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Qifrey thinks that Olruggio is akin to a rose.
The ones that are as golden as the sun that shines high above them that Qifrey yearns for; the soft petals and vibrant colors that speak of joy and companionship. He’s always blooming with passion for his magic, for his contraptions that make a smile spread across his chapped lips and his kind heart reflect in the bright indigo of his eyes that remind Qifrey so much of the sky that he adores the freedom of. There’s so much inspiration that he has to offer and embody, and so much elegance and finesse in his spell casting. Olruggio will always be akin to a rose, no matter what color they come in for the sheer love that always spills out of his heart into every little action he makes will always be carried in those precious flowers. Roses are nature’s love given physical form and Olruggio must be the one person who has ever managed to love people as much as nature does.
Qifrey thinks that fits even more now.
It’s dawn, the sun is just beginning to rise from the depths it descended into and it shines warm, golden light upon the ateliers of both his and Olruggio’s. Qifrey floats just high enough to be able to peek at Olruggio’s hammock that for some reason he chose to put right by a small almost tower-like structure in his small atelier, frozen in place in midair at the scene that greets his eyes and wants to burn itself into them and Qifrey thinks that if his vision were to disappear for good now of all times, if the inevitable finally arrived, the sight of his friend like this being the very last thing that ever graced his vision would be an utter blessing. He would be cursed with the knowledge that he could never actually see it again and blessed with having seen it at all. Blessings are the most gentle curses and curses are the most cruel blessings.
The sight is gentle, is the truth. Olruggio lays in his hammock asleep, his black lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he breathes softly through his open mouth, drool dripping and running down from his parted lips to the pillows he has beneath his head. The sight of his saliva should gross him out. It doesn’t. If anything he almost thinks of it as cute. Of course he does; it’s Olruggio. His black hair is all messy, sticking up this way and that and his fingers are loosely grasped around the column of his pen, the paper he was drawing on placed delicately atop the tower-like structure that is only just a bit away, very clearly having fallen asleep whilst working on a contraption. The brushbuddy that Coco brings everywhere has curled up against his other hand, dozing away with contentment and the man’s sleeves are still tied, still put together like he wasn’t planning on falling asleep.
It’s so typical of him, Qifrey thinks, so Olruggio. The man falls asleep while working so often due to how he stays up so late just to work on his commissions. The light from the sun shines through the windows of the atelier, casting shadows across the man’s peaceful face that dance with the same passion and life that the man moves with. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. Like this; there is no worry to crease his brow, no frustration to curl his lips into a frown and no disruption to make his ears flush red from either annoyance or embarrassment. It is Olruggio without any filters, without any sort of thought to make himself look presentable. It is honest. It is what Qifrey yearns for. His heart fills with warmth like it always does when Olruggio is around. It’s enough to make him think that maybe, just maybe he could latch onto that warmth that wraps around him like safe arms and not flinch away like he’s been burnt.
His hand slowly reaches out, the want to comb his fingers through his friend’s messy hair just a bit too much to handle– the man wouldn’t mind, they take care of each other every time the other ends up passing out from working too hard– and he’s so close to the untouchable, something unbearably warm blooming in his chest. He thinks that it’s a little like peace, like Olruggio’s sweet embrace. He thinks that just maybe he can allow himself this, allow himself to have this peace that makes him feel so safe, his chest tingling with warmth and something horribly– wonderfully close to contentment–
Pain rips through his body. It makes him jerk back, his hand coming back to him to rest on his chest as if it got burnt from even getting slightly close to the man, to the safety that lays in front of him and he wobbles from where he is floating in midair, his feet just barely able to stay together and keep the seal whole and complete. He breathes heavily through his nose as that horrid tree within his body grows and branches out, apparently just as eager to touch the safety in front of him and it hurts. He can feel the way that one branch extends so far that it presses directly against his hair, growing out of his empty eye socket where safety and happiness was brutally ripped from within him like the mockery of the real thing.
Qifrey does not know how he forgot. He doesn’t but he does, for Olruggio is the safest distraction he has ever met. It is so easy to just let himself be almost lost in it– but lost isn’t the right word, for Olruggio will always have a hand on his back, will always guide him no matter what because his heart blooms and overflows with love and care. He remembers the first time it ever happened, one of his earliest memories that are held close to his chest that no Knight Moralis nor Brimmed Hat could ever rip away from him with how deeply engraved it is within him, with how it has made this tree within him get so bad because Olruggio to Qifrey is like the sun to a sunflower, like a rose to a poet that he will never be able to drift away from and his dearest friend has unknowingly made this tree sprout from the deepest feelings of love and safety he has ever felt.
He remembers the utter safety he had felt when those arms– slim and shaking at that time, when they were just boys that didn’t know what they were getting into, that didn’t know that the liquid of life that poured from their bleeding hearts would try to mix together to never be separated– had pulled him oh so close, the beating of their hearts frantic and loud and speaking to each other in a way that doomed them to this from that very first moment. Olruggio had felt like land, felt like his anchor at that very moment after he tried so hard to save him from an early death that he had been destined for time and time again that was the endless ocean, water forcing its way into his lungs and drowning him in its cold depths. Olruggio had looked death in the face and chose to pull the water straight from his lungs, to embrace him at the first breath and cough that escaped him. Surely, this man can be nothing but life itself to do that.
He looks down at the gentle, honest sight before him. Something warm and bitter swirls around in his gut at the view of his dearest friend. This is Olruggio, no filters, no lies, no thoughts about making himself presentable. He is everything he yearns for and yearns to be. Qifrey knows well however that honesty will never be a part of who he is. Olruggio, kind and sweet and horribly loving Olruggio, has never held it against him. Every time he has a placed a seal upon him, every time he has snatched his own heart– his honest and trusting heart– directly from his hands to keep the tree within him at bay, the panic and fear that flashes in those bright and free eyes are never directed at him, at the wrong he is doing to purposefully drown himself in guilt, but for him. It makes his chest ache with something that is not the branches that grow and press from within him.
Even with the guilt that floods his veins at the thought of what he has done, at the thought of ripping his trust directly out of his dearest friend’s hands when his face had lit up so many times at the prospect of being given permission to see him without his walls up, without the countless lies that Olruggio knows he says, the cruelest and most loving plant that makes its home within him does not retreat, does not burn away from the biting cold in his chest that is so freezing it feels hot. It aches all the same. He gazes down at the sight of Olruggio, the warm feeling in his heart still managing to linger even through all the pain that plagues him. He greedily drinks his fill of the gentle view and swiftly, quietly departs from the warm and wholly safe space of Olruggio’s atelier.
Qifrey thinks that Olruggio is akin to a rose. If you forget yourself for even a second; you will cut yourself on the thorns that the loving thing isn’t even aware of.