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Qifrey stares down at the tub before him.
It's approximately half full, and the water had, at one point, been scorching hot—the water drawn forth with a heat seal that Qifrey made a good effort to keep away from the girls to prevent them from accidentally burning themselves. Usually, by the time Qifrey plucks up the courage to actively immerse himself in the pool of water, it ends up stinging rather than scalding. Not necessarily harmful, but enough for him to disassociate the experience from other water related events in his life. The tub is quite large, but proportionally reminds him of a coffin.
(There are other times, where he fills the tub two-thirds of the way, and doesn't bother with any temperature related seals. He climbs in with purpose and shivers the whole way through the process of cleaning himself. It's partly from the temperature, but mostly from the trembling.)
Presently, Qifrey has been standing in front of the tub for long enough that he'd wager it's gone to room temperature by now.
He spends so much time dawdling—even on a good day. It's why he waits until bidding the girls a good night before washing up himself.
Qifrey leans forward just so, peering into the tub again.
Perhaps he should just use a spell to wash up again. It's a bit taxing to twist around and bathe himself using a vapor bubble, but it can be faster than miserably staring down at the waters for as long as he has by now. Qifrey hesitantly reaches a hand out toward the drain stop, pausing just before breaching the surface of the water. He takes a shaky breath.
A knock at the door.
"Qifrey?"
Olruggio knocks again.
"Open up, you've been moping around in there too long."
Qifrey obliges.
Olruggio stands before Qifrey as the door comes open. Gone is his cloak and cap, as well as much of his outer layers. Night clothes are hung over one of his arms.
"Ah, have you come for a wash yourself?"
Qifrey is dressed similarly, though his additional layers sit folded neatly atop the counter, topped off with his cap, while his sleeping attire sits beside it.
Olruggio hardly entertains Qifrey, simply raising an eyebrow as he looks him up and down.
"You know," Olruggio starts, "the girls should be long asleep by now."
"So they should be." Qifrey replies, astutely ignoring the implicit statement. His muscles ache.
A moment of silence passes.
Olruggio sighs. He steps forward and closes the door behind him, swinging the latch to lock it before brushing past Qifrey to deposit his things on the counter as well. Qifrey watches in silence as Olruggio goes about collecting towels from the cabinet, a few large ones and a fistful of smaller washcloths.
Olruggio lays out one of the towels across the floor outside of the tub, and leaves the rest of them in a stack on the raised tile that surrounds the outside of the tub.
Somewhere along the way, a bucket is procured and filled with water.
Mesmerized, Qifrey is nearly surprised when Olruggio is finally done organizing things to his vision.
"Qifrey?"
"Ah, yes, Olly?"
"Come here," Olruggio beckons Qifrey towards himself, leaving the man helpless but to dutifully fulfill the order.
Wordlessly, Olruggio begins tugging at Qifrey's garments, and Qifrey follows along in undressing himself.
Olruggio would likely remember the procedure stemming from their time in the Great Hall, though he wouldn't know when the last time they did this was—perhaps sometime before venturing to the Tower of Tomes.
They both end up sitting at the lip of the tub, Qifrey with his feet submerged in the water, and Olruggios planted firmly on the dry side.
Qifrey listens to the sloshing of water as he feels Olruggio pass a washcloth over him. He starts from the ends of his arms, working up towards his shoulders.
"Has something been troubling you recently?"
Qifrey hums in question.
"We haven't done this in quite some time, and usually you'd get all like this when something was especially bothersome."
Qifrey hums again, this time in thought. Water droplets slide down Qifrey’s back, dripping onto the towel that was placed with the express purpose of catching any spilled water.
"I suppose I've been thinking about the past quite often."
When wasn't he, was the real question.
Alarm creeps into Olruggio’s voice, "you don't mean to say—?"
Qifrey shakes his head.
"No, about something else."
"Right," Olruggio settles, somewhat, "what constitutes something else?"
Qifrey takes in the faint smell of the soap, and the warm air wrought on by the bucket being topped up with hot water. If there was ever one thing that took up residence in his mind most often, it would have to be—
"You."
"Me?"
"Always."
Olruggio huffs, wringing some excess water from the washcloth he was using before setting it aside in exchange for a new one. Qifrey parts his legs somewhat as Olruggio begins cleaning his front.
"Well color me surprised, what could I have done that you'd be hung up on it all these years later?"
It's spoken in jest, but Qifrey feels the very real writhing of his parasite underneath his skin. The nagging ache and fear and anxiety that quells it. Pain lances through him in bolts, and Qifrey fears his heart may burst. He takes a rather deep breath, and then holds it.
Qifrey ponders. Considers if he really is about to do this, then decides that the parasite clearly knows where his heart has been set since the turn of events this evening.
Qifrey exhales.
"Something terrible."
Olruggio halts. He turns his head slowly towards Qifrey, searching.
He does not give.
"Qifrey?"
He does not respond.
"Qifrey."
Words fail him, caught at the edge of his throat in a jumbled knot. A single pathetic noise escapes him.
Hands make their way to his shoulders, and he is forced to turn.
He whimpers. "You wouldn't remember."
"Qifrey, what did I do." The audibly rising panic in Olruggio’s voice forces Qifrey to shut his eye tightly.
His cap was all the way across the room. The tendrils of his curse pulse like a living creature, caught between the possibility of spreading or receding. The rabbit-quick pace of his heart and looming resolve soothe it into submission.
He gathers himself the best he can.
"My hair," Qifrey sniffs, "we need to—wash it."
Olruggio makes a baffled noise. Qifrey continues to quietly sniffle and weep despite his sudden change of topic.
A shuffle, and Olruggio pulls away briefly, and Qifrey feels him leaning back in to press a damp cloth into Qifrey’s hands.
"Wash your face, I'll do your hair in a moment."
And then Qifrey is left to his own devices as Olruggio takes to replacing the water and tidying things up. By the time he's finished wiping down his face, Olruggio has brought a stool over and replaced the towel at the floor, among other things Qifrey wouldn't have noticed. They quietly rearrange positions, Olruggio seated on the stool, and Qifrey on the towel, leaning back against the tub so his hair could be washed above it.
The small towel is folded over Qifrey’s eyes without asking, and Olruggio sweeps his bangs back to join the rest of his hair.
"Pouring some water now."
Qifrey hums, and he feels the trickle of warm water running across his scalp.
"You're always looking for a reason to worry, I swear."
"Mmph." Qifrey lets the words wash over him.
"Would it kill you to be honest just once?"
It would, actually.
"Well.." Qifrey starts, sounding unsure of where exactly to go. He trails off, thoughtful.
"I'm rinsing your hair," Olruggio warns.
And so the water came pouring down over Qifrey’s head, carefully angled so it would not spill across his face as well.
Drowsily, Qifrey finally speaks up.
"You had me erase your memory."
Olruggio stills, though this time he waits.
"You didn't do anything, Olly. If anything, you were too kind to me." Qifrey lets out a shuddering breath. "You swore me to secrecy anyway."
Olruggio watches Qifrey shake, just slightly, and puts a stop to it before it can continue, draping a large towel over his body.
"You'll have to forgive me then," Olruggio says, "I can hardly imagine why I'd ever do such a thing to you, whatever it was, but I'm sorry all the same."
There's no response, but Qifrey shifts from underneath the towel, reaching a hand up to lift a corner of the hand towel from his face, peeking out with his left eye.
Olruggio doesn't comment on the clear observation, or the lack of a reply, instead choosing to heave himself up, and to reach out a hand to help Qifrey do the same.
"Up you get, I've got to bathe as well."
And thus Olruggio continues on as if nothing of note had happened at all.
He doesn't exactly want to do so, but he knows how Qifrey gets, acting as if he had an allergy to being loved.
Olruggio empties the bucket, as well as the tub, and deposits the used towels into the laundry bin. Qifrey has migrated to the other stool seated next to the countertop, and appears to be intently staring at his things, as if looking hard enough will get them to do something.
Olruggio has already filled the tub anew and shucked off his clothes by the time Qifrey finally begins to reach out for his clothes, though Olruggio puts a laborious amount of effort into paying it no mind as he goes through the motions of cleaning himself up for the night.
When Olruggio later clambers out of the tub and into the warm embrace of his towel, he finally looks toward Qifrey, finding him about halfway through the task of dressing himself. Every motion he made was stiff, conveying how arduous the task really was in the present moment.
Olruggio forgoes speaking up or stepping in, focusing on himself instead, stepping forward to reach for his own nightclothes. They both become dressed at approximately the same time, and Olruggio sees to it that Qifrey is properly dry and warm, triumphantly fishing his link rings from the pants of his day clothes. It wouldn't have done him well for them to have ended up in the wash anyway.
"Come now, Qifrey, it's well past time you've gone to bed."
Qifrey doesn't move.
"It's been terribly cold, these past few nights."
Olruggio huffs, knowing the offer he wants to make will be rejected. Qifrey is quite wishy-washy about accepting what he wants, or what is freely given.
"Let me assuage your fears," Olruggio says, grandiose, "I have just the spell for this. I can craft it up real quick before turning in for the night, if you'd have me."
He can offer a few more moments of his time, not much else will be accepted by now.
Softly, Qifrey laughs. It sounds like bells.
They've both rounded up their things now, and stand just in front of the door.
Olruggio waits patiently, and Qifrey simpers, cap in hand as his attitude seems to straighten out.
"Usually," he says, "I'm the one begging for forgiveness."
Olruggio wakes, and has the feeling as if he's just taken one of those naps that leave a person more confused than rested upon rising.
He takes a moment to orient himself, and finds that he's in his sleep attire, as well as tucked into his own bed.
Had he been so tired that he forgot going to bed entirely? Or was he so well-rested that the night before was but a distant memory?
A ray of sunshine beams directly onto his face through the window.
Qifrey and the girls must be having breakfast right about now.
What a novel thought, breakfast.
Usually, Olruggio would sleep through it entirely, or miss it in the haze of working on a new contraption.
Damn near perfect timing. Perhaps he should take advantage of it and join the lot of them for once.