Work Text:
One would have thought your eyes were veiled in haze
Strange eyes! (Grey, green, or azure is their gaze?)
It seems they would reflect, in each renewal,
The changing skies, dull, dreamy, fond, or cruel.
You know those days both warm and hazy, which
Melt into tears the hearts that they bewitch:
And when the nerves, uneasy to control,
Too-wide awake, upbraid the sleeping soul.
You, too, resemble such a lit horizon
As suns of misty seasons now bedizen...
As you shine out, a landscape fresh with rain
With misty sunbeams sparkling on the plain.
[...]
Charles Baudelaire, Ciel brouillé (translation by Roy Campbell)
(recto.)
It was just a quick trip to the city. They needed some ink, and Qifrey bought a small bag of tea leaves on the way. They were on their way back home. The girls were chatting behind them, and when they reached the stairs, Qifrey tripped. Olruggio immediately slid his arm around his waist to catch him, and leaning on Olruggio’s shoulder to steady himself, Qifrey brushed it off with a small laugh. The girls barely noticed it, and Olruggio just let go of his hold on Qifrey’s body with a huff, telling him to be more careful next time. It was a harmless little accident, something not even worth mentioning. Not even worth remembering.
Qifrey had burns on his fingertips. They were faint, barely noticeable. If Qifrey hadn’t kissed him, Olruggio wouldn’t have perceived it.
It took him by surprise. They only kissed once before, when they were teens, young enough to dismiss it later as an accident. Young enough to laugh about it as adults. Young enough to forget it, even if Olruggio never quite could let go of Qifrey’s taste on his tongue.
After all, he was a man in love.
Qifrey had his hands on Olruggip’s neck, his face, his eyes. He was kissing him with the desperate energy of a man on the verge of dying, and Olruggio broke the kiss.
They caught their breath in silence. Olruggio looked at Qifrey. He was panting softly, his eye closed, white eyelashes casting shadows on his face. He was as gorgeous as ever. Olruggio felt his heart twisting as he asked : “Why now?”
Qifrey opened his eye. It bore a sorrowful grey sky, an unlimited ocean of pain.
“I want to remember why we can’t.”
And he surged toward him again. Kissing him as if his life depended on it. Letting his hands fall under his shirt. And Olruggio was a man in love.
He kissed him back.
When Olruggio woke up, body sore and heart beating fast, Qifrey was already gone. The sheets next to him were warm. A faint smell of ash lingered in his hair.
Olruggio didn’t cry. Even when he picked up the clothes Qifrey had taken off on the ground. Even when he washed off his body Qifrey’s scent. Even when Qifrey shot him a kind smile when he arrived at the kitchen, the girls already eating their breakfast. When he sat, Qifrey put a mug of coffee in front of him. The same he did for him every morning since they moved in together. As if nothing had changed. As if last night was just another one of Olruggio’s dreams.
Olruggio didn’t cry, even if Tetia and Coco looked at him weirdly across the table, asking him if he was alright. When he answered that he just had a nightmare, Qifrey hid his face behind his cup of tea.
Olruggio knew that Qifrey knew he was in love with him. How could he ignore it, after all? Olruggio made it so obvious.
He trusted Qifrey to hold his heart with care. He trusted him to not break it. He didn’t ask for Qifrey to give his own in return. He didn’t ask for Qifrey to put on a facade, to pretend he could one day tore his chest open and rip off his organs to leave a room for Olruggio.
Olruggio also knew that Qifrey was in love with him, too. He accepted long ago that his feelings were requited, but unwanted. That the shadow in Qifrey’s heart, the one nurtured by years of silent agony, the shadow of the boy found in a coffin, will always overtake Qifrey the witch who could have loved him.
Olruggio heard the sound of broken ceramic and a muffled curse. Qifrey was in the kitchen. His stew was boiling quietly on the fire. His hand was bleeding. He smiled at his friend. Olruggio didn’t move for a second.
He didn’t ask if Qifrey was alright, or if he needed help. He simply grabbed his wrist gently, and went to the bathroom, Qifrey tagging along silently.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Qifrey made a non committal sound, his eye closed. He was sitting at the edge of the bathtub while Olruggio was tending his hand.
“I got distracted,” he eventually replied.
Olruggio didn’t continue. He finished bandaging his palm silently.
They were really close. Olruggio felt Qifrey’s breath on his face, his body temperature, his scent. He swallowed. He hadn’t let go of Qifrey’s hand, but the white witch didn’t seem to mind.
Qifrey exhaled deeply, and let his forehead fall on Olruggio’s chest. No more gentle smile or pretty facade.
“Why don’t you still hate me?”
Time ceased its course, the world stopped revolving on its axis, and Olruggio's blood froze.
He opened his mouth.
In all frankness, Olruggio did not think it was possible for him to hate Qifrey. He couldn't hate the boy with the snowy hair and fear of water. Couldn't hate the child who clung to him during rainy nights, crying silently in his arms, and hiding his red, puffy eyes in the mornings. He couldn't hate the teen with whom he stayed awake all night at the library, studying for exams together, their shoulders bumping into each other, sharing a candle above a book, sleepy eyes finding the other's and big smiles forming when their stares met. He couldn't hate the teen who swapped his tassel with him, the teen Olruggio poured all his love into.
He couldn't hate the young witch he built an atelier with, spending afternoons painting walls, repairing the roof, choosing furniture. He couldn't hate the witch who asked him to stay. Couldn't hate the man with whom he shared his life. The man he couldn't imagine a future without. The man who kissed him. The man he was in love with.
Without granting Olruggio the time to answer, Qifrey grabbed both of his hands.
“I’m sorry about last night. I won’t kiss you ever again,” Qifrey promised in a whisper, but it felt more like a curse, and Olruggio’s heart broke a little. Letting Olruggio witness a glimpse of what he could never have — Qifrey, in his bed, holding him, loving him. A pretty fantasy. A cruel dream.
In his mouth, the verb kiss sounded like hurt.
“Why?” Olruggio asked, as if the word could cover everything.
Why did he kiss him in the first place? Why did he leave in the morning? Why was he keeping so many secrets from Olruggio?
But Qifrey just let go of his hands and exited the bathroom.
Near the chimney, Qifrey laughed. It was soft and sad. His face was surrounded by orange light. He was ethereal. A sad seraph. A white wilted foxglove.
“Do you think my body hates me?”
Olruggio looked down at his hands. Qifrey hadn’t touched him since that day in the bathroom. He prevented himself from getting too close to him, as if Olruggio could burn him. But the smiles he gave him every morning were as kind as ever.
Olruggio thought about falls on the stairs, burns on fingertips, broken cups and bloody hands. He thought about all the times Qifrey hurt himself. Little harm everyday. Everyday a new faint scar, a new faint wound. Everyday, his body not serving him properly.
He wanted to embrace Qifrey. But instead, he answered : “I don’t know. But I think you hate your body.”
He remembered how Qifrey refused to feed himself correctly as a child. All the sleepless nights spent studying. The way he took damage for his students.
And Olruggio can’t say he isn’t the same. Ruining his body everyday, sleeping too little and working too hard. But it didn’t come out of hate for himself, simply negligeance.
There was something scary, in the way Qifrey could let himself slowly decay without a care.
“You’re probably right,” Qifrey said, taking a sip from his cup. Olruggio brewed the tea Qifrey got from his last trip to Kalhn. “I didn’t hate it though, when you touched me.”
Olruggio almost choked. He set down his cup. Qifrey’s stare was fixed on the fire, but Olruggio saw clearly the blush creeping on his face. He knew his own cheeks were red, and he couldn’t exactly blame the warmth of the chimney.
“So why don’t you, anymore? Touch me, I mean,” he asked, suppressing the embarrassed expression he knew he was wearing.
“Because I promised to not kiss you again. It was a mistake when we were kids, and it still is one now.”
Olruggio knew he was in love with Qifrey, and Qifrey knew he was in love with Olruggio. Years of dancing around each other, knowing they could share a life but not a bed, not a heart.
He was growing tired of it.
Olruggio got up and placed himself in front of Qifrey.
“What if it’s a mistake I don’t want to repair.”
Qifrey’s eyes widened.
“Olly, no – ”
“And what if,” Olruggio continued, his voice a little louder, “I’m tired of pretending that I’m not madly in love with you. That I don’t want this - this life, the atelier, us taking care of the girls - to end?”
“Olly, we – I… We just can’t.”
Olruggio winced.
“Can’t you just trust me for once?” he pleaded softly. “Tell me, Qifrey. What made you leave my bed that night?”
“You’re my Watchful Eye,” Qifrey started.
“And I have long ago proved that I’m ready to break the law for you.”
“We’ll be a terrible match.”
“A decade of friendship is proving you wrong.”
“I’m not even in love with you?” he tried tentatively.
Olruggio left an eyebrow, and Qifrey blushed. It was by far the most bold and terrible lie he ever said, and they both knew it.
Qifrey breathed and looked down. He caught Olruggio's hand and squeezed it. It was the first time Olruggio felt his warmth in weeks.
“Okay. Let’s do this. I'm in love with you,” Qifrey started, “you're the most important person in the world to me. I would like nothing more than to share my life with you until the end of my days. I want to pester you about your bad diet every day, I want to force you into your bed every evening. I want us to cook together, I want us to see the girls grow into fine and talented witches.”
Olruggio’s throat felt suddenly dry when he said, “It sounds oddly like a proposal.”
Qifrey chuckled sadly, and played with Olruggio’s tassel. It was his, once.
“Olly,” Qifrey whined softly, a breath away from Olruggio's lips. “Loving you is killing me.”
Olruggio is the one who kissed him first, this time. It felt like winning a race, like catching a sun’s ray, like etching every star in his eyes. Kissing Qifrey felt like the world was finally turning correctly on its axis. When Qifrey broke the kiss, he was crying. Olruggio wiped the tears away quietly.
Qifrey slowly took off his hat. He caressed the black ribbon.
“You remember when we exchanged them, right?”
Sea salt on his lips. Qifrey’s hand holding his own. Eyes locked into the other’s. Them, so young. Loving each other like children. The weight of the world in Qifrey’s eyes. Fire, in Olruggio's stare. The Tower, afar. Witnessing this moment.
Olruggio barely had the time to nod. Qifrey surged and put the hat on his head.
“I’m so sorry,” he heard.
Afterwards, nothing.
(verso.)
You’re sleeping soundly. It seems like nothing can shake you. You're kind of an ugly sleeper, you know. Open-mouthed, back crooked, limbs tangled. So perfectly human. You told me once that when I sleep, I'm all frigid, arms stuck to my body, chest barely moving, not a sound escaping. From what you’ve described, I'm no different to a corpse. Yet tonight, when you held me during your sleep, I felt so warm.
I’ve never longed for something more than you. My past, my missing eye… you know, they all seem so distant when I'm in your arms. I shouldn't allow you to linger. You’re doomed to fall, Olly. Not only in love — we both fell, long ago (too much, too soon. But we never lost friendship either. I think it saved us). I’m talking about a more literal fall. Because no matter how much love I can fit into this decaying body, its only use remains destruction.
If I had known what ‘family’ meant back when I was a child, it would have probably been you and Belraduit, back in the Great Hall. I never realised it until I escaped the ocean and my own professor. But you know, you taught me the word ‘home’. I know it’s the house we built together. It’s the scent of smoke on your clothes and the laughs of the girls. It’s the tea we brew, and the chimney we light when it’s cold. It’s the way I know exactly what temperature you like your coffee. It’s warmth, and dry clothes, and fire. Nothing like the rain plaguing my nights.
Keeping you at arm’s length. Close enough to feel the beating of your heart. And too far for you to burn your wings by gravitating around me.
I'll write it once, because I'm a coward. I don’t regret falling in love with you. In another life, I'd do it over and over again, only hoping for you to pull away.
It’s funny, when you think about it. I took a sip of my own poison. Twice. The first time, we were still so young. We were in my bedroom, it was a gentle morning, and I almost died. Because when I kissed you, and you embraced me, and your hands on my face were so soft — (I noticed, how now, you have callouses on your fingers. I love how time changes your body. You’re terribly human, Olly) — and I was so safe and warm and loved. And the roots almost killed me.
Last night, Olly, I kissed you because I know you’ll hate me. You don’t know it yet. You don’t know how I stole your memories. How I'm jeopardising our happiness. How, when I'll be done, I'll disappear, leaving only dust and ashes for you to collect.
You don’t know it yet. And you’re sleeping beside me. And you look so content. I love you, Olly. I'm brushing your hair right now. I’m observing your face carefully. There are a few wrinkles in the corners of your eyes. A few grey hairs at the back of your head. And lips so dry they’re cracking. How much more did I miss about you, Olly ? It aches, to have you here, ready to share my heart just like we share a home, and to be the one to close it off from you.
Qifrey gently put down his feather. He’s on the edge of Olruggio’s bed, his letter on his knees, his best friend snoring just beside him.
When he traced the glyph, he remembered Olruggio's advice. A voice from ages ago, a voice young and cheerful.
Qifrey, your arrows need to be straighter. No, not like this. Remember, the key is the direction.
A simple fire spell. Olruggio's magic, the one he taught him in another life, when they were still so small and not even yet in love.
He burnt the letter, and maybe a piece of his heart with it.