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Thankfully, the girls were an age where they understood migraine. Agott got them regularly, and Qifrey could hear Coco wince through the door when she inquired where her professor had gone.
Why she was looking in Olly’s room would be a question for another day. Probably just used to asking adults about other adults.
For now, Qifrey had to trust that the situation was under control. While four 11 and 12 year girls definitely could burn down his atelier, it was more likely that they’d asked Olly to help them make basic sandwiches and gotten to work on their primers.
That just left him here, on the rug, paralyzed. To be honest, he rarely cared much about the pain of a migraine. It was nice to not have to worry about the seed sprouting for a few days. The paralysis, the nausea, and the sensitivities were a lot harder to hide and work through. He could already feel spit lolling out of the right corner of his mouth, slack and numb as it was. He did try to push up, he really did. But he promptly tumbled sideways and decided that the floor was likely the safest position.
“Ey, Qifray, ya dead?” Despite the causal tone, Qifrey could hear a twist of worry. “I grabbed ya some grilled cheese before your ravenous pets could eat it all.”
He wanted to smile, he really did. But even after struggling to turn over and face his friend, half of Qifrey’s face remained limp and unfeeling. Ugly. Lopsided. Not worth it. They should let you go. “Mmm fin, than oo.”
The food was placed near his hands, but Olruggio hesitated while he was still kneeling. “Ya sure?”
Two tears trickling into the ink. The guilt that always came with stealing pieces of someone he loved.
“Shur.” Olly noted that the faint, one-sided smile on his best friend’s face was more transparent to his pain than crying.
He sat, crossing his legs. ”Then you won’t mind if we eat together, will ya?”
That would piss Qifrey off, but it was worth that to see if he was really okay. And, of course, he’d let him win whatever silly argument the two of them started—they always made Qifrey’s headaches worse. (Not that he couldn’t cry and make Qifrey lose. That was just playing dirty, and it wouldn’t be fair if Qif was sick.)
The sandwiches sucked compared to stews and roasted vegetables and the things Qifrey normally tried to provide his growing girls. But they’d still made Qifrey drift off in an attempt to make sense of the pain.
When he awoke, it was clearly quite late. The fire was notably dimmer—it took Qifrey a second to realize that Olly had given him a set of the dark glasses he normally used to work metal.
Please, not this soon. A new wave of pain and dizziness reminded him that was not possible.
Qifrey managed to turn over with a soft noise. Olruggio had built a large window into part of his atelier, and, while he couldn’t see the stars directly (anymore), Qifrey sensed they were high in the sky. It was probably a beautiful, pitch-black night. He longed to share—
“Ey, you up now? Qif, how ya feelin’?” Olly was speaking surprisingly quietly, considering how rough he normally sounded. From Qifrey’s angle on the floor, it appeared he’d been working on something.
“Nah… grea.” He tried to open and close his mouth, get the muscles to work together. “Buuuu, bedder?” It would have to do.
Olruggio seemed doubtful still. He turned back to his work. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be back down there.”
It turns out, for once, that a few minutes really only was a few minutes. Though with the slipping consciousness of a migraine, it felt like seconds and could have been hours.
“Alright, Qif,” Olruggio settled on the floor next to him again, “Let’s turn the ol’ flesh prison over so we can end this.”
His hands were light and gentle, one holding his head steady while the other turned Qifrey back onto his stomach. When did he get a brush buddy pillow, one that allowed Qifrey to breathe like that? Gentle heat slowly spread across Qifrey’s back before a blanket was set over it.
Before he knew it, Olruggio was painfully digging his elbows into the sensitive joints of Qifrey’s back, possibly compounding the migraine’s pain. He felt his muscles jumping and tensing against the constant, moving pressure forcing them to relax. It was so ungodly painful that Qifrey wanted to cry, but…
Please, if I’m going to die in the next month, let it be here. Let it be now.
The next morning, Qifrey did chores as usual. He’d slept in the soft bed, Olly’s hammock being occupied. His headache had unfortunately begun to settle back into its normal pattern, hiding behind his closed eye, waiting for weakness.
Agott was not keen to hug him, but stuck close enough to see if he was still sensitive, like she would be. Tetia was quieter than usual in her yelling. Richeh held out a crystal ribbon to tie around his hair. And stars bless, Coco offered to wash up breakfast.
Olly hadn’t joined them, but he smiled faintly at his work when a plate was placed on his desk. Qifrey had forgotten the book, he remembered now.
“Can I borrow this one? I’ve been meaning to read it.” He tried to sound casual.
“Neither ‘ave I, but you’re welcome to it.” Olly had erased another extra memory. “I’ll probably forget to ask for it back anyway.”
Again, Olly’s intuition bothered Qifrey. But he tried to push it aside, allowing himself a few minutes of quiet before he returned to help his students. “That’s no problem. I should probably get back to the girls.” He started to walk towards the door.
“Before you go, Qifray.” Olruggio gently placed the rock he was working with on the table. “You know you can come to me for whatever. I’m the Watchful Eye.” He smiled at his hands. “Especially if it’s just a headache.”