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What's the saying the unknowing are quite fond of? "Like a deer in the arrow's path" - That's probably it. Qifrey never paid much mind to the more artistic musings of those blessed with wicked ignorance, but for the first time in his life, he'd unknowingly grasped at the straws of their simple weaving.
Yes, truly, Qifrey was a deer in the arrow's path. Hunched and frightened, the world's pain and sorrow clinging to his hooves. He was to become someone's dinner, someone who he holds dear. Ah, the inner workings of life is a true joke, yet it never seems funny when it's supposed to. How cruel. How utterly, utterly cruel.
Qifrey squinted. Under a cover of light hair and the rims of circular glasses, his one remaining eye strained to make out the outline of his closest friend. The night's darkness was tricky to deal with. In the confines of his homely atelier, he'd littered dozens of candles to help fight this increasing problem, but out here, in the silent and endless outreaches of what his dear Coco once named 'their backyard', he was helpless. Qifrey could only rely on his ears.
The man who sat across from him, fazed into a frightening silence, had not moved for a while. On one hand, Qifrey had expected something like this, something so unforgiving and cold. But on the other, he'd wished Olruggio would yell, maybe even scream at him for his foolishness, berate him on how he has no care for himself. It wouldn't even be half of a lie. Olruggio, even in his most fitted anger, was always right. Otherwise he would not be a watchful eye. He would not bear to have such a title. He'd subconsciously have to uphold it still.
Qifrey felt his hands grip fistfuls of the cloak that sat atop his trembling shoulders. The fabric was warm, a tad raggedy from the countless years of being worn day by day. It felt familiar, pressed against his palms like this, an anchor weighing him down.
Qifrey trembled. Trembled like a swoon of birch leaves in a rainstorm, trembled like the fluttering wings of an insect, trembled like pebbles washing ashore. He was frightened, weak, vulnerable and so, so many things that could not be put into words. Qifrey hunched, as if closing in on the fresh-smelling dirt would somehow help him deal with the looming silence. He didn't know what was to come from it, what Olruggio would speak to shatter his porcelain heart into millions of pieces.
Qifrey felt tears singe his eye. For the first time, the one thing that he hated most would come from within. Qifrey anxiously wiped it, knocking off his glasses accidentally. "Please. Forget about everything you've just heard." He broke the silence, unable to stomach it anymore. "Please, Olru, I beg you." Qifrey's timid voice quivered as he picked up his pointy hat, unfurling a glyph from behind one of its many bends.
Qifrey straightened up, leaning towards Olruggio's muddy outline. "Please, please, please, please." He muttered, over and over, inching closer. Qifrey's hands trembled like sketching parchment tossed to the wind.
Suddenly everything stopped. A comfortable warmness clasped around his two icy hands, pricking the pale skin with its dainty pins and needles. Qifrey swallowed a sob. He knew these hands well. They'd guided him through both misery and happiness back in the day, now straying with a fierce distance. But the gap was closed even if just for a moment, the feeling of Olruggio's tender touch brought Qifrey into a momentary stillness.
In this arrangement, Qifrey atop his bent knees while Olruggio sprawled out a change had occurred, one that would bring forth a new morning, a new daily sentiment, a new loss. Olruggio's hands, still carefully grasping Qifrey's, were filled with a new warmth. Something the two had wished for each time they brushed past in the small kitchen, or bid their respective goodnight's.
Qifrey swallowed another, hopeless sob. Olruggio's lips were sweet like ripe berries, plucked right from the forest bed. His hands were as still as the lake under the Tower of Memories. They coaxed Qifrey's body into the same stillness too, forcing his mind to stagger. There was nothing but peace and darkness in this moment, something they had never been familiar with.
Qifrey leaned forward, unbridled longing aching in his bones. He knew this was wrong, he knew this stood against everything he'd sworn to himself, yet under the dazzling sky Qifrey mended his humanly shape to fit in just two scoops of Olruggio's palms.
Qifrey was as still as moonlight cast upon one of the little apprentices'' beds in the deepest hours of the night, one of those hours when the two commendable witches would share tea in a bout of unproclaimed love. Olruggio leaned ever so slightly forward, pressing every unspoken word into Qifrey's slack mouth. One of his hands, now sitting at Qifrey's forearm, molded its grip tighter on the patchy sleeve.
Qifrey's eyelashes fluttered, afraid to open wide, afraid that if he so much as glanced at the man who held him so close, everything would shift back into that waterlogged casket. His shoulders trembled again, shaken by the image. Olruggio pulled Qifrey closer, his hand traveling up to cradle his jaw. The calloused fingers, wordlessly speaking of various inventions, pressed against Qifrey's scarred skin like the softest fabrics his apprentices wore.
Olruggio was so intertwined in his life that Qifrey could not bear to feel him close and not be reminded of the only place that brought him comfort, the atelier that stood meek behind them. Olruggio moved slow like the sun, his lips pressing countless thoughts against Qifrey's parchment white skin and just for this single moment Qifrey could feel the freedom he longed for so, so much.
Olruggio kissed his cheeks, then chin, then both corners of his lips, then the tip and bridge of his nose, then the creases on his forehead, then his closed eyelid and lastly, just below his missing eye, right where the skin and vast emptiness met.
Qifrey swore, a long time ago, that no matter the circumstance, he would not let himself cry. But as Olruggio's cloaked arms pulled him into a warm, loving embrace, Qifrey could not carry this promise anymore. Tears streamed down his sharp face, wetting his hat with their salty cries. Qifrey's palms sat flat against Olruggio's chest as he wept, so quiet, almost like a frightful child. One of Olruggio's hands was placed on Qifrey's back, holding him close, while the other tangled in his messy hair, carding his long fingers through it.
Qifrey cried into the night. He cried about it all: the unfair loss of his history, the fear for his own wellbeing, the anger which protected his students, the longing for blissful ignorance. Olruggio stayed with him all through it. When he indecipherably wept about upholding his images in front of the girls, Olruggio calmly shushed him. When Qifrey sobbed about the Brimhats, Olruggio promised beautiful things to him. When he cried about losing sight, Olruggio drew circles on his back, calming him. And when Qifrey whispered about his wishes of being an unknowing - Olruggio would nod, swaying them carefully.
As the stars twinkled about above the two witches, dancing their final goodbyes for the night, Qifrey's tears dried, pools now empty, only stillness present in his mind. He wept about everything he'd shouldered and Olruggio had listened without an ounce of judgment. His warm arms were still wrapped around Qifrey's frail body, sheltering him from the darkness surrounding them.
"Olly?" Qifrey whispered into his shirt, clutching at the fabric. "Aye?" Olruggio's rugged but calm voice reverberated in his chest, the echo easing Qifrey's tense body. "I'm sorry." Was all he could mutter out, voice strained by a new set of feelings that clawed at his throat.
"Don't ever say that." Olruggio chimed, calm as the ground beneath them. "You owe no apologies." He hummed, pressing his chin atop Qifrey's head. "I tried to wipe your memory. I kept it all from you." Qifrey whined. "I do not mind. It was hard on you, there was not much else you'd think to do." Olruggio whispered into Qifrey's hair, lips pressed against his scalp. "I'm just glad you told me, even if so late." He murmured, planting a kiss, so meek and gentle. Qifrey felt a wave of new tears surge through him.
"I'm sorry." He repeated again, pulling away from the embrace. "I know." Whispered Olruggio. Qifrey could not make out his face, but something in the depths of his stomach knew of the twinkle in Olruggio's eyes, of the crease around his lips and scars hidden by his beard. Something in him knew that Olruggio meant everything, every little touch.
Qifrey would have to learn to live with the comfort of it. He could not bear to turn it away. Qifrey pressed a kiss against Olruggio's nose. "I'm so sorry." He whispered again, foreheads touching. "I know." Olruggio repeated, snaking his hands around Qifrey's shoulders. "Let's go to home. The girls will miss us." He murmured, rising to his feet.
Olruggio pulled Qifrey up, feeling his knees wobble. He held up the man the entire way back, rigid steps one after another. As they approached the door, Qifrey pulled them to a halt.
"Please, please don't go." He whispered, voice shaking with every plausible emotion his languid body could house. "I will never. You know that well." Olruggio caressed Qifrey's cheek, a fond glint to his eyes shining like one of the many stars above.
Qifrey's lips tugged at a smile as he pressed them against Olruggio's, sharing a quick kiss before he herded two of them inside, back into the warm glow of their home.