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Olruggio had been watching Qifrey since the moment they met. He knew him better than the sun knew the moon, than the sky knew the sea, and the snow knew the earth. He knew his every habit, his favorite spells, what made him tick; he knew his every expression, his trodden past, and his deepest desires. Olruggio used to think he knew all there was to know about Qifrey. Their lives had become so intertwined, it seemed impossible there could be any secrets between them.
But Qifrey always had a way of keeping to himself. Even after twenty years of companionship, he'd never let his walls down. Not truly. Not for any reason Olruggio could ever hope to coax from him, let alone understand. He refused to let Olruggio into his inner world, unable to rely on him—to trust him. Not fully. Where had he gone wrong? Somewhere along the line, he'd become someone Qifrey felt he couldn't confide in. Not when it mattered most.
The Great Hall, in all its towering, transcendent glory, was starkly different from everything Olruggio had ever known. To start with the obvious: Ghodrey was a small, humble town where everyone knew everyone. The winters were long and the springs short; hardly a month passed where snow didn't touch the ground. The Great Hall had never known the pass of the seasons and, with how often witches came and went, there were more strangers than friends here. The ocean embraced the spiraling cobblestone streets and allowed its residents a life far from the Unknowing's eyes. While a wonder at first, it lost it’s awe not long after it proved to be little more than a paved maze. He thought he'd known the claustrophobia that came from living in seclusion, but he soon recognized his mistake—for this place had never even known the sky. Back home, he always knew the sun lay above the clouds. There'd never been a day without wind and he welcomed the stars on clear nights. Here, those celestial wonders would never greet him. The ripple of the current against the barrier was the closest this city might get to experiencing the Northern Lights.
Olruggio’s new master spoke to him words of reassurance that the cold couldn’t reach him here, the weather always pleasant, and the streets free of beasts. That he’d be safe and free from worry. So is the gift of magic. The warmth those words ought to bring didn’t quite seep through his skin. He snuck away the moment the opportunity arose; he crept out as his master greeted Ghodrey's chief and wandered about the winding roads and weaving alleyways until he was thoroughly lost.
Then, he saw him. With hair as white as the morning snow, skin as fair as porcelain, and dressed in milky, fluttering robes, Olruggio thought for a moment his master had lied to him—that winter had followed him beneath the sea and the first flurry was soon to sweep through the streets. But the boy kept walking, a determined sort of stride to his step, and Olruggio banished any such delusions from his mind.
But his eyes trailed after him nonetheless. The boy couldn't be much older than him, and Olruggio felt glad to know there were other children within the Great Hall. Only, then the boy stepped clean through a gate and—wait, didn't that lead straight into the ocean?! Olruggio jumped in surprise. His legs carried him after the boy before he could even think twice about it. Surely, surly, this was normal. Maybe this was just how witches got around here… or he was testing out a new spell! That had to be it.
Olruggio stepped up to the archway with his heart in his throat and peered out into the ocean. He didn't know what he was hoping to see. Nothing, ideally. Definitely not the boy struggling for breath and his limbs going limp. Not again, he thought desperately. This is the city of magic. How could this happen? The next few seconds passed by in a blur.
He cast a spell that pulled the wall of water over and in; the motion spilled the boy out onto the cobblestone. Olruggio yelped from the cold. Drenched, he spit out the mouthful of seawater he'd nearly swallowed, then scrambled towards the boy. His hands trembled over his unnervingly still form, his lip caught between his teeth. Not again, he thought viciously. Olruggio wasn't known as Ghodrey's wonder child for nothing. He dried the boy from the inside out in an act of desperation brilliance.
"Yes!" He cried as the boy sputtered and gasped for breath. "You're alive! How could you—you snow for brains! What were you even thinking! Oh, it's ok, you're alive!" Olruggio leapt forward, wrapped his arms around the boy, and pressed his nose against his neck. "You're alive and I saved you. I can still be a witch who helps people!"
The boy slowly relaxed against him too, his chin settling softly against his shoulder. Then, he jolted like he'd been struck by lightning and pushed Olruggio away.
"Oh, did I startle you? Sorry 'bout that," Olruggio chuckled awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck. He'd almost forgotten that these big city folk likely weren't itching for company as much as everyone back home. "My name's Olruggio. You can call me… Olruggio, I guess." He smiled nervously and felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Now why would he say that??
"I'm Qifrey," the boy said, simply. Cooly.
"Oh? That's an uncommon name. Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm really glad you're ok. Y'know I'm pretty new to the Great Hall—"
"Save the life story."
Huh? Huh?!
"Honestly, don't bother yourself with remembering my name. Trust me, I'll be sure to forget yours."
What?!?!
Olruggio knew Qifrey like he knew himself. That is to say, he knew when he was hiding something. He would ask, soon, what plagued Qifrey so; why he’d been so distant as of late—retiring to his quarters earlier than usual and sneaking out to the hills after dark. He prayed it wasn't what he feared; his focus should be on the children, on their atelier. Not some long retired grudge.
He wished Qifrey would just talk to him. Not the obligatory pleasantries and assurances that he was sleeping well. He wanted to really talk. Like how they used to. To fail so soundly in his duties as a Watchful Eye—no, as Qifrey's friend, his partner—shame brewed in the pit of his throat and nipped at his throat.
Qifrey had a way of fraying Olruggio's nerves like none other. The worst was that it didn't even seem like he was trying to annoy him. Either way, Olruggio couldn't stand his dismissive tone, the way his eye always seemed to slide away from Olruggio's own, or the distance he forced between them every time their relationship seemed to take a turn for the best. Just last week, Olruggio actually managed to make Qifrey laugh, but he'd been giving him the cold shoulder ever since. Seriously, what gives?
What he really didn't get is—if Qifrey truly disliked him—why he'd ambush him in the alley just outside the dining hall, a desperate sort of look etched between his eyebrows.
"You came here through a windowway, right?" Qifrey asked, his eye wide as he pressed Olruggio up against the alley wall.
"What's it to you?" Olruggio huffed out. Qifrey pushed himself closer til their noses nearly brushed. Olruggio craned his neck and ignored the heat that tickled his ears.
"I… I need to get to the surface," he whispered urgently. "You've been through the Windowway Parlor. You can help me, can't you?" His breath was hot against Olruggio's already burning cheek.
"Why should I?" he said, petulantly. Qifrey reeled back and Olruggio sucked in a breath of air.
"Because you're sick of this place too." Determination pulled at his lips. His fingers trembled where they dug into Olruggio's shoulder. "Because I've never even seen the sky and… and you're kind."
Olruggio thought of Qifrey boldly walking into the ocean. Of what he might do if he shuts him down. Damn it. He took in Qifrey's form: just an inch shorter than him, his body draped in his oversized cloak, and his cap crooked utop his head—tufts of snow-white hair curled up beneath the edge and around his neck. With a determined sort of grimace, he wrapped his hand around Qifrey's wrist and nodded.
"Okay… let's go." Qifrey's mouth parted in surprise, like he didn't think Olruggio would actually agree, before he nodded, too, with a smile on his lips.
Together, they snuck into the Windowway Parlor and sat themselves before one of the doors. Truth be told, Olruggio had never operated a windowway before, but how hard could it be? He pushed and pulled at the knobs until it sputtered to life, Qifrey humming eagerly next to him. The world beyond opened itself up to them, but so too did the jaws of an agitated scalewolf—rudely awoken from its nap. Olruggio screeched and scrambled to shift the knobs.
"Hah," he wheezed, his voice pitching up. "Sorry about that, let me just…" They were met, then, with a pair of courting pegasi (who were very displeased to be interrupted) and, after that, a (blessedly) empty wyrm nest (Olruggio closed the windowway before they could return).
"I thought you were supposed to be some magical prodigy," Qifrey mumbled grimly. Olruggio bristled, his face unbearably hot.
"Listen—" Olruggio could not have his good name tarnished in this way. "There's other ways to the surface!"
"The stairway is guarded," Qifrey said, matter-of-factly. Olruggio grinned.
"Then we just have to sneak past them."
…
They shot up the stairwell. Their sylph shoes served them well and their delight echoed off the walls. They emerged from the top with flushed cheeks and ruffled hair. The beach spilled out before them. The ocean lapped at the shore and the night melted into the horizon; the sky expanded around them as far as the eye could see and the stars winked down at them from their home in the heavens. The sight of it stole the breath from Olruggio's lungs. Light. They needed light. He rummaged around for drift wood then dropped to his knees to draw out a spell, turning their newfound walking sticks into lanterns.
When he turned to give Qifrey his creation, he faltered. The boy stared out at the earth, slack jawed and wide eyed. He took slow steps out into the sand, his expression becoming one of joy as he twirled around to face Olruggio.
"Thank you." He beamed and Olruggio laughed, unable and unwilling to suppress the feeling that bubbled in his chest. He pressed the makeshift lantern into Qifrey's hands.
"Come on!" They explored up and down the beach until their feet hurt and their faces could hardly handle the strain of smiling any longer. Olruggio told Qifrey of his snow-capped hometown, how he too had never seen the beach, or felt a wind so warm. In turn Qifrey told him how The Great Hall was all he'd ever known. How a life surrounded by ocean was beginning to suffocate him alive. And then, a raindrop splattered against Olruggio's cheek—a brief warning before the sky clouded and fell down upon them. He entertained the idea of flying back to the staircase, but when he turned to see Qifrey—his eye wide and terrified, and his shoulders beginning to shake—he decided against it. He gathered his hand in his own and they scrambled inland until they found a cave nestled in the hillside.
The rain berated the earth—a deafening sound that sent shivers up Olruggio's slickened neck. As Qifrey settled opposite of him, Olruggio pulled out his spell book. He ripped out a page and completed the ring for a simple fire sigil. Warmth burst from his hands and illuminated their temporary haven in a flickering glow as he set it down between them.
Qifrey watched the flame with some interest, and Olruggio watched him in turn. He thought better of trying to start a conversation and turned back to his book—sketching out some spells he'd been working on. Only when Qifrey shifted, did he look up again.
"I hate water," he confessed, solemnly. "It's scary and sinister, and so cold and heavy. Too much can kill you, but so can too little. It's the worst. I'd happily spend the rest of my days in the desert, as far from it as possible, if I could."
Olruggio studied Qifrey's crestfallen expression. His hair plastered itself against his face and sent the occasional rivulet of water down his cheek; he wiped it away with his sleeve. Then, he shuffled his feet in closer and wrapped his arms around his knees. Olruggio followed Qifrey's gaze.
"Isn't this fire the same?" He inked in the rest of his spell before setting the book down. "It could burn us to a crisp just as easily as it keeps us warm and alive." He met Qifrey's eye, which caught the light and glistened with unshed tears. A well of crystalline blue. "If you find something scary, I say embrace it! Once you get to know it, you'll begin to feel safe with it. Why, you'll even be able to sleep soundly with it by your side."
Qifrey gazed back down at the fire, a complicated sort of look etched into the crease of his eye—the press of his lip—but Olruggio didn't dare to pry. If Qifrey wanted to talk, he would.
Qifrey was the skittish type. Not a liar, but something close. He deflected and brushed off Olruggio's worries like they were nothing, always with an easy smile and a brush of his hand against Olruggio's shoulder. I'm ok, old friend, he'd say. It's nothing you need to worry yourself over. And Olruggio would hold him with the weight of his stare, disbelieving but stubborn in his belief that he'd open his heart to him if just given the time. Stubbornly unable to ask. To ask Qifrey to let him in. To let him carry some of the load. To soothe the worry from his brow.
He'd give everything he could to Qifrey, if only he would let him. But the man had long buried his past. At least, that's what he'd thought. Lately, he'd begun to wonder if he'd sent something else to rest in its stead. Recklessness had never been one of his defining traits, but Qifrey had been acting strange lately. Eager and desperate and too easy to let their apprentices slip into danger. He trusted Qifrey with his life and then some, but he needed to know if his priorities lay where they should.
Olruggio considered Qifrey his best friend. He didn't have to ask if Qifrey felt the same; he knew the answer. The boy didn't often care to hang out with anyone else. For years now, they'd been stuck together like glue. Alaira made fun of them relentlessly for it, but Olruggio wouldn't have it any other way. Afterall, you don't trade cap ornaments with just anyone.
Olruggio pressed his head into his hands and curled in on himself. His face burned as he peeked through his fingers. His cap sat on the end of his bed. Qifrey's tassel hung innocently off its point. He wriggled his toes and thrummed his fingers. For as long as they held each other's ornaments, they were bound to each other. Olruggio had devoted himself to Qifrey tonight—to his goals, to his life, to his everything. After all, that's what Qifrey was to him.
And Qifrey committed to him the same; they'd support each other until the end with everything they could. No doubts, no secrets—they could count on each other. Could trust they'd be there when called.
…
Olruggio tugged a dejected Qifrey into his arms. The boy melted against him, his nose buried into the crook of his neck. They'd returned from the Tower of Tomes empty handed and, for once, Olruggio felt at a loss for words. We can keep searching, he might say, but for what exactly? With no leads, no clues, how could he offer Qifrey any hope?
He couldn't make it into the tower. The best he could do was distract the Guardians while Qifrey soared across the lake. He hid while Qifrey scoured the library for a tome, a text, a note about his past. Olruggio dropped his head against Qifrey's shoulder—a futile attempt to smudge away his tears. They'd been looking for so long. How much of himself was Qifrey willing to put into this fruitless endeavor?
"I know what you're thinking," Qifrey mumbled. "Stop it."
"What are you talking about?" Olruggio tilted his forehead against Qifrey's collarbone to peer at the curve of his jaw.
"Don't worry about me. It's fine," he sighed, something tired. "I'm done. With looking. With making you fight by battles. I just… I want to live for myself. Not for the me I can't even remember." Qifrey dug his fingers into the back of his cloak and pulled them even closer together. Idly, he thought Qifrey might be taller than him now. "I want to think about us. About… our future. You deserve that much, Olly."
Olruggio's tears dripped onto Qifrey's sleeve, and his did the same. Together, he thought. I'd be happy with every mundane moment if they happened with you.
"That sounds nice."
Olruggio stared up into the freckled, midnight sky. His head hurt. The stars winked as if they knew something he did not. He palmed his forehead and winced. The grass cradled him, its spindly arms caressed the edge of his jaw. How did he get here? He craned his head with some effort to one side, and then the other. Qifrey. He sat beside him, curled into himself. His cape caught the light of the moon and his cap lay discarded at his side. He seemed smaller than usual. Oh, that's right. Olruggio's head ached. A steady thrum beneath his temple. He'd come to talk with Qifrey, right? He groaned as he pushed himself up. He attempted to sooth the fire broiling in his head with his fingers. In turn, Qifrey straightened some and turned to look at him. Between his throbbing headache and the night, Olruggio couldn't quite make out Qifrey's expression, but he could imagine the press of his eyebrows—the pull of his lips. It wasn't like him to fall asleep mid-conversation.
"Sorry…" Olruggio murmured. His voice rumbled in his throat. "What… what were we talking about?" He squinted so he might see the way Qifrey's eye softened.
"Nothing of importance, my dear," he said softly. Sadly, almost. Olruggio ran his fingers over his brow bone and back against his scalp.
"No." That wasn't right. "I'm sure it was." He'd wanted to talk to Qifrey about Coco… about… He rubbed the back of his head. It'd been some time since he'd had a headache this bad.
"Are you feeling alright?" Qifrey asked. He scooted closer—til their sides were pressed together—and placed a cool hand over Olruggio's heated cheek. He didn't think much about nuzzling further into his hold, in dropping his head against the jut of Qifrey's shoulder. "Lets go inside. I'll make you up some tea before bed." His fingers curled into Olruggio's hair and worked to sooth out that angry pulse.
"Yeah, ok," he mumbled against Qifrey's collarbone. "But we aren't done talking." He just had to find his train of thought first.
"Of course," Qifrey agreed. Olruggio tried not to think about his tired, near remorseful tone and focused instead on the callous of Qifrey's hands against his own, pulling him to his feet.
…
Olruggio sat at his desk, hunched over an old leather notebook. His headache had faded into something manageable: a mere annoyance that was sure to disappear come morning. Qifrey's tea had a way of fixing him up.
He penned another entry. Another note on these strange headaches. Of conversations forgotten—left stumbling on the tip of his tongue. Of the ill-placed hurt that stayed tucked inside his chest. He chalked it up to his inability to be what Qifrey needed. Where had they gone wrong? He placed his cap on the table before him, thumbed at the ornament, and hoped his fears were misplaced. What more could he do than trust Qifrey? Trust he'd stay true to their oath, to let Olruggio see the parts of himself he wanted to keep hidden from the rest of the world.
They'd known each other longer than they hadn't. Olruggio knew every curve of Qifrey's skin, how they fit together, how he thought; he saw how he'd become careless with his own life. If Qifrey wanted him to leave him be—to let him tread down that lonely path—he'd have to say it with his own mouth, to push him away with his own two hands.
Until then, Olruggio would stay by his side, as he always had—unable to tear himself from him, lest he tear himself apart, too. He'd stay if, for nothing else, it meant showing Qifrey that he, too, could be a shoulder to lie on. Someone to come home to and find comfort in. He'd make him believe it, if he had to. This was their home—their atelier—after all, and he'd be damned if he let Qifrey hold the weight of his troubles on his own.