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Olruggio finds him late at night in the middle of a rain storm, perched on the atelier's roof with his hands gripping the sides of his head. There is no rainflinger spell to protect him from getting wet. There is no solid reason Olruggio can come up with for why in the world Qifrey would even be awake at this hour, let alone outside and in the rain.
It had been a last ditch effort to even look outside for him. He hadn't been in his usual hiding spots. Not expecting to be right, Olruggio had thought to look outside and, if he wasn't there... well, Qifrey's a grown adult. He can do what he wants. A note would have been great to have, though.
But he did end up finding him. And the relief he felt at that was immediately clouded by worry. Because there was no reason for Qifrey to be out here, not at this hour and not in this weather. Did something happen? But then why didn't he just come find Olruggio and tell him about it? He can do that now. It won't kill him to do that anymore.
Oh, but that's the issue, isn't it? The eternal crux of every problem. And it's a horrible habit born of old necessity that Olruggio will simply have to work with him to break. He is not naïve, he had known that this behavior wouldn't simply vanish over night once the tree was out of him. He still feels frustrated when Qifrey bottles things up. And hates that it frustrates him immediately after. Because he understands. He does.
He still hates it.
A gentle sigh escapes him when he activates the seal engraved into the bottom of his shoes, current of air carrying him to the roof. He lands gently, with barely an audible drop over the constant clammer of rain falling on the stone tiles, vying to be the loudest one, the sharpest sound and the boldest voice.
"Now," Olruggio grunts, wincing slightly at the startled jolt in Qifrey's shoulders. Still, he continues on, hands working at the clasp on his cloak, "what in the world possessed ya to sit out here in the rain?" His last word is punctuated by the gentle draping of his (comparatively) dry cloak over Qifrey's soaked shoulders.
When he does not get an immediate answer - not that he'd expected one - he sits down, only mentally lamenting his now soaked bottom. This weather is miserable to be sitting in.... which, when he considers that for a second longer, Olruggio kind of supposes was probably the point.
"You don't have to tell me the truth if you can't, I know that's still askin' a lot sometimes, but any answer at all would be preferable to silence," he doesn't mean it as a jab, but he watches as Qifrey's shoulders hunch in regardless, hands shifting from where they'd been gripping at his hair to clutch now to Olruggio's cloak. At least that's a small improvement.
Thunder cracks overhead.
He doesn't really want to push too hard, worries it might have the exact opposite effect than what he'd going for, but they really shouldn't be out here in this storm. There are times when Olruggio feels a little helpless, forever extending an olive branch that is eternally pushed away. He wants to help, it's all he's ever wanted - to help people. To help Qifrey most of all. But his dearest friend in the world has only ever lived in a world where the very notion of help, of safety, would literally kill him if he gave into it, so Olruggio cannot blame him for being slow to unlearn old habits. He just wishes there was anything more he could do.
"Alright, enough of this, we're going in and getting dry!" He forces a cheerful lilt to his voice, trying not to sound as much like he's grasping at any straw he comes across as he really is. When he stands, Olruggio extends a hand to Qifrey, watching with a twist in his gut as that icy eye finds his gaze, and smiling a little sadly at the guilt he sees in it. Like Qifrey is beating himself up just as much as Olruggio is. "Let's get going, yeah? Don't want you catchin a cold- the girls would never forgive me."
Qifrey snorts a weak laugh. Success.
His hand is wobbly, almost hesitant, as it reaches out for Olruggio's, but his grip is sure when they finally do connect. Olruggio gives a gentle tug, pulling his friend up to his feet. He doesn't let go when he leads the way down from the roof, does not comment when another crack of thunder causes the hand in his to squeeze a little tighter. He just holds the door open, guides Qifrey inside quietly.
Rain is muffled with the door now closed behind them, but neither speaks into the silence. For a moment, Olruggio imagines a time back in the Great Hall, not the very first time Qifrey had all but shut down on him, but at some point after their third test, after the Tower of Tomes. It had been storming for days, casting the already perpetually dim Great Hall in fuller shadow, droning of thick raindrops crashing into the water's surface seeming somehow enhanced. Maybe it truly was enhanced by some spell... a way to make it feel like weather actually effected them all the way down here. A comforting white noise for the witches who might have lived in the outside world but moved to the Great Hall for work or to be with family and might have been feeling homesick. Magic exists to make people happy, after all, outsiders and witches alike, Olruggio wouldn't have been surprised if a spell truly was the culprit.
Regardless, that whole morning Qifrey had seemed on edge. They'd planned to meet up with Alaira after lunch, maybe skip out on any afternoon lessons their masters had in store and just generally be public nuisances. You know, like responsible teenagers who absolutely don't sneak out and did not have plans to break into the wine cellar in Olruggio's master's atelier. Of course not. That would be absurd.
But Qifrey never even showed up to the cafeteria for lunch. Olruggio ended up with a few of the younger apprentices who still hadn't taken their third tests yet and getting bombarded by questions and praise that made his head ache. Seriously, no one seemed to ever really bother him when he was with Qifrey... which, he guessed, was partly due to Qifrey's poor reputation and dodgy origins. Olruggio doesn't care for talk like that, and especially doesn't care for how obvious the other kids make it that they don't like - or even outright hate - Qifrey the second Olruggio is on his own. They flock to him like he's the only source of light in an endless abyss, but when Qifrey is by his side? It's like they see Qifrey as this monster monopolizing the light all for himself.
He hates it. But Qifrey always gets a little cagey when Olruggio brings up how dumb it is, so he mostly just hates it in silence.
"Yeeaaahhh, I don't think he's coming," Alaira comments, twirling her pen between her fingers lazily, head propped up on the back of her hand.
"Give him another few minutes," Olruggio insists, still looking down the closest corridors in case he might catch a glimpse of white hair and robes. "Maybe he just got lost again, you know how horrible he is with directions."
"Riighht..." Alaira sounds skeptical, but she acquiesces all the same. And, ten minutes later, when Qifrey had still failed to show up and Olruggio was getting antsy, Alaira rises to her feet, hands reaching above her head and back arching in a big stretch. "He's not coming, Oru, should we check his atelier?"
Olruggio's stomach twists a little at that. He's worried, of course he is, but he knows Qifrey almost better than he knows himself so he knows that a crowd would likely be the last thing his friend wants at the moment.
"Maybe," he starts, slowly, chewing on the words. He doesn't want to step on any toes, and he knows Alaira well enough to know she's not going to get offended at what he says next, but the risk is there regardless. Olruggio hates making people upset. It feels like he's failing them. "But I think It should just be me who goes to check on him. Sorry, Alaira."
Alaira snorts a laugh at that, reaching down to pick up her hat and afix it to her head. "Yeah, yeah, wouldn't want to get in the way of you and your boyfriend, would I?" It's clear she's teasing, but Olruggio still feels his face heat up at her assumption.
"He's not- we aren't- he's not my boyfriend!" He hisses quietly, feeling a weird panic creep into his chest at the thought. A weird, wonderful panic full of possibilities. Scary possibilities. Wonderful, butterflies-in-your-stomach possibilities. Alaira raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.
"Right," she says, tone flat, "because it's totally normal to exchange your hat ornaments with a very strictly platonic friend."
He flushes right to his ears, ducking his head away from her and glaring down the corridor to his left. She doesn't know what she's talking about. Well... okay, yes, she does know what she's talking about, but it's not like Olruggio can just tell her Qifrey kind of commandeered his ribbon from him while he'd been sleeping, can he? Alaira might know the implications of doing such a thing, and Olruggio might know those implications as well, but Qifrey? Qifrey's always been kind of ignorant about social rules in general, let alone anything that could have a romantic undertone, so he likely didn't realize the secret implication of switching tassel and ribbon. Olruggio had just... never brought it up either. So in part, it's his fault that Alaira thinks this way.
But it's mostly Qifrey's for taking the damn ribbon in the first place.
"W-whatever, it's not what you think it is!" He insists, getting to his feet now with a huff, "I'm gonna go make sure he's actually alive. See you tomorrow!"
"See you tomorrow, loverboy!" She calls after him.
"The Knights will never find your body!!" Alaira laughs behind him at that, and Olruggio finds himself grinning despite his embarrassment as he runs in the direction of The Wise in Teaching's atelier.
Beldaruit was always a little intimidating to Olruggio, but mostly just because of his status as one of the three Wise Ones. His personality was hardly intimidating in the slightest, always excited about something or other, or fawning over Qifrey like a disgustingly doting father (no, Olruggio was not jealous). So if he hesitates slightly before knocking on the door then no one has to know.
He's left waiting for a minute or two, only the sound of the rain crashing down on the ocean's surface, magically amplified, to keep him company, and Olruggio thinks he might be starting to guess why his best friend was hiding away today.
The door opens a moment later, and Beldaruit greets him with a gentle smile, literally grabbing his arm to keep him upright when he attempts to make the customary bow.
"How many times must I tell you how unnecessary such a gesture is with us, hm?" He's teasing, but Olruggio still feels a little awkward, managing only to stammer out a small "right, sorry," before Beldaruit waves him inside the atelier.
As always, the entry is cluttered, decorated in a maximalist style that means wherever you look your eyes won't be wanting for something to inspect. Rugs layer over rugs, and furniture sits far enough apart from the central walkways leaving ample room for a sealchair even larger than Beldaruit's.
"Um," Olruggio starts as they're making their way to the sitting room, "I was wondering if Qifrey was here? He was supposed to meet with me and Alaira a little while ago but never showed." He deliberately leaves out the fact they were going to play hooky with their lessons, although Beldaruit knows them well enough by now to pick up on the hidden reason, Olruggio can tell from the slightly sad smile he's met with.
"My apprentice is... well, I'm not certain he'd welcome my company at the moment. You, however, he is always happy to see." Olruggio does not miss the way the Wise's expression softens when his eyes flick briefly to the tassel on his hat. He resists the embarrassment that swells in his throat. Beldaruit has been told many times over that he and Qifrey were simply friends, but Olruggio struggles to think he actually believes it. "He's in his room."
"Thanks, I'll check on him," Olruggio answers, quickly rushing to the stairs.
"Oh! Olruggio, dear?" He pauses with his hand on the banister as he's called out to, giving his attention once more to the older witch. "Just be mindful with him, he's had a difficult few days." Olruggio nods, suddenly worried. He saw Qifrey only yesterday and he seemed... normal? Maybe a little out of it, but that really wasn't odd for him, Qifrey had always been a tad spacey, attention caught by the smallest things.
He continues up the stairs, now a little anxious about what he'll find, mind spiraling to impossible scenarios; Qifrey in a puddle of blood, him simply not there... dead. They're absurd thoughts, he knows that, but it doesn't stop them from surfacing, uninvited, to his mind.
Qifrey's room isn't too far from the stairs, just a couple of doors down, and there's no light coming from under the crack at the bottom, meaning he's awake and just existing in the dark, or he's asleep. Olruggio has a hard time believing the latter option. Honestly, he doesn't think he's ever seen Qifrey really sleep, it's like he's always waiting to just pass out from exhaustion.
Pausing just outside the door, hand raised to knock, Olruggio can't help the way he hesitates. Should he pretend like everything is normal? Just barge in all boisterous as normal? Or would it be better to be a little quieter about this? Sometimes he never really knows how to approach Qifrey, always feeling like he's something to be handled with care. Priceless porcelain or something to that effect. Qifrey would hate the comparison, Olruggio knows, and he smiles to himself at the mental image of the way his friend's nose would scrunch up in distaste if he ever let that thought slip.
Right, no more hesitation!
"Qifrey! I'm coming in!" He calls, knocking twice, not bothering to wait for a reply before opening the door.
The room is dark, as he'd expected, and a little bit of a mess - papers with half drawn spells scribbled out and crumpled into balls are tossed in corners and litter the desk. His bed is unmade and his cloak is draped haphazardly over the back of his chair. Honestly, the only item that looks like any care at all had gone into its placement was his hat, sitting on his bedside table, ribbon curled neatly around the base.
It takes a minute, too, for Olruggio to find Qifrey himself, but eventually he spots him in the corner of the room, knees drawn to his chest and hands pressed over his ears, blocking out the world. Blocking out-
Oh.
The rain.
No wonder he's been having a hard few days. The rain hasn't let up at all lately, and with the odd way its sounds are amplified down here, that must be like... an extra torture layer for him. Olruggio's shoulders drop, lips pursing with new worry.
A moment passes. Qifrey does not look up. For a second, Olruggio doesn't know what to do. Should he get Beldaruit? No, he'd probably been up here recently and unceremoniously kicked out or his efforts to comfort refused. That was the thing with Qifrey, any attempt at all to extend comfort to him was met with a wall of indifference or flat out refusal. Olruggio doesn't understand it.
Stll, that will never stop him from offering. Even if he's refused again and again and again he will always offer. So, with a sigh deliberately dramatic, Olruggio crosses the few steps between the door and Qifrey's little corner and slides down the wall next to him, knees drawn up and arms crossed over top of them, gaze locked on Qifrey, a star drawn to the moon.
Silence lapses too long. Maybe a minute, maybe five years, but too long regardless. Olruggio gently nudges Qifrey's foot with his own. "Hey," he says, trying to break through whatever metaphorical spell has his friend bound. Qifrey seems to startle slightly, jolted back to reality. He lifts his face slightly from where it was buried in his knees, the hands clasped over his ears loosen, but they don't fall.
"Hi," he responds, clearly making an effort to sound normal. But there's a rasp to his voice, like he's been yelling or like he hasn't spoken in a long time. "What... what're you doing here?" The way he speaks feels almost like he's trying to hide, like he wants nothing more than to forget he even exists in this moment.
"You didn't show up today," Olruggio answers with a shrug, trying to act less worried than he really was, "Alaira and I got worried so I came to check on you."
"Oh," is what Qifrey says to that. Just 'oh.' He offers no explanation, no apology. Olruggio kind of wants to kick him.
So he does. It's not particularly forceful, it won't bruise or anything, but he still kicks him.
"Ow! What's your issue?!" Qifrey protests.
"You're kinda a dick, you know that, right?" Olruggio says in lieu of an actual answer. "Very kick-able." Qifrey just gapes, confused, so with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Olruggio explains further. "When someone tells you they're worried about you they're usually looking for an explanation as to what's up. So, Qifrey, what the hell os wrong with you today, huh?" It feels a little mean, but he genuinely doesn't know how else to get through that thick skull.
Qifrey purses his lips and looks away, brows drawn together, like he's thinking about his answer. Or like he's beating himself up for not knowing some social rule that's obvious to everyone except him.
"I..." he starts, not meeting Olruggio's gaze, half burying his face in his knees again so his voice comes out muffled when he continues. "It's the rain." He explains, and when he doesn't offer any further explanation on his own, Olruggio leans over slightly, so that their shoulders connect. A grounding point of contact. He feels Qifrey tense briefly, as if something suddenly hurt him, but he relaxes almost immediately and Olruggio is left thinking he probably imagined it.
"You hate the rain, I know," he replies quietly, "but that's not usually enough to have you curled in the corner of your room like this."
"I can't remember the last time it rained for this long," is how Qifrey answers that. Olruggio can remember, but he won't point that out to his friend. "And it never used to be this loud, did it, Olly?" He glances over for confirmation and Olruggio shakes his head. "You know, um, when Master Beldaruit found me, it was raining then, too?"
"Qifrey, you don't have to-"
"I know. I want to." And who is Olruggio to refuse? He nods his okay, and Qifrey keeps going. "It was cold. And hard to breathe. And water kept seeping into the coffin, pooling so i was half drowned. And the rain just kept... pounding outside. I was scared. And I was trapped in there for... a long time."
Olruggio knew a bit of this, vaguely. Adults like to talk, they let their guard down around kids they think they can trust, forget the kid is there and just talk. So he knew about the coffin. He knew that Qifrey was supposed to have his mind wiped again after the Knights interrogated him. But he'd never heard any of it from Qifrey himself. Always adults who didn't have nice things to say.
So he keeps quiet. He lets Qifrey talk and presses a little closer to him, brief point of contact at their shoulders evolving now to each fully leaning on the other. Support.
"Sometimes just looking at water makes me remember how awful it was," a whisper. A confession spoken in the dark. Where talking is easy. Where your heart simply cannot help the way it yearns to be held. To be understood. "And the rain makes me remember too. Small rooms. Not knowing every escape route. Sometimes... I can ignore it, but it's exhausting... feels like I'm not really, um, here, like- not in my own body."
"Like you're floating above your body and watching it?" Olruggio quietly asks, because he thinks he's heard some of the old grannies back at home talking about a similar thing a long time ago after that awful snow storm. What had they called it? Dislocation? He doesn't remember.
Qifrey shakes his head. "No. Like," he pauses, clearly searching for the right words, and Olruggio can only watch him, unable to help the awe and admiration he feels for his friend bubble under his skin. Qifrey has no idea the effect he has on him, does he? "It's sort of like when you're walking along a road you walk all the time that you know by heart, so you don't really think about where you're going, you just blink and the next second you're suddenly where you were heading... it's kind of like that but all the time. I blink and I'm somewhere but I don't really remember how I got there and I blink again and I'm somewhere else."
"I think there's a name for that," Olruggio offers, and when Qifrey looks to him expectantly, like he's certain he'll have all the answers, he looks away a little sheepish. "I don't remember it, though. It just reminded me about something the older witches back home said once." Qifrey deflates a little at that, and Olruggio tries not to think about it too hard.
"The rain the last few days, it... um... I think it was just a lot for me." Qifrey explains, his voice quiet, gaze not meeting Olruggio's. "I didn't mean to flake on you and Alaira, I promise. Sorry."
Not for the first time, Olruggio finds himself wanting to hunt down the Brimmed Hats who destroyed his best friend's life and teach them a lesson or two. They might never know exactly what happened before Qifrey was buried alive, especially considering he's given up on looking for answers, but Olruggio sometimes wishes they'd keep hunting the monsters anyway. Magic is not supposed to be used as a weapon against another person, but for this? For Qifrey? Olruggio would break that rule a dozen times over and then some.
"You don't have to apologize for that, you know," he says, and leans a little further into Qifrey's shoulder, a small, playful smile on his lips. "Just know I'm gonna come looking for you each time you disappear, okay?"
"Snrk- yeah, okay," and that small laugh kind of makes the whole world worth living in.
In the present, Olruggio is igniting the fireplace, a carefully drawn pyreball bursting to life and bringing warmth into the living area. Somewhere behind him, Qifrey stands, no doubt with a storm of thoughts buzzing around in his brain that won't let him relax. Back when they were boys, opening up was something done sparingly and seldom. Bits and pieces here and there. Olruggio hadn't understood back then why Qifrey was so closed off. He knows now. Has all his memories back where they belong. Knows every time Qifrey did open up, and knows also how every time the silverwood would curse him for his vulnerability.
He hates how long Qifrey had to suffer alone with this, even if that suffering was the very thing that kept him living, kept him breathing, kept him here, with Olruggio, with the girls, he still hates it. In his pocket, he reaches for the pair of link rings he keeps on him before turning to face the dearest person in his life once more.
So gently it borders on reverent, Olruggio grabs him by the wrists and guides him closer to the fire and then down to the floor, sitting at the hearth. Qifrey is pliant in his grip, following him willingly even as he visibly chews the insides of his cheeks. Olruggio cannot help the way he reaches a hand up to cup his right cheek, exhaling through his nose in mild relief when the action seems to startle Qifrey back to reality.
"There you are," he whispers, thumb rubbing soothing lines under his empty eye socket, relishing how Qifrey doesn't pull away like he might have in the past - not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He doesn't have to anymore.
"What?" Qifrey breathes, and Olruggio does not even attempt to stop the fond smile making itself a home on his face.
"You went somewhere far away, I think," comes the easy answer, not accusing, just observing. He removes his hand from Qifrey's face and if he privately feels a little smug at the small noise of protest Qifrey gives in return, well... no one has to know.
The link rings are connected, completing the seal and, with it, producing a warm breeze that quickly dries Qifrey's soaked clothes and hair. A spell tailored especially for one person, disguised as made for all.
When he's dry, Qifrey grasps Olruggio's hands and slides the rings from his thumbs, shaking his head when he tries to protest, to insist he's just fine. But Qifrey will hear none of it, so Olruggio has no choice but to give in and allow himself to be dried off as well.
Now warm and dry, they find themselves sitting at the hearth, facing each other, Olruggio's hands encompassing Qifrey's own, thumbs making slow circles over his knuckles. The silence lapses, but it feels comfortable instead of tense despite the questions hanging in the air, dangling over them.
"Aren't you going to ask me why I was out there?" Qifrey eventually breaks the silence, eye trained on the space between them where their hands sit.
"Do you want me to?" The silence in response is deafening, so Olruggio goes for a different approach. "You are one of the most resilient witches I've had the fortune of knowing. You can shoulder so many things that would topple any number of witches. It's something I've admired about you for as long as I can remember. But you know what?" He releases one of Qifrey's hands to once more bring it to cup his face, forcing their eyes to meet. "That strength might also be your biggest weakness."
Qifrey bites his lip, looks like he wants to protest or say something dismissive that sounds like it might be merely humble to anyone who didn't know it came from a place of hating himself. But Olruggio doesn't let him get a word in, he continues, "but you're not alone anymore, Qif. You don't have to cary the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. Give me some of the burden. Let me help you."
"I... I try, Olly, I really do," he insists, face pressing further into Olruggio's palm. Like he's trying to hide. "Sometimes it's... difficult. It's like I can still feel the silverwood's roots writhing under my skin and I- I panic. Fall back on old habits. Bottle everything up."
Something wet falls onto Olruggio's hand, and he realizes then that Qifrey is crying. Some part of his heart squeezes at the thought alone, he's never liked seeing the people he cares about cry, and especially not Qifrey.
"Alright, c'mere," he says, hand moving from Qifrey's face to reach around his shoulder, pulling the taller man into him in an embrace, feeling Qifrey's whole body tense at the motion, rubbing circles on his back with one hand, the other cradling his head.
It takes a moment but, eventually, slowly, Qifrey's body relaxes in his arms, shaking slightly with silent sobs. It's relief, and with it, Olruggio feels a quiet, desperate grief for the life they could have lived together if the silverwood had not been a part of it, if the Brimmed Hats had not had such poor morals and cursed a child with a fate of suffering. He grieves for his friend. For the time they lost. For the touches that lingered just a little too long, but stopped at that, even when they could see in each other's eyes that they so clearly wanted more.
"Hey, hey, shh, you're alright, I've got you," Olruggio soothes, gentle, quiet, and feels the way Qifrey curls against him tighter, hands gripping the back of his shirt, nose burrowed so deep in his collarbone that he's positive it's painful.
They stay like that until Qifrey's sobs have calmed down, until his grip is less desperate and he simply holds on, Olruggio gently rocking back and forth all the while. Steady. Outside, the rain still pours, but it's not as hard, not as oppressive. Olruggio would almost think it peaceful if he weren't still so aware of how the man in his arms feels about it.
"Olly?" Qifrey calls, barely a whisper, but Olruggio hears him clear as day.
"Mm?" Comes his soft reply, his head resting against Qifrey's while his fingers absently play with the white hairs that fall along his nape.
"Thank you," Qifrey moves to extract himself from the hug, but Olruggio only gives him enough space so they can see each other, and Qifrey gives in without complaint, chasing the comfort, leaning so his forehead connects with Olruggio's. "I'm sorry for... all of this. For me."
"Enough of that, you're not allowed to apologize for things that aren't your fault," it's a gently firm admonishment.
"But, I- it's been months, Olly," Qifrey protests, his voice cracking slightly, desperate, "and I'm still looking for ways to hurt myself when I get too comfortable. I'm still so scared to reach across the table and hold your hand at dinner, to indulge in the silly whims of our girls and let myself abandon the guilt I've felt my whole life."
"Exactly," Olruggio says gently, lightly nudging Qifrey's nose with his own to grab his attention. And also just because he wants to. "It's only been a few months, Qifrey, but you had that thing in you for twenty years. You can't undo twenty years of survival skills in just a couple months. It's gonna take time."
"I feel pathetic. I don't know how to lean on other people."
"That's okay," Olruggio assures him, and he brings a hand once more to rest against Qifrey's jaw. The space between their lips is shortening, and Olruggio isn't quite sure which of them is closing that distance. "I promise I'll take care of you."
"It's rotten work," Qifrey exhales, his breath ghosting Oluggio's mouth, ice blue eye dropping for a fraction of a second to his lips before it settles back on Olruggio's eyes.
"It's not." Olruggio promises. He's never been so sure of anything in his life. It's the one truth he's known since they were boys. He will protect Qifrey, take care of him through whatever happens. No exceptions. "Not to me, not if it's you."
He's not sure who leaned in the rest of the way first, but it doesn't matter. The kiss is worth the wait. Worth the memories lost and slowly regained.
He hopes there will be more to come.