Work Text:
Qifrey should've known right as Olruggio said the words. Because it always does start that way.
Qifrey, can I ask you something?
Well. It usually starts that way. But repetition leads to distortion, just as a spell can never be drawn the same way twice.
The girls are asleep. The stars hang low and bright in the sky like mountain apples from some unseen tree. It's nice, with his cloak keeping him warm from the chill, and the wind biting at the uncovered skin above his nape. The lonesome quiet is often where worry likes to sow its seeds. He's more than happy to let it.
He's sitting atop the nearest hill, overlooking the atelier under the dazzling night sky, and letting his thoughts sink softly through him like ice. There's a kind of comfort at being filled with worry. Not the killing kind of comfort, but enough to know he's doing something right. The base of his roots sits right beside his heart, shuddering thin little vines with every breath. It's nice to be alone and sure he can keep it at bay, like letting shallow waves brush against his feet on a shore. Both are good at keeping him uneasy, he supposes.
"Thought I might find you here." At the base of the hill, Olruggio's dark cloak blends into the pitch night. His breath hitches.
He climbs up, grunting with effort, and sits himself beside Qifrey. There's a bottle of booze in his hand, the silvernectar wine Qifrey got him.
Anxiety coils tight in his chest. At least he thinks it's anxiety. He hopes it is.
"What're you doing all alone at this hour?"
Qifrey can't see his face in the dark, but just from the way he was walking, he's probably the slightest bit tipsy. His face must be flushed, eyes tired and dilated.
There's that feeling in his chest again. Not anxiety.
He only smiles, and it's as simple as slipping on a mask. "My goodness, what's the occasion?"
Olruggio chuckles. "Finished another contraption. Bigger one. I was working on it for quite a bit."
"A worthy case for reward, then."
He takes a swig of wine, then tips the bottles towards Qifrey. Qifrey shakes his head.
"Much obliged, but I'm alright."
"Suit yourself," he says, before taking another swig. He sets the bottle down beside him, turning to face Qifrey. "You never answered my question."
"Hm?"
"It's late. Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He should be. He would much rather be, in fact. But things have been too good lately. Those damn wonderful apprentices of his, learning far too quick and far too well. He can't be sleeping now, not when he's not sure what would happen if he let himself rest.
"You worry too much, Olly."
"I think I worry just the right amount."
"I just had something on my mind is all."
Olruggio hums noncommitally. "Anything I can help with?"
He wishes. He would wish on every star if he could. "I'm afraid not."
"Ah, come on, hit me."
He keeps his eyes trained on the sky, on the stretches of dark aether flowing like ink between the lights. "Shouldn't you be getting rest?"
"And wasting this booze? Let me at least do something reckless first."
He hums. "That doesn't sound like you."
"Eh, no not really."
The wind is far too quiet.
Olruggio turns to face him, blue eyes as deep as the Great Hall's ocean. That shoreline seems more dangerous these days. If he's not careful, he'll drown all over again.
"You know…" he starts. "You've always been so easy to feel safe around. M'just getting warm out here from talkin' to you."
His chest aches.
"That's the wine, not me." His voice sounds much more hoarse than he meant it to.
"Gah," is all he says, waving a hand.
There's a stretch of silence. It's too long, but long enough for the worry to seep back in. Thank the stars.
Before he can move, even speak—
"Qifrey," he sighs. "Can I tell you something?"
He's grown accustomed to hearing it, and his body responds the same as well—sending shivers down his spine, ice sinking to his stomach. He can't handle any kindness. Not now, stars, not now.
"Anything," he lies.
"I…" he starts. "Maybe it's just the booze makin' me all sappy but…"
His heart is racing, branches pressing their leafy fingers against the cage of his ribs. Olruggio shifts closer.
"You… you really do feel safe. No wonder why those girls like you so much."
He can't speak. What could he possibly say? His chest is tight, vines constricting and snaking up his throat.
"I always knew I made the right choice staying by your side, you know. You and your dream of a safe place, away from the world."
Run. He wants to tell him. Run, run, run. Far away from here and away from me.
And too quick, he's resting his head on Qifrey's shoulder, his warmth seeping straight through his shirt.
Get away from me, please.
"You're easy to love, Qifrey. Have I ever told you that?"
Damn it all. Why must he be so kind? He's bright and warm as the most radiant passage star, sailing straight into his heart and letting it sprawl with flowers. His goodness is infectious—the sunlight to his restless roots. Olruggio sets his hand beside his, just barely so that their fingers brush together.
He wants to curse himself for giving that wine to him in the first place, for giving anything to him at all. He grows so sweet like this, soft with affection. If only Qifrey was made of more thorns. If only he could hurt more easily.
And yet, it's so cruel that Olruggio sees the world so beautifully, finding something good in Qifrey that surely can't be there. He's a soul with such sincerity and kindness, a softness he could never have. It's like trying to hold light at his fingertips, nothing but a fleeting warmth.
"Qifrey…?" His breath smells like nectar, warm and sweet and good.
Late nights are truly the worst times for reckless, drunken decisions. Because the world feels too big and magic too open, hanging in the air with every breath. He could stand and Estus would be sent spinning on its axis, sailing through the cosmos, just them and their atelier like a ship. It's a world too full of chances, scattered like stars dipping close enough to grab.
And if there ever was a chance—the slightest, passing bit of hope he could take and hold fast—by the stars he would kiss him.
He would kiss him senseless, kiss him stupid, kiss him for every touch and breath that missed him all those years. Like a hook through an eye, he'd never let him go. He'd spend an afternoon making up every lost kiss, chasing the burning warmth in him like roots reaching for the sun. It would be as easy as closing a ring in a spell. All he'd have to do is make the move. Say the word.
I love you too. I love you, I love you, I always have.
But he can't. All he has is a life in the palimpsest, traces of a wish remaining.
They sit separate like the open ends of a ring.
"Get some rest, Olly." He loathes it. He loathes being the one to snuff the fire. He'd indulge him, if he could. He'd turn his face, laugh and hum, jostle any thoughts before they linger. Just not tonight. Tonight is too good. He can't let it get any better.
Lonesome nights can last lifetimes when memories are left to fester. He never wants to hurt him, at least not in any way that lasts a lifetime too long. He can only hope Olruggio is too hungover to remember anything.
There's the soft sound of snoring beside him. He's fallen asleep.
Qifrey slings Olruggio's arm over his shoulder, his other hand at his side, hauls them both up. "Let's get you to bed."