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Qifrey firmly told himself that the only reason his feet carried him toward the medical spire was just because he was lost. He had been searching for Beldaruit. That was all. The spire just happened to be in his path. Coincidence. Pure, unremarkable coincidence.
If, by some twist of fate, he ended up standing outside one of the recovery rooms where Olruggio had been tucked away after that nasty scuffle with other children, well, that was hardly his fault either. He didn't care about Olruggio. In fact, he didn't care about any of them at all, really. The boy could get hurt everyday, for all he cared. It certainly wouldn't keep him up at night and it couldn't make his chest feel tight and strange every time he remembered the sick crack of Olruggio's head against the stone floor.
That was what he was trying to convince himself when he pressed the door open, just a crack at first, then wider, peeking inside like a thief afraid of being caught.
And there he was.
Olruggio sat propped against a mountain of pillows, his back straight, head turned fully toward the window. From that angle, Qifrey couldn't read his expression at all. The room was eerily quiet, with no gaggle of admirers and no fussing adults. Just Olruggio, alone.
The sight struck him as odd, because Olruggio was always surrounded by people. He knew the boy was very popular, being seen as a genius and all that, so he expected the room to be flooded with curious kids and meddling adults, or at least the medical staff. So where was everyone?
With his initial reluctance gone, replaced by genuine confusion, Qifrey stepped fully inside, his footsteps soft against the stone floor. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in a silence that felt too heavy for a sickroom of one of the brightest persons he had ever met.
When he reached the foot of the bed, he hesitated. There was a chair nearby, plain and wooden, clearly meant for visitors, however, he didn't sit there. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands clasped behind his back, then in front, then behind again. It was a nervous habit he despised but couldn't shake.
Olruggio, most likely drawn to the sound of someone approaching, finally turned toward him.
For one breath, Qifrey saw it.
There was a vacancy in his eyes. A flat, hollow stillness that didn't belong on a face so used to smiling. It was like looking through a window into an empty room, where no warmth and no light existed.
Then, like a curtain drawn, it vanished.
Olruggio's mouth curved upward, bright and easy, his eyes crinkling at the corners with the effort to smile. He radiated a warmth that seemed almost too perfect, but undoubtedly real.
"Oh," Olruggio said, his voice light and teasing, "so you do care about me."
Qifrey's face went flat. "I don't. I got lost. That's all."
He was definitely not pouting. Absolutely not.
"Sure," Olruggio drawled, dragging the word out, "that's why you came allll the way over here, and somehow ended up in my room, right?"
Qifrey's jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat when he caught sight of the bandage wrapped around Olruggio's temple. The white fabric was stark against his dark hair, a small bloom of red seeping through at the edge.
"Your head," Qifrey said, quieter now, the teasing tone gone from his voice. "Does it hurt?"
Olruggio blinked, the smile flickering for just a moment. Then it settled back into place, softer this time.
"It's fine," he said. "It doesn't hurt at all! I'm used to worse."
He frowned at his own choice of words, but let it go. It wasn't his place to pry, not when they barely knew each other at all. They were acquaintances at best. Which, of course, brought up the question Qifrey had been meaning to ask ever since he saw the black-haired witch starting the fight with a group of three other boys.
"Why did you do it, anyway?" Qifrey asked, his hands finding his cape and twisting the fabric so tightly that his knuckles went white. "I don't need you to protect me."
Olruggio looked at him, brows rising so high on his forehead at the admission that they nearly disappeared into his hairline. Then he absently waved one hand, dismissive and airy.
"I wasn't doing any of that," he said. "I just think it's wrong to badmouth someone when they're not even there to defend themselves. That's all."
Qifrey grimaced but said nothing.
"Hey, hey, don't need to look like a scalewolf pup pooped in your shoes," Olruggio said, his voice kind despite the crude words tumbling out of his mouth. He waved his hand again, the motion loose and careless. "Even if I had gotten a broken bone out of this, I wouldn't have regretted it."
"But—"
"No buts." Olruggio cut him off, scratching his cheek with one finger, looking almost embarrassed. "What I did definitely wasn't wrong, even if it ended up in the, erm..." He gestured vaguely at his own bandaged head. "More physical side."
Qifrey opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. The words tangled somewhere between his throat and his tongue, and all that came out was a frustrated huff of air.
Something soft and warm unfurled in his chest, slow and insidious, spreading through his ribs like honey. It was the kind of warmth that made him want to bury it before it grew any larger. And then—
A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through where his missing eye should be.
He barely concealed the wince, his face twitching as he forced his expression back to neutral. His hand didn't rise to rub at it — he was too practiced for that — but the phantom ache lingered.
"That's dumb," Qifrey finally said, his voice flat and clipped, the warmth in his chest curdling into something more complicated at the pain.
Olruggio just smiled at him, lazy and unbothered. "Well, there is nothing wrong with doing something silly now and then."
Qifrey shifted his weight, looking anywhere but at Olruggio's face. The window. The ceiling. The worn edge of the blanket. The pain was persistent, a dull pulse behind his socket. He forced himself to breathe through it.
"Fine," he said, the word coming out sharper than intended. "Then at least let me repay you."
Olruggio blinked. "Repay me?"
"For stepping in, even if I didn't ask you to." Qifrey's voice was strained, almost choking on the words with the sheer dread of having to interact with someone he didn't want to. "I don't like being in debt to anyone. So tell me what you want."
Olruggio stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. Then he let out a soft sigh, his body already sinking back against the pillows with the pure intent to go to sleep.
"There's nothing I want," he simply said, closing his eyes. "I didn't do it because I wanted something back. I did it because I wanted to, that's all."
“You can't just—"
"But," Olruggio interrupted, cracking one eye open, "if you really want to repay me, I guess being my friend is one way to do it."
Friend.
Qifrey had never had one of those before. It sounded like something that only existed in books, never something for him to gain. However, the idea of being around Olruggio made something inside his chest unfold with an ease that almost scared him.
It still sounded too good to be true. He looked at the boy with barely hidden suspicion.
"What? I don't want to," he said stubbornly, even as he realized it wasn't true at all. "What would you gain from my friendship anyway?"
There had to be a catch. Being around him only brought trouble. It was safer for everyone if he stayed alone.
"Nothing, that's not what friends are for, silly. " Olruggio refuted quickly, "I just wish I wasn’t alone. That’s all.”
Qifrey's breath caught at the fragile admission. The words were too raw and honest, achingly vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to.
"I'll..." Qifrey hesitated, his throat tight. "I'll think about it."
Olruggio didn’t open his eyes again, already drifting to sleep, but a small smile tugged at his lips nonetheless.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Think about it for a long time."
As the boy’s breaths grew slow and peaceful, Qifrey's own tension bled out. His legs gave way, and he sank into the chair beside the bed.
He didn't leave.
Not for a long time.