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An old acquaintance from Godrey occasionally pays Olruggio for some work--he's affixed some glowstones with a warming spell to keep paths clear of snow. He's often given gifts as payment, and today is a large haunch of torchstag. Hunting is necessary for the long winters for furs, skins, food. Olruggio was taught to hunt but he'd never had the stomach for it. It had always weighed on him, as it does now, this failing of his in providing for others, and how he will always fail when faced with it.
He comes home with meat now, though. Tetia and Coco are working together in the living room, and chirp at him when he returns. They come to gawk at the strung-up haunch hanging off Olly's shoulder and he waves them off, tells them to keep up their studying. They're talking about what might be for dinner as he leaves for the kitchen.
Qifrey is there, working by the sink. A bowl of noodles and soup is left on the table, and as he sets the meat down onto it, Olly announces, "Hope the girls like venison."
Qifrey turns and offers a smile--likely he'd heard Olruggio coming--and also gives a look of appreciation to the huge haunch. "My, you've been busy!"
"Not more than usual." Olly sits at the table and takes off his cap. "This is too much, really. We grow plenty here and get lots more than we need from other patrons. But they wouldn't listen when I told them that."
"It's their thanks--it'd be rude to turn it down. And I think people give you what they exactly feel in appreciation." Qifrey still has that little smile on his face as he dries his hands and goes to slice some bread.
Olruggio watches him. It's unnecessary to dwell on how beautiful Qifrey is, like the inanity of commenting on the beauty of a fresh morning or the air after rain. But, Olruggio is only human, and one can't help but savor these things. Qifrey offers him the bread, slides the bowl over to him meaningfully, and goes back to the chores. He moves about artfully, willowy like limbs in the wind. He bends over his work and his neck, too, is so slim and delicate like how a rabbit's felt in one's hand. Olruggio's father would encourage him to twist it and it would snap like nothing.
Olruggio eats and is thankful for the quiet Qifrey leaves him, the comfortable world of the atelier. When he's done he comes up to clean the dishes, and beside Qifrey, he catches a sneaky, playful glance his way. As he turns to ask, the end of a flower is stuck in between his lips.
Qifrey laughs at the face Olruggio makes. "The girls picked some millflower today. They still think fairy grass has the best nectar, but I told them of our intensive taste testing."
They'd spent an entire day scouring fields, bickering over and smiling into flowers. Olruggio purses his lips and drinks the precious few drops of nectar--it tastes like spring becoming summer, sweetness gone too soon. "Mm, yeah, millflower's still the best."
Olruggio takes the flower from his lips and looks on it and feels something in his belly. Qifrey is often doing this: when Olruggio works to provide, Qifrey meets him with even more, a warm meal and a sweet flower. Here in Naakiwan, far from the sea, with Olruggio and Agott and Tetia and Riche and Coco, Qifrey smiles more, perhaps even when he doesn't have to. Qifrey thinks constantly on what he can give to his family--years ago, Qifrey had thought he had nothing to give and no one to take it.
Olruggio wonders on what he himself has to give, what it means for Qifrey to take it, and what he takes when Qifrey offers. He thinks of giving exactly what you feel.
"What should we make with all this?" Olruggio blinks up to see that Qifrey is turned to look at the haunch on the table.
Olruggio hums thoughtfully. "You decide."
It's midafternoon, but Olruggio lays in his bed. He won't be getting his sleep schedule righted today. Only a little light trickles through the window, and he feels the wriggling of the brushbug trying to worm further into the quilts. He pets at it idly to quiet it.
He remembers when Qifrey first told his story, when he was found by Beldaruit. Afterward, Olruggio dreamed of his friend beneath the earth, in a spot already grown over with riotous plants. Olruggio would uproot them furiously and dig with his hands and weep. It was such a relief to awaken, but not as much as he wanted it to be.
It felt like years clawing for Qifrey, clawing while he screamed for Olly to leave. Years of lies you tell friends. It's so far from now, isn't it? What could be safer than where they are, what more need could there be for lies? As always, Olruggio wants to know what Qifrey wants. He knows the needs: water, food, warmth, shelter. Companionship and support. Qifrey had thought he knew what he wanted, but revenge is very short-sighted in the scheme of one's whole life. They've found themselves here, and it might be enough to satisfy, to leave them wanting for nothing, but.
Olruggio cannot allow any selfishness. He can't quite tell his own desire from what he thinks he sees of Qifrey. But if Qifrey will eat the food he makes, take his slices of warmth, give in return, would it be wrong to offer more? If Qifrey places a flower between Olruggio's lips, what may Olly do in turn?
Olruggio turns in his bed and thinks of clawing Qifrey out through the earth, and he thinks that if Qifrey won't follow him out, he can at least show him where the sun is shining, and can come sit beside him in the grave.
Olruggio wonders if he will dream this dream again tonight. He thinks, faintly: has he ever told Qifrey this? He must have.
Did he? He falls asleep fitfully thinking on it.
Of course, he wakes up after the moon has come up, and the kitchen is deserted except for a plate of roast left atop a warming spell. And beside it, a slice of loaf cake smeared in mountain apple butter. Olruggio looks the spread over and sighs, then eats.
It's too quiet for anyone to be awake, though Olly has a feeling otherwise. After cleaning up he wanders toward Qifrey's bedroom and indeed, outside it in the hallway, Qifrey is sweeping in dim lighting. His head lifts as Olly's bare feet creak the stairs.
"Did you get dinner?" he asks.
"Yes. The roast was very good. The cake, too." Olruggio pauses. "I'm sorry I missed eating with you all."
"It's alright, I know you were working all morning."
Olruggio takes a step closer, then another. "No, I really ought to make time for you and the girls."
Qifrey has stopped sweeping. "Well, I know they would love that, but they understand how hard you work."
Olruggio steps closer still. "You don't need to be so gentle with me." His stomach sits warm and heavy, and his mouth tries to twist as he speaks. "Don't you miss me?"
Qifrey's face changes, it's...the dark makes it even worse, how drawn, how concerned and perhaps guarded he becomes. He stares at Olruggio like this for a moment. "...Of course, I--but Olly, you don't need--"
"I know I don't need to." No, he hadn't meant this to be an argument, though his head is growing hot. His hands may even start shaking.
Olruggio is right before Qifrey now, his eyes cast up through his lashes and hair to meet Qifrey's. His chest, open to the air, works harder just to hold himself, and he sees it, that heartbeat where Qifrey glances down to see it moving. He knows, he knows, and is it selfish of him to try and take it from Qifrey? It isn't if he only offers, right? Qifrey can always deny him--a lie for a friend.
Olruggio takes the broom Qifrey grips like a lifeline and pushes it aside; Qifrey lets it go. His expression is different again. It's almost nothing, shrinking back. "I'm always reaching out for you," Olruggio murmurs, "and I haven't been there for you to reach for--but look, right now, I'm right here." His breath feels too hot for his body.
Qifrey can't keep his face from shivering, or his eye from seeing all of Olly. There's a crack in the earth. "You know--you've always been there Olly, and you..."
"What?"
Qifrey shakes his head the smallest bit. "...I don't know what to say." It's said so tiredly that it feels like a stone fallen out of Qifrey, a heavy and honest thing.
Qifrey comes so close, and he can't do anything. Even now, does he hate the squirming of happiness? Olruggio can't stand it for him, he would start shouting in frustration at everything, everything he's been through up to this very second, but he sees that Qifrey cannot move himself so Olruggio takes hold to kiss him.
Olruggio has to make his point against him--he has to show Qifrey how he wants to be kissed, to make him understand. And yes, then, finally, Qifrey does something--he lets himself kiss Olly. Their lips find shape and press and pull. It seems to fizzle through all of Olruggio's skin. It feels exactly as he's thought it would, but he is feeling it now, something with flesh and meat. He has to pant against Qifrey.
His hands grab for Qifrey's to put them on himself--yes, this is selfishness now. How could he care, Qifrey's perfect and clever fingers have pushed into his shirt and are on his chest and brushing the hair such that Olruggio fights not to cry out for it. He wants this forever, he tries to get inside of Qifrey and hopes that Qifrey has realized that Olly hadn't redressed in his leggings, that they could go into his room right now and his skirt could be hiked up--
They come apart with a wet sound of flesh rending. Olruggio starts to see again and stares at Qifrey's mouth, a rosy color he has never seen on it before. Qifrey's hands are on Olruggio's shoulders now and he holds him there to look at him. They stare at each other like frightened children and Qifrey tells him, "I'm not ready. I'm not ready."
Olruggio is spinning. Stupidly, he says, "Hh?"
"I'm sorry, Olly, I'm sorry, you can't--you must know, it's not ever your fault, you know that? It's just me, I'm always..." Qifrey breathes heavy. "I can't do this right now."
What could Olruggio say to this? Now that he can breathe again, he only says what he can. "Okay."
"It's not okay, Olruggio. It really isn't." Qifrey is staring at the floor. He's still holding Olruggio.
Too much kindness, too sudden, has always hurt him. Olruggio had thought wrong. He puts a careful hand to Qifrey's elbow. "Qifrey, you don't owe me anything. Especially not this."
Qifrey looks at him with something like fury. "You must know, Olly, you must know--" But he can't bring himself to say it.
"Will you go to bed and not worry, Qifrey." Olruggio takes Qifrey's wrists to pull the grip loose, and their hands hang between them. "I understand. I understand better than anyone, how hard this is for you. I only meant to--" Qifrey is afraid of his happiness and Olruggio has demanded it of him. "--but if you can't, then it's fine. I'm always here, you know."
His single eye is hard and desperate. "You'll wait? Will you?"
"Yes," Olruggio says, despite some petulance in him that stamps its feet and says how long? how long? that Olruggio crushes because he's known that he will wait forever.
Qifrey sighs like a final breath. In the harshest, quickest embrace Olruggio has ever been a part of, Qifrey takes him and says against him in a rush, "Please wait, Olruggio." Qifrey's door shuts between them.
There's nothing to wait for here in the hall. Olruggio turns and heads down the creaky stairs. He imagines himself falling down them and cracking his skull. He could bash his head against the stone walls of his room, or he could burrow into the earth and stop breathing. He might die in his sleep and this will all have been nothing. He thinks of anything that could happen, and none of it seems possible.
In Qifrey's room there is a wide basin of water. He does not wait even a moment to see himself in the reflection before pushing his face into it. It's still then, and Qifrey can think about the fantasies he's had of biting into warm fat, ones that leave his teeth aching in want. Olruggio's shirt fallen open, his feet bare on the cold floor, more that Qifrey hadn't seen but he can imagine very, very clearly, they're too deep inside him to ever pull out, and the fine tendrils of them have shifted in those moments when they almost became real. But Qifrey's head starts to throb, pulsing harder each beat without a breath, some muscles somewhere are starting to spasm.
A half breath is involuntarily taken in, when his body finds that it is water coming in his throat, and his neck is thrown back so he may retch. Water spatters to the floor as Qifrey spits and gasps. The breathing hurts almost as much as the lack of it.
He stumbles backward to fall on his stiff bed. He pants and lays atop it, not bothering to clean himself. Despite how every bit of him is heaving and worn from the strain, he does not feel anything inside himself.