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    Summary

    "Qifrey, you…" Olruggio sucks a steadying breath through his teeth, and lifts Qifrey's hand, pressing lips to the back. He closes his eyes, and speaks, words exhaled against skin. "You may take everything from me, but one thing."

    "Your soul? Your self?" Qifrey means to joke, but it comes out broken and hollow; a tree struck by lightning and scorched so fiercely that nothing is left within it, and it's good for nothing but a greedy hearth in winter.

    "Love." The word comes with a soft kiss left to Qifrey's wrist. When Qifrey doesn't move—how can he?—Olruggio's lips grace fingertips, and another kiss is left to his palm. "You cannot take love from me, and it is the one thing I'll give you. It's the one thing I haven't forgotten—you kept it there, a seed of its own."

    - If Olruggio's love is to be Qifrey's death, then let it be a burden instead, in favour of life.

    Language:
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