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The atelier felt wrong when everyone else was gone.
Too quiet.
Too large.
Too aware of itself.
Usually the building breathed with noise — doors slamming upstairs, voices carrying through hallways, someone burning dinner in the kitchen, papers shuffling, spells muttered under breaths, laughter drifting from one room to another.
But tonight the silence stretched through the rooms like dark water.
Qifrey and the others had left that morning for an errand that would apparently take several days, leaving the atelier in your and Olruggio’s care.
At first it had sounded pleasant.
Peaceful even.
By hour three you realized something deeply unfortunate:
Being completely alone with your boyfriend was dangerous.
Not because Olruggio was inappropriate.
Quite the opposite.
He had somehow become worse after the confession.
More affectionate, yes, but in quiet devastating ways that made surviving daily life nearly impossible.
A hand settling at your waist automatically when passing behind you.
His fingers brushing yours while handing you books.
The absentminded kisses pressed into your hair while he read.
The way he looked at you now.
Gods.
The looking was the worst part.
You were trying very hard to focus on inventory sheets spread across the dining table.
Very hard.
Unfortunately Olruggio was sitting directly across from you with his sleeves rolled up and his glasses slipping slightly down his nose while candlelight flickered gold across his face.
Cruel.
Deeply cruel.
“You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes,” he said without looking up.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re doodling frogs in the margins.”
You looked down.
Traitorous little frog sketches stared back at you.
“…They improve the page aesthetically.”
“They look possessed.”
“That’s subjective.”
Olruggio’s mouth twitched faintly.
Victory.
You leaned back in your chair dramatically. “I’m bored.”
“We still have work.”
“I reject that spiritually.”
“You can’t reject responsibilities spiritually.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re obsessed with me.”
“I unfortunately am.”
Your grin softened automatically.
It still startled you sometimes — how easily he said things like that now.
Like loving you had become natural once he stopped fighting it.
Warmth spread through your chest.
Then Olruggio ruined everything by casually adding:
“You should still finish your reports.”
You gasped in offense. “How dare you.”
“Finish them.”
“You finish them.”
“I already finished mine.”
“Oh, so you think you’re better than me?”
“I know I am.”
You narrowed your eyes.
Olruggio continued reading calmly.
Too calmly.
That was another problem.
He was almost impossible to rile up fully.
You could annoy him, yes.
Fluster him occasionally.
But genuinely upset him?
Rare.
Which made the moment he finally snapped later that evening all the more horrifying.
It started small.
Most terrible fights did.
The sun had long disappeared by the time you headed downstairs toward the workshop storage room carrying an armful of supplies.
The atelier creaked softly around you in the dark.
Somewhere upstairs, Olruggio was reorganizing materials because apparently he enjoyed suffering.
You set the boxes down near one of the shelves and crouched to retrieve a fallen jar.
That was when you noticed the seal.
Broken.
Your stomach tightened instantly.
No.
No no no.
You reached for the container carefully.
Inside sat dark powder.
Moon ash.
Restricted.
Dangerous.
Your pulse quickened.
Why was this down here?
More importantly—
Why was it open?
You heard footsteps approaching just as you lifted the jar.
Olruggio appeared in the doorway.
And immediately froze.
For one sharp second, genuine alarm crossed his face.
“Put that down.”
Your brows furrowed. “Why is this here?”
“Put it down.”
“You said the atelier didn’t keep restricted materials anymore.”
“We don’t.”
You lifted the jar slightly. “Then what is this?”
Something cold entered his expression.
“Give it to me.”
You stared at him.
Slowly, unease curled in your stomach.
“Olruggio…”
“Now.”
The sharpness in his voice startled you enough that you obeyed automatically.
He crossed the room immediately and took the jar from your hands almost too quickly.
Like he was afraid of you touching it.
You watched him reseal it tightly before placing it high onto the shelf.
His jaw was tense.
“Why are you acting like that?” you asked quietly.
No answer.
That was worse.
Your chest tightened.
“Olruggio.”
“It’s nothing.”
“That’s obviously a lie.”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Your expression hardened immediately. “Excuse me?”
He exhaled sharply like he already regretted saying it.
But instead of apologizing, he doubled down.
“You shouldn’t have been down here alone.”
“I was putting supplies away.”
“You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“With a sealed jar?”
“You don’t understand what that material can do.”
“Then explain it.”
“I said it doesn’t concern you.”
Anger sparked hot and sudden in your chest.
There it was.
That wall he still put up sometimes.
That infuriating instinct to shut you out whenever things became difficult.
“You don’t get to do that anymore.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Do what?”
“Treat me like I’m some child you have to keep in the dark.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“No,” you snapped. “You’re trying to control the situation.”
Silence slammed into the room.
Olruggio went very still.
Dangerously still.
“You think this is about control?”
“I think you never tell me anything until it becomes unavoidable.”
“That’s not true.”
“It absolutely is.”
His voice sharpened. “I tell you what you need to know.”
“And who decides that? You?”
“You have no idea how dangerous some of these things are.”
“And you have no idea how exhausting it is constantly being shut out by you!”
The words echoed off the workshop walls.
You both froze afterward.
Breathing hard.
Olruggio looked genuinely taken aback.
Good.
Maybe he should be.
“You think I don’t notice?” you continued, voice shaking now. “Every time something serious happens, you pull away. You stop talking to me. You decide everything yourself and expect me to just trust that you know best.”
“I do know best in situations like this.”
The second the words left his mouth, regret flashed across his face.
Too late.
Your hurt turned sharp instantly.
“Wow.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It sounded pretty clear to me.”
“You’re twisting my words.”
“No, I’m listening to them.”
You turned away before he could see how badly your eyes burned.
Because this wasn’t really about the jar anymore.
And maybe both of you knew that.
You were tired.
Tired of the fear that one day Olruggio would decide loving you meant hiding things from you forever.
Tired of wondering if he trusted you as much as you trusted him.
Behind you, his voice lowered.
“You think I don’t tell you things because I don’t trust you.”
You laughed bitterly. “Do you?”
Silence.
The silence answered for him.
Your chest cracked open.
“Oh my gods.”
“That’s not—”
“You don’t.”
“I trust you with my life.”
“But not with the truth.”
He looked furious now too, though the anger seemed mostly directed inward.
“You don’t understand what knowing certain things can cost.”
“Then let me decide what I can handle!”
“You say that now because you haven’t seen what I’ve seen!”
“And whose fault is that?!” you shouted.
The room fell dead silent.
Olruggio’s expression changed instantly.
Not angry anymore.
Wounded.
Like you’d struck him.
You regretted it immediately.
But the damage was already done.
He stepped back slightly.
And somehow that hurt worse than yelling.
“I spend every day terrified something will happen to you,” he said quietly.
The softness of his voice made your anger stumble.
“You rush headfirst into danger. You trust people too easily. You act before thinking and laugh afterward like you’re invincible.”
“I’m not asking you to protect me from everything.”
“Well maybe I can’t help it!” he snapped suddenly.
The force of it startled both of you.
Olruggio dragged a hand through his hair roughly, breathing unevenly now.
“You think this is easy for me?” he said hoarsely. “Loving you is the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Your anger faltered completely.
His eyes met yours.
Raw.
Open.
“You walk into dangerous situations without hesitation and all I can think about is losing you.”
Your throat tightened.
“When I found you holding that jar…” He stopped hard, jaw clenching. “Do you have any idea what went through my head?”
You looked away first.
Because suddenly you did understand.
Not fully.
But enough.
Enough to realize fear had been speaking for him long before anger did.
Still…
Pain lingered stubbornly in your chest.
“You can’t keep shutting me out,” you whispered.
Olruggio closed his eyes briefly.
“I know.”
“You can’t decide what I deserve to know.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?”
For a long moment he didn’t answer.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded exhausted.
“Because if something happens to you…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know who I become after that.”
The room went still.
Your anger collapsed all at once.
Oh.
Oh.
There it was.
The real thing underneath all of it.
Not control.
Not superiority.
Fear.
Horrible consuming fear.
Olruggio looked away sharply, like admitting that aloud physically hurt him.
“I spent years teaching myself not to need people,” he said quietly. “Then you arrived and ruined that completely.”
A watery laugh escaped you despite yourself.
His mouth twitched faintly at the sound before fading again.
“I know I can be…” He searched for the word. “Difficult.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“That too.”
“You make me feel like you don’t see me as your equal sometimes.”
That one landed.
You saw it immediately in his expression.
Real guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Not defensive.
Not automatic.
Real.
“I never wanted you to feel that way.”
Your eyes stung again.
Gods, you hated fighting with him.
Because even at his worst, even angry, even sharp-edged and stubborn—
You loved him so much it physically hurt.
Olruggio took one cautious step closer.
Then another.
“You are the person I trust most,” he said quietly. “Which is exactly why I panic.”
You looked down at your hands.
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.” His voice was rough. “It doesn’t.”
Silence stretched between you again.
But softer this time.
Wounded instead of hostile.
Finally you whispered:
“What was in the jar?”
He hesitated.
Then, slowly:
“Something connected to an old investigation.” His eyes lifted carefully to yours. “Something dangerous enough that I wanted it destroyed, but couldn’t yet.”
Your brows pulled together.
“You could’ve just said that.”
“I know.”
A beat.
Then:
“I’m bad at this.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
Olruggio looked relieved just hearing it.
“You’re terrible at this,” you corrected.
“I said bad. Let’s not exaggerate.”
“You emotionally barricade yourself like it’s a profession.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“You alphabetized your emotional repression.”
“That was one time.”
“You made categories.”
“They were useful categories.”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then suddenly both of you were laughing.
Not because the fight was funny.
But because the relief afterward felt overwhelming.
The tension cracked apart all at once.
Your shoulders sagged.
“So what now?” you asked softly.
Olruggio stepped fully into your space then.
Careful.
Tentative.
Like he was asking permission without words.
When you didn’t move away, his hands settled gently at your waist.
“I try to do better,” he murmured.
“You better.”
“I said try.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” you echoed quietly.
His forehead rested against yours.
Warm.
Familiar.
Home.
“I love you,” he whispered.
The anger still lingering in your chest dissolved completely.
You wrapped your arms around him tightly.
“I love you too, idiot.”
Olruggio huffed softly against your hair.
Then after a pause:
“…You still can’t touch mysterious cursed substances without supervision.”
You pulled back immediately. “Oh, we are absolutely starting another fight.”