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Qifrey knew this day would come.
Don’t get him wrong, he is absolutely thrilled, without a doubt. Even if he’s acutely aware of the selfish reasoning behind it, the thought of his own atelier and apprentices was everything he had ever wanted. The constant stress of looking after children would ebb away at him. He would never quite feel safe enough to take root anywhere. And, maybe along the way, he could raise some incredible young witches. It would be fulfilling, and easily his best option.
Briefly, he considered staying in the Great Hall. It was a remarkably brief sentiment considering his hatred towards the place, but it did cause him great amounts of anxiety, no matter how much Alaira or Olruggio provided their instances of small relief. Even so, Qifrey couldn’t stand the idea of being cooped up in there, so he never gave the notion another thought.
He knew where he wanted to live. In his mind, where it isn’t being haunted by the sound of creaking wood, there’s a beautifully painted picture of a life he wants to live. Not that he’s allowed to live it. But he wants to get as close as he can.
And that’s where the line begins to blur.
The stress of apprentices would indeed keep Qifrey on his toes, but what if someone else was living with him? What if he could live out the life he always wanted with the person who told him he’s allowed to want it?
It’s a strange line to understand. Qifrey is deeply shaken by the idea that having Olruggio in his atelier could make him feel just safe enough that he jeopardizes that future he holds dear. His theoretical apprentices would be safe with him, of course, but the atelier would certainly be overrun by bark and leaves. He can’t imagine Olruggio would want to stick around. So even as a winding silverwood tree, Qifrey cannot have him. But at the same time, what is that future without him in it?
It’s hard. Qifrey knows that it’s not possible, but it doesn’t make it easier to wrap his head around.
He’s almost made his way back to his quarters, following a rather lengthy and dramatic congratulations from his master, before the man of the hour himself intercepts him eagerly.
“Qifrey! There you are!” Olruggio cheers, eyes wide and expectant. He’s wearing his robes and cap, telling Qifrey that he must’ve escaped lessons. As of recently, Olruggio’s chin has grown a dash of facial hair. It’s small and Olruggio insists that he’ll shave it as soon as he gets some free time, which technically means he never will, but Qifrey secretly likes the look on him. Today, his eyes are brimming with even more excitement than usual. “So?! Did you?”
He can’t help himself. Qifrey smiles, letting himself feel just a little giddy. “Yes, I passed.”
Qifrey had barely gotten the words out before Olruggio grips him by the shoulders and shakes him excitedly. “Haha! I knew you’d pass on the first try!”
“I really didn’t think I would.”
Olruggio grips him harder. “That’s because you doubt yourself! Which is, might I add, unbecoming of a future teacher.”
Qifrey rolls his eyes before prying Olruggio’s hands off of his shoulders. “My, Olruggio, you wouldn’t be suggesting that I’m unfit for the job, would you?”
“Ah, I’d never, Master Qifrey.”
“Good,” Qifrey says, putting on his teacher voice that he’s been practicing for ages now. “You best get back to your studies.”
Olruggio’s eyebrows shoot up a little. “Wow, you’ve gotten much better at that.”
Before Qifrey can respond, he sees the blurred, fast-moving form of Alaira, leaping to a stop in front of the two.
“Did you pass?! Did you?” She asks, eyes bright with a similar excitement.
Qifrey nods, quickly. “Yes. With flying colors. Or, that’s what Beldaruit told me, but he’s quite the flatterer.”
“That’s cause he likes you,” Alaira points out. “And congratulations! Where are you thinking of setting up your atelier, again?”
Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Qifrey debates telling her that he’ll have a countryside atelier. He doubts she’d be upset at it, in fact, he knows she wouldn’t, but it’s still something that’s rather…embarassing. Ateliers such as the one he envisions are often looked upon with the most scrutiny, as being away from the public eye is often seen as a front. And he can’t deny that his atelier is, in part, just that.
Fortune is on his side today, though, because Alaira’s master rounds the corner, sighing with relief and ushering her back with them. She must’ve escaped her studies to ask about Qifrey.
“Okay, coming,” she says, sulking a little before turning to Qifrey. “Tell me all about it later, okay? Promise!”
Qifrey nods. “Sure.”
Satisfied, Alaira jogs back in step with her master and the two duck out of the hallway, leaving just Qifrey and Olruggio, who’s raising an eyebrow at Qifrey, suspicious.
“Why didn’t you tell her?” he asks. “She wouldn’t judge you.”
“Yes, I know. But…” Qifrey shrugs, letting the tension fall out of his shoulders and neck. “I’ll tell her later. You’re right.”
Olruggio opens his mouth to speak, then stills as if thinking better of it. He sits like that for a couple of moments before speaking, although hesitantly. “Speaking of your atelier…when do you think you’ll be leaving?”
Ah. Like Qifrey said, he knew this day would come. He has rehearsed this.
“I will be setting it up for awhile,” Qifrey says, a tad robotically, trying to get through it. “Several days, definitely more once I fully wrap my head around the workload.”
“Yeah, you’re, uh…itching to get out of here, right?”
Qifrey nods, slow and small. “Yes. I’d like to be.”
Olruggio clearly looks like he’s holding his tongue, face contorted in his own inner conflict. Qifrey has an inkling of what this conflict is about. He can’t let this conversation happen. Not now.
“If you’ll excuse me, Olly. I’m going to rest for a while. My test exhausted me.” He tries to give Olruggio his best smile, but he knows it doesn’t hold the same fondness. Rather, it is replaced by tense anxiety. He lowers his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“I—” Olruggio stops. He fiddles with a tassel on his cloak. It matches the one on his cap. Qifrey feels his heart squeeze. He can’t think about that, either.
So, Qifrey maneuvers around him, the ribbon attached to his cap following him, always following. “You should rest, too,” Qifrey says.
He seems to get the hint. “Yeah…I should rest.” Although his words remain uncertain, Olruggio waves to Qifrey, something painfully childlike, before he turns and walks in his own direction.
Qifrey knows he can’t avoid the conversation forever. Without a doubt, in the morning, Olruggio will snag his cloak and drag him off to a corridor. He might ask the question hesitantly, or desperately, or excitedly. And Qifrey has to say no. In every possible way this could go, there is no deviance from his answer.
He slips into his chambers, letting out a deep sigh once his door clicks shut. Qifrey’s room is bigger, considerably more so than Olruggio’s or Alaira’s. His frantic studying for his test is sprawled all near his desk, messy and complex spells that slowly gained more coherence as the clock marks went by. His bed is rather plain, but it’s not like Qifrey is a very restful person anyhow. Even so, Qifrey really was exhausted. Part of him wanted to begin thinking of his atelier, but he was in dire need of a nap. Qifrey hangs up his cloak and hat, running his fingers through the ribbon, as he does every night.
Qifrey reminds himself, every single day, of why he can’t have what he wants.
He looks out of the singular window in his room and sees the glowing stars in the sky. There is one that is brighter than the rest.
The ribbon falls out of his hands.
———
It is not long after Qifrey slips into slumber that there is frantic knocking on his window. Before he even opens his eyes, Qifrey knows who it is.
Adorned in his sleep clothes, Qifrey shuffles out of his bed and rubs his eyes, grabbing his glasses from his desk to properly see that, yes, it is indeed Olruggio at his window.
With considerable effort, Qifrey pushes the window open, expecting Olruggio to enter his room as he usually does. This time, however, he leans forward and dashes using his sylph shoes, ramming into Qifrey at impressive speeds.
The two are knocked backwards, Qifrey unable to keep them upright as they sprawl on the floor. Qifrey is dazed, and his back hurts a little, but that doesn’t matter, because Olruggio’s breathing is quick and he looks more awake than Qifrey has seen him in ages. His eyes are brimming with emotions that Qifrey is terrified to label. So he won’t. He doesn’t.
Olruggio is looking down at him now, propped up on an elbow and a hand on either side of his face. Qifrey’s hands are digging into his floor, prepared to push up and stand if only Olruggio would get off of him. Why isn’t he moving?
Qifrey opens his mouth to request that he does before Olruggio beats him to the punch.
“Can I be your Watchful Eye?”
Qifrey’s blood turns to ice.
Of course. Of course, he didn’t account for this. He accounted for every single type of encounter in the daylight, or maybe the night after. But not this. Not now. Did Olruggio even sleep? At all?
Olruggio sits up on his heels, allowing Qifrey to sit up as well, supported by his elbows behind him. Neither say anything for a long, long moment.
“You…” Qifrey starts, trying to remember the plan, the easy way out of this. “You want to be my—”
“Yes.” Olruggio says, faster than he probably intended. But he looks so determined, so sure of it. He looks like he wants to, like he wants it so much. And Qifrey is sure he does. But Olruggio doesn’t know everything. It would be cruel of him to allow Olruggio to accompany him whilst Qifrey is fully aware of the knowledge gap. It will just hurt them both.
Qifrey swallows. “Olly,” he starts, fighting for the words. “Olly. I don’t—I’m not sure.”
Olruggio shakes his head. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are!” Olruggio leans forward, towards him. “I know you, Qifrey. You want me as your Watchful Eye.”
Qifrey sighs. No point in arguing that. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he says quietly. “Watchful Eyes are to remain impartial, remember?”
Olruggio stills at that, as if suddenly realizing. “Oh…right.”
“And you are…how do I say this—”
“Partial to you?”
Qifrey flushes, despite himself, heat burning in his ears. That is what he meant to say, but that term…it says things that Qifrey is afraid to say himself.
Titling his head, Olruggio rubs at his chin. “Maybe we could pull off some trickery?”
“No,” Qifrey says. “That wouldn’t work. They all know you, Olly. And they all know I’m…attached to you.”
The phrasing seems to affect Olruggio as well, his hand going to rub at the back of his neck. Still, he steels himself and looks Qifrey in the eye.
“But say they’d allow it. If the Great Hall could let me be your Watchful Eye.” Olruggio reaches and grabs Qifrey’s wrist ever so gently. “Would you want me?”
And the answer is easy. Qifrey has rehearsed it several times. He knows it by heart, the way he knows magic, the way he knows Olruggio, the way he knows the sounds of peeling bark.
He doesn’t know why he doesn’t say it.
“Yes,” Qifrey says, staring at Olruggio in a dazed trance. “Of course I would.”
Olruggio beams at that, grabbing his other wrist and helping the both of them stand up. Even when they do, Olruggio doesn’t let him go.
“Then have me.” Olruggio squeezes his wrists and slips his grip down to hold his hands. “Take me with you, Qifrey.”
Qifrey shakes his head, trying to step back. “I can’t. I—”
“Stop saying that!” Olruggio insists. “You’re always caught up in things you don’t believe you can have. But Qifrey,” Olruggio spreads his arms out, “I’m right here. You can have me. I want to go with you.”
“But why?” Qifrey interjects, emotions brimming that he needs to keep down, but he can’t. “Olly, you are a remarkable witch.”
“And so are you!”
“Not in the way you are,” Qifrey insists. “You are a prodigy, you are a spectacle, Olly. Your contraptions are the most beautiful I've ever seen, and I know I am not alone in that. You will run a successful business, take commissions, probably be the most popular and best selling witch at Silver Eve. You will be loved by the world, Olruggio. You deserve to live a life that isn’t shackled to someone else.”
Olruggio shakes his head, adamant, grabbing at Qifrey’s forearms. “Qifrey, you don’t understand.”
Qifrey looks away from him. “I could not live with myself if I took that life away from you.”
“You wouldn’t.” Olruggio rubs circles into his arms, firm and grounding. “I can live that life and be your Watchful Eye. I can live that life with you.” Olruggio leans forward, boring his gaze into Qifrey’s shaky one. “I don’t need to be loved by the world, Qifrey. I want to be loved by—”
There’s leaves obscuring Qifrey’s vision. Branches coil around his arms and legs and torso. His roots stretch and reach towards the warmest light he has ever known.
The sky’s kindest, most radiant star.
“Okay.”
Olruggio stops mid sentence, cheeks adorned with a small amount of red. He looks sufficiently shocked at the admission. “…Okay?”
Qifrey nods, even if it doesn’t look confident. “Yes. Okay. I’ll…I’ll get the paperwork soon and ask Beldaruit to put in a good word. Hopefully, that’ll be enough to swindle them.”
“You’re….” Olruggio stops, struggling to get the words out. “I’m coming with you?”
“You’ll have to do your best to remain neutral,” Qifrey says, not daring to look him in the eye as he tries to lighten the mood. “Can’t have biases, you see.”
He wonders if his facade is even close to fooling Olruggio as Qifrey is terrified at his own admission. The smallest notion of the seed growing inside of him made him throw all rationale out of the window, one that is notably letting the chilly night air into his chambers. He was so ready for this conversation. He thought he thought of anything, any location, anything that Olruggio could possibly say.
But, indeed, he did not. Qifrey forgot one special part of this equation.
Olruggio isn’t just kind, he’s too kind.
“Do you really want me?” Olruggio asks him, quietly. It surprises Qifrey a little. He’s never been very small or quiet. It’s not his usual personality. This is very unlike him, even in small instances.
Qifrey turns his gaze to Olruggio, who’s looking at him, expectant and desperate for a specific answer. He’s giving Qifrey a chance to deny it, to take it back, to fix things. He should fix things.
Qifrey has been digging a grave under a beautiful silverwood tree for as long as he is allowed to remember. Today, Qifrey picks up his shovel and throws out more soil.
“I do,” he says, quietly, skirting a hand over Olruggio’s shoulder and bicep. “I’d want no one else. I just…didn’t think the life I wanted suited you.”
Olruggio smiles. “Where you go, I go, okay?”
And Qifrey smiles back, ignoring the sound of leaves fluttering in the wind.
———
Qifrey stirs and blinks his eye open, being met with a blurry ceiling and orange light bleeding into the room. He’s on the couch, head tipped back and napping. That’s odd. He never falls asleep here, especially without any liquor in him.
“Hey.” Qifrey blinks and looks to the source of the noise, where Olruggio is kneeled by the fire. Qifrey can’t see him very well, but he can see the stark contrast of Olruggio’s beard with his lightly tanned face, his mouth turning a little. “Did I wake you?”
Shaking his head, Qifrey touches his nose bridge to discover that, yes, his glasses aren’t there. He looks to the desk beside him, scrambling a little to find them, when Olruggio kneels in front of him and places a hand on his knee. Only when Qifrey stills does Olruggio take his glasses out of his pocket and put them in Qifrey’s hands. Before Olruggio can pull away, Qifrey folds their hands over each other, and he closes his eye from the small bloom of pain in his temple.
“Qifrey.” Olruggio’s voice is low and calming. If he speaks for long enough, Qifrey is sure it would lull him to sleep.
“Sorry,” Qifrey murmurs back to him, mustering a tired smile. He temporarily pulls away to put his glasses on, finally getting a better look at Olruggio’s tired face. “I was dreaming.”
Olruggio holds his hands again and swipes his thumb over the back of Qifrey’s. “What about?”
Qifrey has to look away from the honest, open expression on Olruggio’s face. He’s waiting, patient as always, for Qifrey to talk, to really tell him something, to finally let him in. And Qifrey never can, not in the way he’s wanted to.
“That night you barreled into my chambers about being my Watchful Eye.” Qifrey rubs his cheek against his shoulder, strangely embarrassed about the contents of this dream, this memory. He abandoned his principles so easily. He can never truly get it right when it comes to Olruggio, can he?
But Olruggio smiles, a small, gruff thing. “Ah.”
The two sit in their silence for a moment, listening to the crackle of a fire. All of the apprentices are asleep by now, at least Qifrey sincerely hopes they are. It’s just them. It’s just them in their atelier.
Qifrey is dancing with the devil, but all he sees is an angel.
“You know…” Olruggio uses his hands to unfold Qifrey’s, laying them slightly flat and palms down. Olruggio holds his hands gently, his fingers curling around them as he pulls and holds them close to his chest. “I think I’d follow you to the ends of the world.”
It takes everything in Qifrey not to let a sob rip out of his chest. He shakes with the effort, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Olruggio, who just smiles at him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Qifrey.” He sounds so sure. There might have been a time, when he was far younger, that Qifrey wouldn’t have believed him. But he’s lived too long, spent too many years ignoring it. Olruggio would chase him, no matter where he went, or where his roots would settle. He would save Qifrey, every single time, and come up with the same horrific plan, every single time. Qifrey knows he’s not lying.
Silently, Qifrey holds tighter onto Olruggio’s hands and leans forward, letting his forehead press into Olruggio’s. It’s an awkward angle, and Olruggio has to tilt his head back a little to ensure it’s comfortable for both of them, but he breathes. He can feel the branches and the bark. So Qifrey sits in it. For just a little moment, he lets himself have it.
He wants this so much and it’s killing him.
Olruggio reaches up to cup the back of Qifrey’s neck when Qifrey pulls back, not letting go of his hand. “I think we should get some rest,” he says, voice low.
“…Yes.” Olruggio sighs, nodding, blinking himself out of a daze. “We should.”
He stands, dusting off his skirts before holding out a hand for Qifrey, who smiles at him and accepts it, feeling the twinge in his neck from the awkward way he slept.
“Goodnight, Qifrey,” Olruggio says. His voice is loaded with something, with questions that Qifrey desperately wishes he didn’t have.
So Qifrey just nods, reaching forward and running his hand along Olruggio’s collar and shoulder. “Goodnight, Olly.” And they finally part.
When Qifrey makes his way to his chambers, far too exhausted for someone who was just asleep, he gazes outside of the window at the beautiful night sky. Dark shades of indigo and violet paint the view in strong, intentional strokes. Speckles of white stand out against the darkness.
He sees the star, brighter than all of the other ones, with a smile and an outstretched hand and a possibility of something, something…
Qifrey hears the creaking of wood. And he turns away.