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The first thing Olruggio noticed was that you were quiet. Not the kind where you sat in the corner with a book and hummed under your breath while organizing the ink jars from the girls or cleaning writing tools. This was a tired kind of quiet. The kind that dragged behind you like wet fabric.
He noticed because you nearly dropped a kettle on yourself. The searing pain in your abdomen distracting you.
Olruggio caught it before it hit the floor, fingers steady around the handle. Steam hissed softly from the spout as the water lightly sloshed about inside.
“You’re distracted,” he muttered.
“Sorry.” You reached for it again, but he angled it away from you slightly, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.” A lie. An obvious one.
Olruggio had never been particularly good at comforting people. Qifrey somehow made concern look graceful and warm, like sunlight through curtains. Olruggio, meanwhile, tended to stare at problems until they either solved themselves or became too intimidated to continue.
Or he killed them with his fire and burned them away.
Unfortunately, you looked entirely unintimidated by your suffering.
You pressed a hand subtly against your abdomen again when you thought he wasn’t looking. He noticed that too. “…Cramps?”
You froze. How did he know? Then, you sighed. “Unfortunately.”
Olruggio went still for a second, processing. His ears pinkened almost imperceptibly beneath dark hair. “Oh.”
You looked embarrassed now, which somehow made him feel worse. “It’s not a huge deal,” you mumbled quickly. “I can still work.”
“You look like you’re dying.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“You almost poured boiling water onto your hand.”
“Fair.” You scoffed and moved back from the stove, removing the spell from underneath the grates that had the tea kettle on. He clicked his tongue softly and turned away before you could see the conflicted expression crossing his face.
Periods weren’t exactly unfamiliar territory to him. He’d spent enough time around witches, apprentices, and people in general to know what they were. But understanding something and knowing how to handle it were completely different matters.
Comforting people required a level of softness he wasn’t convinced he possessed.
Still.
You looked miserable.
And that feeling in his chest twisted unpleasantly. It wasn't that he entirely hated it, but the annoying tightness that appeared whenever you smiled at him too long or thanked him too sweetly was going to catch up to him.
“Sit down,” he said abruptly.
You blinked. “What?”
“You’re swaying.”
“I am not.”
“You are. I don't wanna catch your ass.”
You opened your mouth to argue further, only for another cramp to visibly hit you. Your shoulders tensed instantly.
Olruggio pointed sharply toward one of the cushions near the low table. “Sit.”
The command startled you enough that you actually listened. He disappeared into the adjoining room before you could protest again. You stared after him, confused.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying an armful of blankets that looked aggressively overstuffed.
“What’s all that?”
He ignored the question entirely and dropped everything onto the couch beside you. “Move over.”
“Olruggio.”
“Move.”
"Olly..." You scooted aside.
He crouched near the pile, muttering under his breath while sorting through the blankets. His long fingers moved carefully, pulling out one thicker quilt from the middle. Then he reached for a small crystal slab.
You tilted your head. “What are you doing?”
“Trying something.”
That honestly could have meant anything with him.
Olruggio pressed his writing wand lightly against the crystal slab, dipping it in ink every now and again. Thin lines of magic drawn on the surface.
You remembered the pattern, the sigil. It's a snugstone. He showed you that one once. His work in progress, but he actually finished it? Your eyes widened slightly.
“…Oh.”
"Hopefully it's warm enough." He sounded irritated with himself already. But when he draped the blanket carefully over your lap, warmth spread instantly across your aching stomach and lower back.
You nearly melted on the spot. “Oh, that’s heavenly.”
Olruggio looked away too fast. “It’s basic.”
“I think I love you.”
The words slipped out thoughtlessly.
His entire posture locked up. You blinked, realizing what you’d said. “I mean— not like—”
“I understood what you meant.” His ears were definitely red now.
You sank lower beneath the blanket in embarrassment while Olruggio stood stiffly beside the couch, suddenly fascinated by literally anything else in the room.
After a long silence, he cleared his throat. “…Does it help?” He was distracting the both of you from what just happened.
“A lot.” You sounded softer now. Relaxed. That strange tightness in his chest eased slightly.
Without another word, he disappeared again. This time, he returned with food. Actually, it wasn't "food". It was a lot of sweets he had baked for the girls earlier. Or was it really for the girls?
“You hate sweets.” You grumbled, looking at the sweet bread.
“I tolerate them.”
You laughed despite yourself, the sound quieter than usual but genuine.
Olruggio carefully set everything down on your blanket.
There were small frosted pastriessugar-dusted bread twists, little chocolate biscuits, and even candied fruit skewers.
“You absolutely did not have to do all this.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “You said once that sweet things help.”
Your expression softened. Olruggio immediately regretted existing. You looked at him with such warmth that it made him feel oddly vulnerable, like standing too close to a cliff edge.
He adjusted his his spot next to you unnecessarily. “Well. Eat something.”
You picked up one of the pastries slowly. Olruggio became acutely aware of your presence immediately.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” you murmured between bites.
“I’m not babysitting.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You made me a heating blanket and bought enough sweets to feed a festival.”
“…You looked pathetic.”
You snorted. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The Olruggio version of concern.”
“I’m concerned that you’ll collapse and become inconvenient.”
“Mhm.”
He frowned faintly at the obvious disbelief in your voice. The room settled into quiet after that. Comfortable quiet.
The blanket continued radiating warmth over your aching body. The cramps hadn’t disappeared entirely, but they’d dulled enough that you could finally unclench your muscles.
Olruggio picked up a random book, pretending to read a book. Pretending very poorly.
Every few minutes his eyes flicked toward you over the top of the pages. You noticed eventually.
“If you keep looking at me, I'm gonna somehow transfer this pain to you. And you don't want to experience this.”
He stiffened and changed the subject immediately. "…Are they still bad?”
“A little.”
He closed the book with a quiet sigh. “Here.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he shifted closer and adjusted the blanket more securely around your waist, tucking the warmed edges carefully around you to keep the heat from escaping.
His hands were surprisingly gentle for someone who acted like human interaction was a complicated curse. You stared at him. Olruggio, realizing how close he’d gotten, paused awkwardly. For one brief second, neither of you moved. Then he pulled back immediately.
“There.”
“…Thanks.”
His throat felt strangely tight. Ridiculous.
You smiled faintly at him before sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “Thank you, Olruggio.”
That dangerous warmth returned to his chest again. He looked away before you could notice how flustered he suddenly felt. “...It’s... nothing.”
But even as he said it, he reached over wordlessly to pull the blanket higher around your shoulders when you shivered. And when your head slowly tipped sideways onto the couch cushion near him as sleep finally pulled at you, Olruggio stayed exactly where he was.
Face faintly pink.
Guarding the warmth he’d made for you like it was the most important spell in the world.
You were the most important to him anyways.