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On the last Saturday evening of every month, the atelier has a tradition of spending the night together. Instead of all the girls going up to their rooms, the masters staying up a little bit later to make some midnight snacks, they stay up for as long as they can together. A fort of pillows and blankets in the living room, a gentle flame thrumming in the hearth to keep away the bitter cold outside, smaller lights floating in the room to offer cozy illumination as they remain awake through the witching hours. Sharing old fables, making up their own stories by firelight with their own wild twists and turns, creating magic that may not be ‘useful’ in the traditional sense, but it was the kind of magic that brought smiles to their faces and imbued their chests with warmth.
Tonight, the girls asked Qifrey to read them a story, their large and innocent eyes beseeching him so that he could never refuse. Even Agott, who often liked to act as if she was too old for things so childish as bedtime stories, sent an array of furtive looks towards Qifrey, as if silently begging for him to understand her mutual desire for a story night. A reader’s soul, truly.
Qifrey smiled, unable to say no, so effortlessly endeared by the young witches in his atelier. He went to the bookshelf, picking out a fairly short story, one written by an Unknowing about a witch who ran away from her coven of royal witches to go on an epic quest. Along the way, the young witch made a collection of unlikely friends, and most importantly, she found herself.
The story is clearly written by an Unknowing because of how witches are able to cast spells by a flick of a wand through air, whispered incantations that don’t involve any form of drawing, and the mere fact that animals as familiars and magical royalty exist. Still, it makes for an enjoyable story, one that Qifrey recalls enjoying in his own youth, nostalgia welling in his chest as he reads out the words he once pored over with the innocent wonder of childhood. It’s also a story that he can narrate without worrying too much about his apprentices blurring reality with fiction.
As he reads, he can sense that his apprentices are sharing the same joy he once held over this story. Coco and Tetia are fully engrossed in the story, Riche keeps adding her own commentary alongside the characters, and Agott keeps trying to read over Qifrey’s shoulder to see what will happen next. He smiles at them, wishing distantly to himself that there was an inscription that involves stealing away moments of time so he could manifest them whenever he needed to reminisce. A reminder that his life didn’t always have to be rife with pain and discomfort, for even in the darkest of corners, there were still rays of light that managed to seep through the cracks.
“The witch’s feline familiar told the little witch that she shouldn’t have run away,” Qifrey narrates the final words of the story, finger tracing underneath each word on the page. “He said, ‘ There are three essential things that a witch needs above all else, even more so than magic; family, friendship, and love’ and the little witch was overcome with realization. She’d long since attained what she’d been searching for all along; not an elixir or a powerful spell, but a sense of home and belonging.”
The words strike a chord within Qifrey, remembers how the words shook him to his core when he was a much younger and withdrawn child, an effect it still carries this far into his adulthood. It’s not the same kind of wonder, but the tightness in his chest remains, albeit more uncomfortable rather than joyful.
He looks up from the book and sees Olruggio look at him over a glass of ale with a gaze so soft that Qifrey stutters over his words, quickly averting his gaze lest anyone notice the way his pulse spiked all too suddenly. Closes the book with too much strength, the sound making Tetia startle, for which he gives her a sheepish smile.
“Did you all like the story?” Qifrey asks them.
“It’s kind of cheesy.” Agott shrugs, but the high blush on her cheeks suggests she enjoyed it more than she let on. “But I guess it was alright.” Bingo.
“I loved it!” Coco exclaims, making animated gesticulations with her hands, “especially the part where Karena saves the boy from the night creatures.”
“Yes, because that was the first time she really put her neck out for someone else besides herself,” Tetia says dreamily.
“Well that’s the whole point of being a witch, isn’t it?” Riche adds on. “To use magic to help others, not just yourself.”
“Yeah, but isn’t it too bold to state that family, friendship, and love matter more than magic?” Agott demands, brows knitting together in frustration. “Nothing could be more important than magic, only an Unknowing would say something so ludicrous.”
The whole time, Qifrey was humming along while listening to the girls discuss amongst themselves, sharing a secret smile with Olruggio across the room, but Agott’s statement makes him pause. Coco and Tetia look aghast at Agott’s statement, Riche pensive as she mulls it over. Qifrey knows he should intervene, but he doesn’t quite know what to say to appease everyone. He’s their professor, is supposed to be all-knowing, the one with all the answers to every hypothetical scenario – and yet, such a simple argument from a children’s story has him stumped.
Once, when he’d read this story, he thought the ending of the story to be true. Something that if he tried hard enough, he could actively achieve, but now he’s older and he knows better. Knows that happy endings like these can’t be met simply by being good or having people love or care for him.
He also knows that even if happy endings can be feasible for some, they certainly are not for him. Those are not the cards that he’s been dealt in this life.
He plasters a smile onto face, patting Agott and Riche’s heads softly, which the girls take as a cue to quell their argument.
“Agott, you should know by now that magic and skill aren’t the most important things to attain in life. You all deserve family, friendship, love – like the book says, it’ll make you stronger – give you a reason to keep moving forward.”
“I guess so,” Agott scoffs, looking evidently unconvinced, but then her eyes flicker towards Coco for a moment before immediately averting her gaze with a dust of pink coloring her cheeks. Coco cocks her head to the side, curious, though Qifrey has his own suspicions behind such a peculiar action. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, it’s all just fiction anyway.”
“That’s the fun part of fantasy stories like this, though!” Coco exclaims, smiling at Agott brightly. “It transports you to new worlds and there’s always something to learn from them, kind of like studying magic, but different.”
Agott doesn’t deign Coco with a response, crossing her arms over her chest. His chest warms, though, because despite Agott’s harsh words, he knows that she would always put Coco and the other girls first when push comes to shove. He squeezes her shoulder, hoping she understands that he isn’t alienating or attacking her, and she only nods in assent.
“Hey girls, it’s getting pretty late,” Olruggio says, finally intervening to point at the clock overhead, showing that it’s a quarter past midnight now. Qifrey just barely manages to hold back from letting out an audible sigh of relief. “It’s probably time for all of us to go to bed soon.”
There are some sounds of complaint, especially from Riche, but they begrudgingly start to dismantle the pillow fort so they can go to bed. Qifrey watches them go up, one by one, laughing sheepishly at the pointed look Riche gives him from the top of the staircase. Ever since she found out about Olruggio and him staying up most nights, she’s been keeping a close eye on them, which has Qifrey constantly looking over his shoulder lest Riche see anything other than innocuous cooking adventures.
Once all the girls went up, the gentle clicks of their doors resounding throughout the atelier, Qifrey let out a heavy sigh and crumpled onto the couch once more. He loves being a master and teacher more than anything else, wouldn’t trade it for all the world’s riches or magical status, but some days are difficult. Sometimes, donning a mask of perfect understanding and impartiality to all his girls can be draining, rendering him exhausted afterwards despite doing so little.
Olruggio smiles at him sympathetically, offering him his ale, which Qifrey gratefully accepts. He doesn’t much care for alcohol, but today, he feels as if he needs the burn running down his throat and the slight buzz to disrupt the loud mess of his thoughts. He takes a generous swig, sighing at how it goes down perfectly, eliciting a contented sigh from his chest.
“Don’t take it to heart,” Olruggio says, brushing away a stray trail of alcohol that must have dribbled down his chin. “They’re just at that age where they have to question everything.”
Of course, Olruggio noticed how bothered Qifrey got, saw through all of his fake smiles and consolations that resonated hollow to anyone who’d care to pay attention to his words. Empty words that he only spoke to tide things over, didn’t want to be the cruel teacher who disillusions his students with stories about how cruel the world is and how jaded he’s become with it. He wanted his students to find the same kind of comfort in this story that he once did, all those years ago, even if they’d eventually realize how meaningless those words are as they grow older.
The longer his students remain innocent and happy, enthralled by the wonders of magic and their bonds together, the better. It’s all Qifrey wants for his students, to shelter them from their world’s cruelty and horrors for as long as he can.
“Never mind it, it doesn’t mean anything. I shouldn’t have gotten worked up over something so silly.” Qifrey shrugs. He takes another swig of ale, already starting to feel it kicking in because he’s a bit of a lightweight unlike Olruggio who’s always drowning himself in the stuff, and glowers at Olruggio. “And you, Olly, are not off the hook! Why didn’t you say anything to back me up?”
Olruggio laughs, rubbing his fingers against the nape of his neck, applying pressure against the knot that’s formed there. Qifrey groans, arching his neck to give Olruggio more access, letting his magic fingers knead the knots out of his neck. His skin warms at the intimacy of his touch, even though there isn’t anything inherently sexual about it, but Olruggio’s touch on his skin has always felt nice.
“My bad, Qifrey, don’t be mad at me. I guess I was just curious what you’d say if I’m being honest? You already had a weird expression on your face while reading that part,” Olruggio muses.
Qifrey curses Olruggio internally for how oblivious he is about everything except when it pertains to him. Only when it comes to him, Olruggio will become so observant and perceptive, picking up on every minor detail. It’s sweet, yes, but is also infuriating because it means Qifrey has to struggle so much to hide anything from him.
“Is that so? And was my reply acceptable to you?”
“Not really.” Olruggio shifts to rubbing Qifrey’s shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt. “It didn’t sound sincere, and you were also distancing yourself from the statement. You said ‘you deserve those things’, not ‘we’, which implies you don’t think you deserve it, too, which is definitely false by the way.”
Damn him, Qifrey thinks, because of course Olruggio would find the truths nestled in his lies. He hates him for it, but also hates how much he loves him even more for it. It’s not fair that Olruggio is so perfect the way that he is.
“Agree to disagree,” Qifrey replies mulishly.
“That won’t fly here, Qifrey.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Olly.”
“Yes, we do.”
Olruggio stops his massage much to Qifrey’s disgruntlement and turns him around bodily to face him, taking the bottle of ale out of his hands and placing it on the table near them. He cups his cheeks between his hands. Calloused and ink-stained hands, a tell of a witch’s love and dedication to the craft of magic, so warm just like the rest of Olruggio is, which Qifrey decides to use as an excuse for why his cheeks are so hot right now. A weak excuse because that warmth is imbibed from his heart, bleeding with each heartbeat, heating him up from the inside out.
Olruggio is close enough that Qifrey could study every detail on his face, even with his failing vision, and commit it all to memory. Every line, every blemish, the crease of his lips and the slope of his nose. He closes his eye before it can wander to his eyes, because if he has to meet Olruggio’s dark gaze too, he might just fall apart completely.
“I know you’re not so stubborn as to claim that things like family and love don’t matter,” Olruggio says, brushing a small circle underneath Qifrey’s eye. “But please don’t tell me that you think you’re unworthy of the things mentioned in that book.”
The answer to that question is that, naturally, Qifrey doesn’t believe in it. Maybe for his girls, yes, for Olruggio too. Even if this world is a cruel, unjust place, he sincerely hopes that they can find the beauty amidst the barren ugliness that besmirches this place. For him, on the other hand? No. He’s not so delusional as to think that those are things that he can attain, the warmth of loving and being loved, is not something that Qifrey is allowed to have. His failing eye that worsens steadily by the day, the missing holes in Olruggio’s memories that he isn’t even aware of, only serve to further prove this point.
And of course, he could never forget the curse upon him that reminds him every minute of every day that he is not allowed to savor this comfort. Every good thing in his life is something he is only allowed to hold at arm’s length, distant and discordant, the moments slipping through his fingers like grains of sand that are impossible to keep hold of.
He is broken, defunct, and has muddied his hands more than once as a means to an end. He’s been this way since he was a boy, found with no memories and a missing eye, living up to every terrible hushed rumor that was whispered about him being a monster and an aberrant.
For someone like him, happy endings like the ones written in story books for children, aren’t meant for him.
“It’s just a children’s book, Olly, you’re taking it too seriously –”
“Answer the question, Qifrey.”
“Why does it matter so much to you what I think?”
“Because it frustrates me, that’s why!” Olruggio whisper shouts so he doesn’t rouse the girls, ever so considerate even when he’s angry. Qifrey opens his eye, startled at the genuine exasperation etched on Olruggio’s face. “You went through so much pain and hurt, you deserve everything, and I would literally give it all to you if you just asked. ”
“Olly, I –”
“And you know what the worst part is?” Olruggio continues, his face twisting into a pained expression that shakes Qifrey to his core, “is that you don’t even realize that you already have everything that could ever matter. You have me, your students who adore you, not as a teacher, but as their father figure. You love them more than anything in this world, but they love you too, so much. And you have me, your best friend who will follow you into the depths of hell if I had to, and I – I care for you, Qifrey. I care for you and I love you so damn much, have been caring and loving you ever since we were kids, and I will continue to do so till the end of time, and you’re never able to see that.”
His words land like a lance to Qifrey’s heart, sharp and all-consuming, the pain festering within him. He didn’t want Olruggio to think he’s unaware of all he does for him, for him to think that he is unappreciative.
Because he knows, he sees, and he will never not be grateful for everything that he has.
“Olly, please, you know it’s not like that,” Qifrey beseeches him, placing his own hands over Olruggio’s, cold and clammy against the comforting warmth he radiates. “You know it’s not.”
“Then tell me what it’s like, explain it to me so I can understand.”
Qifrey is quiet, unable to tell Olruggio that he does know. He sees and knows everything that he just mentioned, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to have them. Even if he could have them, he would never be worthy of them. He is not like the little witch in that book, her heart pure and kind, or Olruggio or any of his girls. He is tainted and corrupt. Happy endings aren’t made for people like him.
If anything, he’s riddled with guilt for having so much he doesn’t deserve, the kind of happiness that he can’t retain when his past is so tainted that it irrevocably twisted his future, too.
His chest tightens around his aching heart, hating how much everything hurts and how much he’s always hurting Olruggio. This is how it is because he can’t find it within himself to open up to anyone, not to his girls who he loves as if they’re his own, and not even to Olruggio who has been there since he had cognizant memory. As a friend when Qifrey didn’t think he’d ever be able to have one of those, shunned as he was; his Watchful Eye who stays in his atelier under Qifrey’s request because it couldn’t be anyone else but Olruggio for him; and now as his husband who he loves more than anyone else.
Even if this world is ugly, hellish and cruel, he knows he will find heaven wherever Olruggio is.
And yet, he’s unable to trust him no matter how much he loves him. He wishes he could let him in, allow himself to freely love and be loved, but he simply can’t. Thanks to the silverwood curse, that is not a luxury he is allowed to have.
“I love the girls,” Qifrey tells him, “I cherish our friendship together above all else, and I love you, more than words could ever express.”
Olruggio’s eyes shutter closed. “But it’s not enough.”
Qifrey wishes he could lie to Olruggio, but he’s already lied to him enough times to haunt him through several lifetimes over, so he decides not to.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry that I’m so broken, I know that loving me mustn’t be easy.
“Don’t apologize.” Olruggio presses a kiss to Qifrey’s forehead, then another one to each of his cheeks, pressing a final one to his lips. Chaste, sweet, and salty. For a moment, he thinks that Olruggio is crying, when he realizes that it’s his own tears falling from his eye, filtering into the kiss. Bittersweet. “My sweet, good Qifrey, I know that you’re like this, but I maintain my point that you are more than worthy of every good thing this world has to offer. And until the day that comes where you can believe that, I will continue to love you enough for the both of us.”
Qifrey, overwhelmed under the weight of emotion that threatens to crush his heart into a million little pieces he will never be able to piece together – not without Olruggio’s help that is – pulls Olruggio in close. Kisses him so hard, trying to convey all the emotions he can’t say out loud, but is sure that Olruggio would be able to glean, nonetheless, because nobody knows him better than Olruggio. He kisses him with all the love he possesses, and Olruggio returns his kiss with the same fervor and love.
Despite knowing how far-fetched it is, Qifrey finds himself wishing like he is still a young boy again, naive enough to believe in miracles of the universe. Underneath the weight of his collapsing chest that one day, Qifrey dreams of a future where he hasn’t run out of time and he can make amends with his past, so he can finally accept the love that Olruggio gives him so freely and reciprocate that love properly and openly, without any shame or guilt to weigh him down. Hopes that if that day comes, Olruggio will still be waiting for him so Qifrey can give him all the love that he deserves. The pair of them happy in their humble atelier with their girls who they both love as their own.
One day, Qifrey promises to himself despite knowing how prone he is to break them, he will be worthy of being the man who stands by Olruggio’s side and he will make him the happiest man who’s ever lived.