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It was late. The atelier was quiet; the girls were asleep. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of their professor. Qifrey was currently flipping through textbooks, desperately trying to plan lessons for the next few days. Between everything happening recently, Qifrey had fallen a bit behind, not to mention how difficult it was to teach Coco the basics while still keeping the other three entertained with their own independent work. Not that Coco wasn't doing brilliantly—she was, truly—but suddenly gaining a student didn't leave Qifrey with a whole lot of free time.
Which is how he ended up still awake, a decision that would almost definitely end with him falling asleep at the kitchen table, waking up to the girls laughing at his predicament. He could picture their faces now. Tetia utterly failing to hold a single laugh; Riche’s soft smile, which was her version of uproarious laughter; and Agott trying not to, but eventually a few chuckles breaking through. He didn’t know how Coco laughed yet, which was a strange thought. She hadn’t even been in his life that long, and she’d already wormed her way into his heart.
Qifrey stared out the window, watching as clouds gathered and rain started to fall. His thoughts were heavy in his head, and he sighed into his hands. Papers and textbook pages crinkled under his elbows, a reminder. He could feel the late hour in his bones, in his slowing blinks. The accompanying soft patter of rain outside didn't help him in the staying awake department. Even if he wasn't the biggest fan of water, its sound could still soothe him.
Maybe that was Olly's influence, though. He loved the rain, that heathen. The sound of it steadily beating against the window conjured images of a young Olruggio laughing and splashing in puddles, his ribbon whirling around him, trying and failing to get Qifrey to come with him.
Qifrey rubbed at his eye from under his glasses. His vision seemed foggier than usual tonight, though maybe that was a sign he should just go to sleep. It wouldn't do him any good to pass out in the middle of lessons tomorrow, or have an aching back all day from sleeping hunched over a table. He put his pen down, officially giving up on his very incomplete lesson plan, instead shuffling through other papers scattered on the table. Unfortunately, the lessons weren't the only thing on the to-do list for tonight. Case in point, there was an unfinished grocery list wedged under a textbook, and even his love of cooking couldn't keep Qifrey from sighing again at the sight of it. So much to do, so little time, and so little of him.
They needed more groceries and supplies—the pros of gaining a new home resident—so maybe tomorrow could just be a field trip to the local market. Fun for the kids, did not require the use of lessons he hadn't yet written.
Qifrey nodded to himself, beginning to move various note-covered papers and books into a messy stack. Olruggio would scold him if he left things too disorganized, would say he was setting a bad example for the girls.
As if summoned by Qifrey's thoughts of him, Olruggio stumbled into the kitchen a moment later. He looked terrible, eyes bloodshot and bleary, his cloak thrown haphazardly over him and partially dragging on the floor. Olruggio beelined towards a cabinet, either pointedly ignoring Qifrey’s presence or being so exhausted he genuinely didn’t notice.
If things had become harder for Qifrey since Coco’s arrival, things had gotten even harder for Olruggio. While Qifrey got a small stipend from the Great Hall, most of their money came from Olruggio’s commissions. He worked himself far too hard at the best of times, but now with a new child to take care of, he’d been skipping sleep and meals more often than not. Not to mention the added load to his Watchful Eye duties, especially with Coco attracting trouble like a magnet.
Qifrey stood slowly and crept closer, as if Olruggio were a particularly skittish cat. How long had he been working this time?
With shaking hands, Olruggio rummaged through a cabinet, seemingly looking for a cup. To get more caffeine, no doubt. Qifrey watched him. He knew Olruggio well enough to know that one: he had noticed Qifrey and was, in fact, pointedly ignoring him, and two: he had not gotten any sleep in at least 24 hours. Had he even eaten today? He’d only briefly appeared this morning to steal a piece of bread during breakfast and vanish once again into the ether.
Qifrey glanced at a clock. He supposed that would’ve been yesterday morning by now. When he looked back, Olruggio was pouring some tea into his chosen cup. Tea from hours ago, that had now gone woefully cold. Theoretically, Olruggio could easily heat it up, but it didn’t look like he had the mental capacity to even drink it without spilling it all over himself, let alone draw out a proper spell to heat it. At least it wasn't alcohol.
“You should be asleep.”
Olruggio huffed, setting the kettle down with a clank and immediately wincing at the sound, “Says you .”
He had a point, as Qifrey was also awake at this unholy hour. What great role models they both made. At least he didn’t make a habit of it, unlike some Watchful Eyes he could name. Oblivious to Qifrey’s riveting internal monologue, Olruggio continued his rummaging, pulling out a few wafers that were probably stale by now. Cold tea and wafers that taste like dirt. How filling.
“You need to actually eat something,” Qifrey said before Olruggio could pull his vanishing act again.
Olruggio finally turned to look at Qifrey, a spectacularly done expression on his face. Beneath the snark, he looked exhausted, eyebags almost as dark as his hair, like pure spite was the only thing keeping him from falling face-first into their kitchen counter. Wouldn’t that be a sight?
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Olruggio opened his mouth to respond, but Qifrey cut him off before he could even try. “And that bread from earlier doesn’t count. That was barely even a snack.”
Olruggio’s jaw snapped shut, and he simply glared. Right on cue, his stomach let out a low growl. Instead of acknowledging it, he merely glared harder at Qifrey, as if it was somehow his fault that his body was betraying him like this.
It was such a classic Olruggio expression, sleep-deprived and grumpy, that it made a warm fondness fill Qifrey’s chest. Olly was rather good at making warmth, it seemed.
Qifrey stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Olruggio’s shoulder, using the other to remove the biscuits from his grasp.
“I’ll make you something, come on.”
“It’s late,” he protested, despite how he was already sinking into the touch, already leaning his weight against Qifrey’s.
“I know.”
“I have work to do,” he grumbled, but did not overly protest as Qifrey led him into a chair. That alone said wonders about his level of exhaustion. It was, coincidentally, the chair that Qifrey had almost fallen asleep in moments before.
“I think you’ve worked enough for now.”
Despite his grumbling, Olruggio practically sank into the seat. He leaned back into the chair, eyes closing as he tilted his head up. There was ink smudged on the pads of his fingers, on his palms, along the bottom of his shirt. Evidence of a long night of fruitless spell-crafting. He smudged some on his forehead as he ran a hand through his hair, combing through countless tangles. He really had to take better care of himself.
Qifrey tutted softly as he turned back to the kitchen, busying himself with grabbing leftovers. They’d had soup tonight—or last night, rather. Tetia had gotten very excited about chopping vegetables, and Coco had been surprisingly good at dicing them up. Qifrey guessed she used to cook with her mother, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you asked.
A sigh came from Olruggio’s corner of the room. Qifrey knew that sigh well.
“Another commission?” he asked.
Olruggio grunted, his version of an affirmative answer. That was what, the third one in as many weeks? Despite how he played at disliking Coco, all the new projects Olruggio was taking on were proof of how much he cared. Qifrey smiled to himself as he stirred the reheating leftovers. What a fool.
“Who is it this time?”
“Another noble,” Olruggio groaned, his annoyance evident. He’d made no secret of his distaste for nobility and their lack of understanding when it came to magic. However, they paid quite a lot.
Qifrey smiled to himself again as he turned to the discarded kettle, setting it up to heat. It was herbal tea, obviously. Olruggio certainly didn’t need any more caffeine in his system.
“You don’t have to do that, Qifrey,” Olruggio said once he noticed it steeping. It was remarkable how much softer his voice had become in the span of a few seconds, almost fond.
“Quiet you,” Qifrey retorted, “if you keep acting reckless like this you’ll catch another cold, and then where will we be?”
A beat of silence, and then, “That was one time.”
A quiet moment passed as the food heated up and the kettle warmed. The sound of rain filled the gap in conversation, a rhythmic pattering against the windows. Qifrey leaned against the counter, watching Olruggio. His eyes were closed, resting but not asleep, head perched on his intertwined fingers.
In the low light, Olruggio was mostly a silhouette against the dark blue of the windows. Still, Qifrey could make out the strong slope of his nose, the mess of his hair, the slight glint of his rings. He made even the rain seem beautiful when he was accompanying it.
The kettle suddenly let out a shrill whistle, making both of them jump, Qifrey banging his shin loudly on a cabinet in his haste to quiet it. As he poured the tea, he could hear Olruggio laughing at him. He laughed harder when Qifrey put his hand right on the cup and gave a small yelp at the heat.
After a few moments of waving his hand in the air and hissing, Qifrey carefully carried the meal over, reminded of how he’d done the same for the girls only hours ago. Of course, then the kitchen table hadn’t been covered in textbooks and poor attempts at budgeting. He really had to clean that up.
He set down the soup and went to hand over the tea. Their hands brushed together as Olruggio took it. Maybe it was foolish, but Qifrey thought Olruggio purposely held on just a little bit longer than necessary. Maybe he just wanted to watch Qifrey burn himself again.
As quickly as it happened, the moment was over, Olruggio quietly sipping at his tea. He nodded at Qifrey, his version of a thank you. Qifrey watched him, as he was wont to do. Olruggio didn’t react in the slightest to the heat, not even a wince, much to Qifrey’s annoyance. The perks of playing with fire all the time.
Qifrey sat down beside him. He would sit across from him, but those chairs were also covered in various papers and books. Olruggio had clearly clocked this, since as soon as he swallowed, he asked, “What the hell is this, Qifrey?” while gesturing loosely at the mess in front of him.
“Lesson plans.”
“Lesson plans? This late?”
“I just got a bit busy—”
Olruggio narrowed his eyes, grabbing at a pile before Qifrey could stop him.
Qifrey watched him skim through the to-do list, taking in the grocery list, the budgeting, the lesson plans that very much weren’t finished.
“Why didn’t you talk to me about this, Qifrey?”
Qifrey sighed, glancing away. This was quickly feeling far too similar to all those erased conversations. He was very good at not telling Olruggio things, wasn’t he?
“Just eat your soup, Olly.”
Olruggio huffed, but was too tired and hungry to argue. Once he stopped being difficult, he scarfed it down quickly. He leaned back after he was done, arms crossed in a typical Olruggio manner. Though he couldn't hide his yawn and slight smile, like a contented pet after a meal.
It was then that Olruggio glanced down and finally noticed the state of utter disarray that his cloak was in. It was askew, buttoned up, but mismatched. Clumsy in his weariness, he tried and failed to undo the buttons. After the third failed attempt, Qifrey couldn’t take it anymore and reached over to help.
They'd done this song and dance a thousand times when they were kids—getting annoyed that the other was taking too long to get dressed and forcing them to hurry it up—but this felt different somehow. Qifrey was keenly aware of how close his hands were to Olruggio’s chest, his eyes watching Qifrey’s fingers.
Eventually, the last button was freed, and the cloak fell off his shoulders, revealing his undershirt. A very loose undershirt, Qifrey noted, with a very deep cut. He could see the curve of Olruggio’s collarbones, the faintest bit of chest hair.
Before Qifrey could start to have certain thoughts about that sight, Olruggio yawned again, a stronger one. He blinked his eyes a couple of times, clearly fighting to stay alert. Qifrey supposed the exhaustion had finally caught up to him, or maybe the warm feeling of food was coaxing him closer to the abyss. Perhaps both.
“You tired?” he teased. Olruggio rolled his eyes, but Qifrey could see him smiling despite himself.
Olruggio rubbed at his eyes, too proud to admit he needed to sleep. Qifrey wondered if he’d need to carry him to a bed at his rate.
“But seriously, what the hell is this?” Olruggio asked halfway through yet another yawn. “This organization system is atrocious—”
“Okay, okay—”
“You’re supposed to be a good role model —”
“Quiet,” Qifrey muttered, shoving him lightly with his shoulder. Olruggio shoved him back before resting a hand on his shoulder. His hands were unreasonably warm, like just a moment ago there'd been fire flicking between his fingertips. Though Olly had always run warmer than most.
Qifrey told himself that this was just Olruggio being tactile in his growing lack of lucidity. It wasn't like they'd never made contact before; they'd been best friends for years. But for some reason, in the dark, sitting beside each other, shoulders brushing, it felt like more. Like a secret, intimate, tucked in close to the heart.
Olruggio leaned closer. Qifrey didn't stop him, even if he really should.
“Did you fall asleep on me?” Qifrey asked jokingly after a stretch of silence.
“Not yet,” was the mumbled reply. He must've been starting to doze off from how slurred his words were.
Qifrey knew it should make him smile, but instead, a familiar guilt began to swirl in the pit of his chest. He suddenly felt all too aware of his other eye and what could happen if their positions were reversed.
Ever oblivious, Olruggio shifted, resting his head slightly onto Qifrey’s shoulder. Qifrey’s breath caught in his lungs. There was a trust there, gentle and intimate and oh so easily breakable.
He wondered what Olruggio would think if he knew how many times Qifrey had broken that trust. He wondered if Olruggio would remember this night, after the next time he stole his memories. Because there would be a next time, surely. No matter how many times he said it would be the last, there would always be a next time, because Olruggio was too damn smart for his own good and Qifrey was too damn selfish.
“Qifrey?” Olly mumbled, sounding even closer to unconsciousness. The ever-cautious Olruggio, trusting him enough to fall asleep on him. Trusting him enough that he’d never question Qifrey until it was far too late, and Qifrey’s cap was already covering his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words he’d never voice if not for the late hour loosening his lips.
Olruggio pushed himself up, suddenly more alert than he'd been the whole night. His eyes darted over Qifrey’s face, searching. Trying to find the problem, to fix it. Qifrey could chuckle, if he wasn’t already biting his tongue to keep more words from escaping. That was his Olly, alright.
He wondered how much Olruggio could make out in the dark. He wondered how much of this he'd remember in the morning.
“What’s wrong?”
He could tell him. His cap was across the room, along with the memory erase spell. And Olly was here, warm and inviting and listening. He’d planted his hands on Qifrey’s shoulders, the contact burning. It made the idea of simply falling into his arms and spilling his guts all the more enticing. He wanted to. He wanted so much when it came to Olruggio. But it would only hurt them both in the end.
His eye, what he was, the threat he posed, it made him hold his tongue. He cared for Olruggio too much to hurt him like that.
“Qifrey?” Olruggio asked again as his hand found Qifrey’s cheek. It was not sleepiness that had him leaning in. It was simply for the solace of Olruggio’s touch. Instinct, the way a sunflower turns to the sun. All that he could not let himself have, the gentlest kind of torture there was.
He couldn't get too comfortable, he knew. Comfort, Olly, was a danger. But for a moment, Qifrey let himself be delusional. He imagined them falling asleep at this stupid table together. Imagined that there were no secrets between them, and he could lean in without a hint of guilt. That he could run his fingers through Olly’s curls and hold him close, and feel the patter of his heartbeat against his chest.
Just for one night, one quiet rainy night, let him pretend. He drew closer, one hand resting on Olruggio’s arm. He looked at his dear friend, let himself get lost in the magnetic pull of his dark eyes, the kindness in them. Qifrey felt the chill of his rings against his cheek, the tenderness of his touch, their closeness tantalizing.
He placed his other hand over Olruggio’s and gently took it away from his face, intertwining their fingers. Selfishly, he let the moment linger. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, to do.
“Go to sleep, Olly,” he whispered instead, letting go and pulling away.
Olruggio blinked a couple of times, his half-asleep brain visibly buffering. “Right,” he responded at a similar volume, voice little more than a husky whisper.
He pulled away slowly, slow enough that Qifrey could easily tell him to stop. Tell him to stay. Tell him that he needed him, that he was sorry. He said nothing, watching as Olruggio stumbled onto his feet and began to head for the door.
“Thank you,” Olruggio said into the dark, at the last moment.
Concealed by the darkness, Qifrey smiled at him. A bittersweet smile. The way one might smile at a lover they never got to have. He wondered sometimes what was worse. To stay distant and stay alive, or to surrender his heart and be consumed all the same. He hoped they never found out.
He nodded back, “Anytime.”
With Olly gone, the rainfall once again reigned supreme. It was not as soothing, now.
He sank back into the chair, sluggish. Qifrey’s eye burned with every blink. He was exhausted, but he could never fall asleep now. Too tired to sleep. His gaze found the papers still strewn across the table. He shook his head, trying to banish his too-loud thoughts as he reached for his quill. He still had work to do, after all. The rest could wait for another day.