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it's just like back then.
he had always firmly believed he could hold his liquor, but that evening had been so balmy - the children had laughed through the day, it was before his eye had started to fail - before coco - before much. he had been able, that day, to betray himself.
"I couldn't do any of this without you."
his olly had given an easy laugh over the willow wine, a pleased and shy grin. "prob'ly not. but you'd have one less person to worry about, too."
"and one less person to worry about me." why had he taken his hand, done something he would not have done sober? "I need you."
"we need each other," had been the exasperated retort, with a roll of the eye - but then realising the depth of his own words, olly had muttered, "I mean - ahh, what are you even making me say-"
"you don't have to say it." qifrey had smiled. "but we could say these things."
"why would we need to do that?"
"like others do. I sometimes wonder what that would be like. if you want to." they had drained their cups with erratic hearts, and all evening had sat a little closer on the settle.
why had he said it? why had he let his guard down? it was perhaps the time he had been the most selfish in his life. the scope of the conversation had gone somewhere else - a place they hadn't even agreed to go that night. to get olly somewhere, at times you have to take him by the hand and hoist him with you. lead him into the sun, accompany him to the future. or is it the other way around?
looking back, qifrey is only disturbed by his own irresponsibility. what he needs is for someone to hold him back. but their arms, their hands had been touching then - and he had not been pushed away.
it had led to any number of dangerous moments.
the more trouble happened, the more morose and anxious drink made him, the brighter it made olruggio. "being a witch means making what you want to happen, happen." and he had shyly taken qifrey's fingers in his. "if you want to."
oh, olly. when you only become a witch after something you would never have wanted to happen has happened, things are different.
when the first magic you ever knew was that of your ruin, things are different. but I'm glad, olly. I'm glad you still don't know that.
now, the brief gust scatters the late summer blossoms over their legs. now the scent grips his senses, and as ever, his body processes things inappropriately - his throat hurts, when he should be smiling. for it's been a good day, full of work and purpose, laughter and devotion - and the pair of them sit cosy under the trees, partway through an evening hill walk.
"once, you know," he mumbles faintly - gazing into the pale pink and yellow, perfectly formed and fallen petals, "once when I was feeling bad in a crowd, coco asked of me, is it really okay for me to be having this much fun? ... I had to tell her, it's okay. it's okay. you're allowed to have fun right now." perceptively, his companion does not respond. so he elaborates. "it's amazing how much it startled me out of myself. later that day you turned up as well, and it took me a while to realise I'd completely forgotten how bad I'd felt. it's taken this long... to have a life that makes me forget."
"ah... the silver night festival, I suppose?" olruggio scratches the back of his neck, voice gentle and cautious.
"not just then. many times. many times you do this for me." the scent is still heady. he is lost under the roses, the jasmine, under the pollen of the dream tree. "you make me put things out of mind."
he thought this inevitable moment, perhaps the first time he has ever seriously tried to pass the gulf and express the core of these feelings, would feel grander - more of a climax. instead his voice rings hollow even to himself, at the same time as it shakes. he still isn't even putting it right. he wants his friend to understand: that he is communicating something of complicated significance. so he looks up.
olruggio is indeed very still, and with one of his stern faces - but no, it is a face qifrey has never seen before. for a moment, that too is terrifying - and then once more, the fact that he has been drawn even deeper into the study of this man is its own surprise.
"I want you to know how bewitching that is," qifrey murmurs at length, his voice now sounding how olruggio's face looks. serious, not sweet. he does not colour it with affection, or sentiment - please, are his feelings getting across? that I am not at my ease. that... "you take me somewhere else. I only hope you have any idea where we are going. because I have not an idea. I want you to know that, too." finally, his swimming thoughts settle on a suitable phrase, like breaking the surface. "you take me from my element."
now looking uncomfortable, olruggio turns his flushed face aside; until it is obscured by the shadow of leaves.
"well, I wanted to. when I lit the fire, I wanted you to forget the water." the... and qifrey is transported back, to that moment huddled over a flame in a forest, two tiny faces lit by a single force. "for a moment... just a moment - that's all I asked of you - not of you, of course not you - forgive me - of... of this world." a breath. "that there's something else. there's something else to think about. there is. I know that was selfish of me. no, I mean-" and qifrey catches a scrunched brow, a mouth flustered while fumbling hard for appropriate words of his own. it's an almost audible effort. then that nose twitches in a grim satisfaction as he too finds them. "I think it was bold of me, and I apologise."
qifrey looks down at their overlapping skirts, and the grass and the petals, silently as if back into that fire - chest aching just as restlessly. olly still doesn't get it. if you forget the water - if you forget what was given against your will - what was taken - you are betraying yourself - if anyone dares to cross that path of rain and take you from it, it's another form of theft.
they're stealing you from yourself. for you have to embody your pain - to make up the difference. to curl around the hole of what was spirited from your body, to attend it forever. like a mourner - like a corpse. like a vengeful spirit of hell.
water comes to his eye now, too. it always comes for him.
at qifrey's huff of impatience, at the violent brush of fingers to scatter the embarrassing tear away, olruggio is alert. his own hand flexes a little as if to offer comfort, and that exquisitely kind attention only prompts another drop to fall. this is what none of you understand. trying to maintain him, to guide him away from his trauma only reminds him more and more, and more and more, of just what he was cursed with.
it's exactly this feeling of seductive contentment, and family, and fulfilment, that makes the emptiness hollower.
he's not like they say - a fine man despite his trials, a - a good teacher. it isn't possible for him. he's not even like coco, for whom there is the burning vitality of a happy childhood, the purity of precious maternal memories like a candle in your heart. for even when he sees the happy smiling faces of children whose lives he has enriched - the one in himself is jealous. at the same time as he loves, in some part of his soul the child resents - not them, but himself; the part that has abandoned it to assist another. he has come even to admit that now, and it's the surest sign that none of this can last long.
it's not so terrible as way back then. when he used to almost hate his fellow pupils - so able to laugh and relax in a way utterly beyond him. it's that giving children something makes it hurt the more that others suffer irreparably at the hands of adults and may never, ever get back what they had. his vision blurs a moment - and the future cannot be ours either. yes, with coco it has become a shred easier; because she is the only child he has met who feels so much like him. but the desperation to fulfil the poor girl's expectations becomes another form of shame. olly doesn't even realise just how deep the vicarious reliance on her runs. the man looks stunned now as qifrey turns off the water - assembles his wet features into a perfect, stone-like smile. olly doesn't understand anything at all.
for I make you forget what you have realised. up on the starlit hill - what he did - it was the moment qifrey knew this - them - couldn't be allowed to go any deeper either, for so many reasons. there is no hope whose root is despair.
he's an adult who needs a child; an adult with the rotten heart of one. and he cannot abandon that child in him, he cannot turn away.
he is the only one in the world who took its pain all the way here.
I cannot give it to you.
I cannot give me, to you.
*
*
*
the night steals from the day so gently, almost against its will.
it reminds him of another night, of so many; of every one they have shared together; wandering the slopes in search of something, finding it in each other's company. watching the stars throw down themselves and thinking I wish, I wish, I wish.
and olruggio hangs the rim of his mantle across qifrey's shoulder, makes him startle - but not really. not really.
he gives himself one moment to marvel in the feeling of boundless safety, then brushes the cloak off, as he must. this is more inappropriate than ever. after all, now -
"we both have had something important stolen from us."
that firm, solemn voice arrests qifrey's retreating step. his heart clenches. memories are very important to people, coco. if we can help it, we must do our absolute best to avoid having to take them. they make up the heart of who we are. he hears the short, laboured puff of breath which still characterises olruggio trying to find the right words. for qifrey's part, he cannot say I'm sorry any more. he's said it too many times - though olly doesn't even remember just how many - to allow it of himself now.
"it's done."
if this is olruggio's chosen statement, it isn't a simple one. or an easy one, from him. it reveals a breadth of consideration that he will have lent to the twisted matter, since he found out. but it just isn't enough - especially not when he continues, "do not take yourself from me, any more. never do that again, and-"
"I want you to think about this deeper, olly. you gave your self willingly to me, as an ally, as... and I-"
"being unable to forget what you've done, is the only penance for making me forget. I want you to bear that." olruggio's murmur is dark, unreadable, even as he takes his hand - though they are sober - and stares down at it. the softness of touch a shocking complement to the hard weight of words. "I'm not letting anything more be taken from us."
"I was the one who took it! it wasn't someone else!" qifrey hisses rapidly, entreatingly - pained and humiliated by the ingratitude of his own tone.
"that's why - you are the only one I could begin to - to forgive this of, I don't know - in the whole world. be aware of what I am saying." he is gripping that hand and not letting go, his eyes piercing like black fire. but qifrey doesn't know what he's saying, he still doesn't get it either. no matter how much they could discuss it, the fact is, he knew from the beginning that he could never forgive himself. a feeling only equal in strength to knowing that it absolutely, unquestionably had to be done.
it's an irrevocable fracture, like a fissure down a mirror; one that can reflect their faces but never again be as it was. even if the pieces seem to match up.
"do not take yourself from me again," olruggio himself urges, loudly - deep voice finally cracking through with emotion and volume. he can command attention when he needs to, with ease. qifrey doesn't feel alarmed - it feels better this way. yes, that's it, olly. this is what rings truthful. I know you have it in you. make me feel so much shame I would rather be struck down by you than held - because I'm not there yet. I've never been there. "I don't want to let go of you - but I'm sure, you would have known that."
"I -" qifrey must stoke the passion now, he must fan the flames to find out the depth of what olruggio must really be feeling, he must incense him - "I took myself from you because you would want to help me, and you could not."
"'cause I came to mean something to you, I also became a liability to you. I'm not gonna tell you I understand that. but only something that is of great value can really be taken from someone, yes?" he is shaking. "when it comes to matters of protection or, or harm, only great things - like memories - eyes - can be sacrificed. only they will mean anything. I am telling you that I at least understand that."
"no, but-"
"if you want to end this now, do it again - here -" with voice heavy like close thunder, he plucks the hat from qifrey's head and pushes it into convulsing hands - "make me forget this moment - give back my heart. if that's what you want, do it. do it!" it's the cruellest thing he could possibly say - they both know that - qifrey is shaking with horror and panic - the hat falls.
there is no sound for a few moments but their quick, desperate breaths.
olruggio collects himself first, looking exhausted. his grip on qifrey's elbows is cautious yet strong, like with a feverish child. "listen to me. you did save me if you took away some of those feelings that I was failing you. if - if I learnt so much of your torment that it had to be taken from me, I'm sure I must have felt deep pain. in that, I thank you."
"olly- no," qifrey mutters, repelled, strained; mouth dry and sore. he can barely speak, but for this he must. "please - don't. don't - degrade yourself, please. you know you shouldn't be thanking me for - not for that." his control is so poor, the tone is regretfully impatient once more - so inappropriate for expressing his unbearable mortification. there simply is no pitch of voice for an emotion like this.
"I already ran through my other feelings," olly sighs, equally fractured and impatient. they really cannot talk about these things normally. "still am. every damn day - I'm still shocked - I'm still - I can't - that's why I'll only do this once. some things should only be said once. so just - just don't forget it."
qifrey feels his shoulders sink, the slump of his head and arms; the shuddering now impossible to forbid. he is in danger. this time, he cannot stop it. he hates this, does anything he can to hold back fully crying - restrains his heart with chains - anything, so as not to feel the empty pull around his scar, the socket screaming for catharsis, for release. but there's nothing to be done. it could open up now for all he could do about it, and let out the floods; of water, of blood - and olly's hand is still gripping his elbow, with his own force. and as ever - his pull is stronger, his warmth to this water.
of all the things olly has unknowingly made him forget - about the anguish, the retribution, even if just for a second - it's true.
nobody could keep him from remembering this moment.
"push me away, stop this now - if you want," are his choked words, his head buried in his dearest friend's shoulder, the fabric and the skin. this is - there is no going back from this. his hands are holding on to this back for dear life.
"shut up." the answering whisper is calm. though as olruggio skims up qifrey's own spine in distraction, settling them together, hearts frantic against another - his hand catches against qifrey's head. and as that hand pats awkwardly, gently, firmly - thumb atop ear and the rest of his fingers enclosed needily in curls - those fingers tremble.
"I'm your watchful eye, because you've only got one left. I'm the one to stop you from doing things you shouldn't, 'cause you need me. and I'll be by your side forever if you'll only, if you'll only let me! so do, you absolute fool. let me have you." his voice is the more urgent for how tired he sounds, straight into qifrey's ear as they cling to each other.
that's the sum of it. and indeed, as they lie under olruggio's cloak with eyes squeezed shut, hand in hand; arm in arm; mouth upon shy mouth, the scent of night flowers is unforgettable.