and his watchful eye can do without communicating when they’re taking care of four young disciples (and each other...inconspicuously). There have been plenty of opportune moments to clear the waters, yet neither seems to be keen on making the first step. The part of Oruggio’s brain that’s not constantly occupied with obsessing and being petty over their argument, realises that their behaviour almost borders on irrational at this point.
He throws a guarded look over his shoulder and sees that Qifrey’s still sitting by the table, attentively leafing through a thick book. Oruggio doesn’t have it in him to ask what he’s reading. Instead, he drags himself over to the counter and pulls out a spell sheet. He might as well linger a little more and make some tea.
He’s standing by the window as he pulls up the sleeve of his shirt and begins to draw a fire spell to heat up water, when he notices the blurry figure of his husband in the reflection of the glass. Oruggio can’t see him quite as distinctly like this, but he does notice how Qifrey discreetly lifts his head in Oruggio’s direction and looks and looks, not knowing that Oruggio’s indirectly looking back. Qifrey looks long enough for Oruggio to almost physically feel the soft yearning of his gaze.
That’s it , Oruggio thinks, chest tight with determination. Enough of this. No fight is worth seeing my husband so -
Oruggio hisses suddenly, jerking his hand back and dropping the pen. In his distraction, he must’ve drawn something wrong, for the fire he tried to conjure has gone wild. He doesn’t even get to move before Qifrey runs to his side and puts the fire out with expert speed. The water witch turns to Oruggio then, almost frantic and pulls at Oruggio’s injured hand. Oruggio doesn’t even realise he’s been cradling it to his chest. Qifrey’s eye widens when he sees the irritated redness of Oruggio’s palm.
Qifrey jumps into action, quickly drawing a spell of his own.
“Hold this against your hand.” Qifrey says, drawing a small riveting stream of cold water and passing it to him. “I’ll get the soothing balm.”
Qifrey all but throws himself across the kitchen to get to the drawer storing their first aid necessities, and all Oruggio can do is stand frozen in place and watch Qifrey’s water magic work. It’s the first time Qifrey’s spoken to him with anything other than careful detachedness in days, and Oruggio’s heart feels as if it's crawled up and settled snugly in his throat.
In a blink, Qifrey’s back. He takes away the stream and gently dries Oruggio’s hand with a clean towel, before swabbing the burn with the balm.
“You can be so careless sometimes.” Qifrey scolds him breathlessly, worry leaking into his voice and making his words tremble with it. He moves Oruggio’s hand closer to one of the lamps to inspect it better under the light and sighs. “I don’t think we’ll need to go to the hospital for this.”
Qifrey’s so close and warm by his side… All Oruggio can do is look at him longingly.
“What, you're not gonna say anything this time?” Qifrey snaps, defensive, misinterpreting his silence. “No Qifrey, you fuss too much, how about you take care of yourself first ? None of that, Oruggio?”
“I missed you.”
Oruggio’s words catch him off-guard and his bold facade shatters. “What?”
“It’s been a week.” Oruggio croaks out, “That’s the longest we’ve gone without talking to each other. Ever.”
“You - !” Qifrey sputters angrily. “ You weren’t talking to me!” Qifrey says, his voice tight with indignity. Oruggio’s heart drops when the anger is soon replaced with hurt. Oruggio’s horrified to see a tear dribble down his cheek. “You wouldn’t talk to me, not even when we were with the kids and I thought -”
Qifrey breaks off with a soft sound of frustration as he rubs furiously at his eye and Oruggio doesn’t get to find out what Qifrey thought. Nor does he think he would’ve been able to handle it if he did. Seeing Qifrey cry is the most heart-wrenching thing in and of itself and he’d rather burn both his hands to a pulp than be the cause of Qifrey’s tears.
Qifrey’s accusation rings loud in Oruggio’s ears and as absurd as it sounds at first, he slowly starts recalling instances of his own cold, ambiguous behaviour. Oruggio feels dread seize his entire body. Shit . He’s been too proud and so carried away, trying to “out-stubborn” Qifrey, he didn’t even realise he let those dark thoughts cloud his husband’s mind.
“Qifrey.” Oruggio whispers, grabbing his dearest person’s wrist mid-motion and pulling it away from his face. He takes off the glasses, gently pocketing them and starts stroking Qifrey’s face, the rosy flush of his cheeks, the tender redness of his eye, before wiping the wetness away. “Gods, Qifrey. I’m so sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what got into me...”
Qifrey’s shaking his head before Oruggio’s even finished speaking. “It’s not your fault.” Qifrey insists, continuing tending to Oruggio’s hand. “I’m sorry too, for being so inconsiderate. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you right before your deadline...”
Oruggio almost wants to laugh. Inconsiderate? Qifrey?
“No, you were right.” Oruggio says, stubborn and presses on before Qifrey has a chance to interrupt him again. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and I’ve not been prioritising my health at all, and tonight was just proof of it.” He says, giving Qifrey’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I should’ve listened to you.”
Qifrey shakes his head again. “I shouldn’t have lectured you. I’m sorry.” Qifrey says, fiddling with the tassels on Oruggio’s cloak. “I just worry.”
Oruggio’s heart pangs. “I know.”
“And I’m not trying to coddle you, Oru.” Qifrey continues, as if he needs to explain himself at all. “Obviously you can take care of yourself, I just -”
Oruggio can’t take this anymore. He interrupts Qifrey with a kiss on the mouth. It’s a quick, chaste brush of their lips, but it still leaves Qifrey looking pleasantly dazed. Clear testament of how badly they’ve been affected by their fight.
“I know.” Oruggio repeats softly. He gently knocks their foreheads together and simply takes some time to breathe the other man in. Qifrey sighs sweetly against him, content. The nervous fiddling with his clothes has stopped, Oruggio notes, but now Qifrey’s taken to playing with the fingers of Oruggio’s unharmed hand. Then he pulls back a little.
“Can we...” Qifrey says quietly. “Can we not do this again? I know you keep your distance to cool off and I understand if you need space...but I’d almost prefer it if you were yelling at me instead of this unbearable silence.”
“Never again.” Oruggio vows immediately, his throat tight with emotion. He can’t believe he’s let his pettiness get the best of him, let alone hurt his husband. He brings Qifrey’s hand to his lips in a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry… I know it bothers you when I do that and I still did it anyway. I’ll never do it again. In fact, I’ll talk to you all the time now. I’ll never stop talking. I’ll even talk in my sleep. I’ll talk so much you’ll get sick of me in no time.”
Qifrey's resounding giggle is like music to Oruggio’s ears.
“I could never get sick of you.” Qifrey says and smiles his first real smile in what feels like ages. It feels like a peace offering. The sight brings a sudden surge of relief to the fire witch, though it’s accompanied with a pang of regret when he notices the dark circles under Qifrey’s eye. He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink in days, with his disheveled hair and red, swollen eye and nose, yet his eye still twinkles happily now. “Though I do need my sleep. It’s bad enough when you argue with your clients in your dreams.”
Oruggio feels his jaw slacken as pure horror seizes his soul and he can’t quite hold back his gasp. He does that!? Why is he learning this only now-
“Just kidding.” his husband tells him sweetly, narrowly averting what might’ve turned into a deep personal crisis.
“Tsk.” Oruggio huffs, but he’s smiling and he finally dares to snake an arm around Qifrey’s waist to pull him in closer. How did he even survive that horrible week without the easy intimacy between them?
“How’s your hand?” Qifrey asks, checking the bandages as he gently handles Qifrey’s hand.
“Good.” Oruggio answers, pulling Qifrey back towards him. “It’s all good now.”