Archive of Our Own

Olruggio emerged from his room, or "the cave", as the girls had lovingly named it, blinking against the sudden brightness of the hallway. As soon as he reached downstairs, he was met with a sight that every adult living with children knows to dread in any form or circumstance.

There, in the living room where the girls often practiced their spells whenever Qifrey needed to demonstrate something to the entire group, or when their shared bedroom simply grew too stuffy for comfort, Richeh occupied one side of the room, her small frame practically exhaling vibrating indignation, while Tetia stood at the complete opposite end, as far away from her fellow apprentice as the room would possibly allow. They had positioned themselves like opposing generals on a battlefield, the distance between them a clear declaration of war.

While he didn’t have a single clue to what happened, he could take a guess. The girls were clearly in the midst of some argument or disagreement, a conclusion that required no great deductive skill, given the evidence before him. Tetia's face was set in the deepest frown he had ever seen grace her usually cheerful features while Richeh, for her part, had retreated into the biggest pout she could possibly have.

Now, as a responsible adult, it was probably his duty to intervene and mediate before things could escalate. However, he found himself confronting two important points. Firstly, it was too early in the morning for this, and thus his capacity for dealing with anyone's problems was approximately zero. Secondly, and more importantly, he was not their Master. This whole situation, he agreed with himself, was something Qifrey would have the most delight in doing (he would not).

Convinced his line of reasoning was utterly flawless, or at least sufficient to absolve him of any immediate responsibility, Olruggio simply muttered a quiet, noncommittal "good morning" to the two girls. He took the liberty of reaching out to ruffle Tetia's hair as he passed by, partly because she was on the way to the kitchen and partly because he found her affronted expression deeply amusing. The gesture earned him a startled squeak and an indignant "Master Olruggio, my hair!", but he was already fading into the distance.

There in the kitchen, with no surprise considering it was near time to lunch, he found Qifrey with his sleeves rolled up in front of the sink, looking far too cheerful for someone who had clearly been awake for hours. Coco and Agott were assisting him, who seemed to be in a much merry mood instead of the other occupants of the atelier. Olruggio almost felt guilty for bringing the cloud of doom that had settled over the rest of the rooms.

"Good morning," he repeated to them, the words coming out around a jaw-cracking yawn that made him look like a particularly disgruntled bear emerging from hibernation. He shuffled toward the cabinet where Coco seemed to be occupied with cutting strawberries into neat, uniform slices. For dessert, he assumed. "What happened to the other two little rascals?"

"Good morning, Olly," Qifrey replied, his tone carrying that particular pointed edge that communicated his gentle disappointment with his friend's sleeping habits, but an amused smile was present on his face nonetheless. "Though I believe it's almost afternoon now."

The girls chorused their own greetings, Coco's bright and cheerful and Agott's more subdued but not unfriendly. Olruggio grunted in acknowledgment, already reaching for a cup to pour himself a little bit of tea.

"I don't quite know myself," Qifrey continued, shrugging helplessly. "Apparently they emerged from their room in this mood. Neither of them has been willing to explain what happened yet."

He hummed vaguely. Truth be told, he wasn't about to insert himself into their argument, considering he valued his peace too much for that. But he was curious. Can you blame him? Living as far from civilization as they did, any scrap of drama was practically a feast for the ears.

Because of that, he found his gaze drifting toward Coco. The girl had a tendency to involve herself in these sorts of matters, her natural curiosity and gentle nature often driving her to play peacemaker when any fights, as rare as they may be, arose among the apprentices. If anyone might have gotten some information, it would certainly be her.

"And you two? Do you know anything?"

Coco shook her head with an enthusiasm Olruggio found himself almost envious of. He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd possessed that much energy about anything.

"I tried to ask Richeh what happened when I saw her after waking up," she explained, her metaphorical dog ears drooping with evident disappointment. "But she just huffed and left back to her room without saying a word."

Agott, who had been silently arranging a tray filled with what he assumed were spices, offered her own assessment with characteristic detachment. "I don’t know either. I tried to ask Tetia, but she just said, and I quote, 'Ask Richeh.'”

"That's not helpful," Olruggio pointed out, with a lack of things to say.

“It’s not,” Agott agreed, her tone flat, “but I doubt we need to concern ourselves with it. They will make up eventually. They always do."

Qifrey offered a helpless smile at that, turning his attention back to the meat sizzling in the pan next to him. The aroma was truly irresistible, making Olruggio's stomach growl audibly.

"After we eat, I will try to speak with them," Qifrey said, his voice carrying that gentle quality that came so naturally to him. "We can't have my dear apprentices at odds with one another, can we?"

Olruggio, quietly disappointed that this was all the information he managed to extract, shrugged in reluctant agreement. Agott did have a point, in the end. The girls' arguments were usually short-lived affairs, burning bright and hot before fizzling out just as quickly. Additionally, he knew Qifrey would handle it properly if things escalated too far. Considering his job done, he turned his attention to inquiring about what was for lunch, his mind already moving on from the morning's drama and preparing to settle into the comfortable routine of the day.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, especially for Olruggio's hopes of a peaceful meal, the girls did not, in fact, make up. When lunch rolled around, Qifrey made his customary approach toward the seat beside Olruggio, but didn't even get a chance to sit down before Tetia planted herself in the chair with all the smug finality of a queen claiming her throne, getting as far from Richeh as physically possible. Richeh, in turn, fixed her with a look that could've curdled milk.

Olruggio looked at Qifrey. Qifrey looked at Olruggio. They had a brief, silent conversation entirely through eyebrow movements and slight head tilts, which didn’t really reach anywhere.

The silent war continued throughout the afternoon. Olruggio caught snippets of it whenever he ventured out for tea or water: Tetia making exaggerated efforts to avoid Richeh's proximity, Richeh muttering darkly under her breath, the two of them exchanging looks that could have killed lesser men from across the room. Qifrey looked increasingly defeated with each passing hour, his usually cheerful demeanor crumbling under the weight of unresolved drama.

When Qifrey appeared at Olruggio's door in the evening with a tray of dinner, his expression was so tragic, that Olruggio almost felt sorry for him.

"They still haven't made up," Qifrey said, setting the tray down on an empty spot on the table, carefully evading any paper or tool.

"I gathered that much."

“I attempted to speak with them separately." Qifrey settled his weight against the table, arms folded, watching Olruggio with an expression that practically screamed help me. "Tetia said she would consider forgiving Richeh if she apologized first. Richeh said she would consider forgiving Tetia if she apologized first."

He looked up, one eyebrow arching. "So they're at a stalemate."

"Apparently." Qifrey's shoulders slumped. "I've tried everything, but nothing works. They're both too proud to bend first." He let out another sigh, this one more defeated. "I’m running out of ideas."

Olruggio offered a sympathetic nod. "I'm sure they'll patch things up before you know it. Don't worry too much." A pause, then a wry twist of his lips. "Good luck, though. These girls can be a handful."

To that, Qifrey simply gave a smile. It was tired, grateful, but lacking its usual warmth.

Olruggio watched his friend turn and retreat, and only then did he let the quiet wave of relief wash over him. He was filled with a sense of profound relief that he was not the one dealing with this mess.

He turned back to his work after eating a bite or two of what Qifrey had brought him, grumbling at his newest creation that refused to cooperate with him, allowing himself a small moment of smug satisfaction that his problems were, objectively, much simpler than dealing with children.

This satisfaction lasted approximately four hours.

Olruggio was in the middle of a particularly frustrating part of the design, one that required such careful logic that the fire and air sigils wouldn't overlap too much, when he heard his door creak open. The sound was so soft, so hesitant, that he almost missed it. But then he heard the faint pattering of footsteps, and something cold and terrible settled in his stomach.

He turned, blinking owlishly, finding Richeh hovering in mid-air before him, her sylph shoes keeping her suspended at eye level. The ends of her pajamas billowed gently with the wind that swirled around her, and her hair was slightly mussed from sleep, or the lack of it.

"Richeh?" Olruggio said, confusion evident in his voice. It was rare for any of the girls to visit his room in the middle of the night. A knot of worry tightened in his chest. "Why are you awake at this hour? Is everything alright?"

The girl in question stared at him for a long moment with that particular intensity of hers, the one that made him feel like she was peering directly into his soul and finding it lacking. Then, with a small huff, she floated down to land beside him.

"Richeh couldn't sleep," she announced, voice flat.

"That's," he began slowly, unsure of where this was going, "unfortunate. But why are you here?"

"Richeh doesn't want to go back to sleep," Richeh replied, settling onto the floor with the air of someone who had no intention of leaving anytime soon, folding her legs beneath her. "Richeh wants to watch."

His gaze followed hers to the mess of papers atop his table, the intricate designs and half-finished circles that covered every available surface.

"Do you want to watch me work?" The question came out more surprised than he intended.

To that, she nodded. Before he could even think to protest, she had already shifted closer, settling herself at his right side with the ease of someone who had made up her mind long before she'd arrived.

Well, he supposed this was alright. He had been working only on the logistics of the spell until now — the tedious, theoretical part of it — rather than finishing the circles to see the actual results. It wasn't as though any of this could possibly hurt her.

With a new companion now, he continued working in silence, his pen moving across the paper in smooth, practiced strokes of someone who did this everyday without fault. Richeh was quiet at first, but as the night went on, every once in a while, she would ask a question — what was he drawing, what kind of sigils was he using, why did that line curve the way it did. He answered in the simplest way he could, breaking down complex concepts into small, digestible pieces.

It was even nice, he dared to admit to himself. Usually, Brushbuddy was his only company for the endless nights of work. Richeh’s questions and attention made the room feel less hollow somehow. It was strange how he hadn't realized he'd been a little bit lonely until someone had come to sit beside him.

Feeling a little more cheery than usual, he decided, after approximately an hour or so of steady work, to do his friend a small favor.

Qifrey, he thought, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, you will owe me one bottle of wine for this. Maybe two.

Acting with an air of nonchalance he didn't really feel, he continued moving his pen across the paper, not really turning to see Richeh.

"So," he started, his voice softer than he'd intended, gentler, as though he were approaching a skittish creature that might bolt at any moment, "care to say what happened between you and Tetia?"

Richeh went very still at the question, her small body tensing against his side like a startled animal caught in a beam of light. Almost immediately, she seemed to shrink into herself, shoulders hunching slightly.

"Richeh doesn't want to talk about it," she finally said, her voice smaller than usual, stripped of its characteristic flatness and replaced with something more fragile. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them in a gesture that made her look impossibly young. "It's stupid."

Olruggio hummed thoughtfully, not pushing but not retreating either. He continued drawing his with deliberate slowness, giving her space to fill the silence or leave it empty as she chose. He had learned, over the years of living with Qifrey's apprentices, that Richeh operated on her own time. She could not be persuaded into anything she wasn't ready for or didn’t want to do. Considering this, all he could do was wait.

Several minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the soft scratch of his pen and the distant hoot of an owl outside. Richeh's breathing gradually evened out, the tension in her small frame easing bit by bit.

Then, so quietly that he almost missed it, Richeh spoke.

"Richeh usually does Tetia's hair," she started, her voice muffled slightly against her knees. She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. "In the mornings. Richeh has been doing them for almost a year now."

Olruggio's pen paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing its steady rhythm.

"That's very kind of you," he said carefully, keeping his tone light and neutral. "I've always thought her pigtails looked quite neat."

A small, almost imperceptible nod came from beside him.

"Richeh likes them to be even. Symmetrical. Perfect." Her voice carried a note of quiet pride, the kind that came from mastering a skill through patient repetition. "Tetia has very soft hair. It's nice to style."

"And then something changed?" Olruggio prompted gently, still not looking at her.

"Tetia has been..." Richeh paused, searching for the right words. Her brow furrowed slightly, her lips pressing together. "Filled with too much energy. The past few days, she has been urging Richeh to go faster. And then she wiggles, and Richeh has to start over, and then Tetia gets frustrated, and Richeh gets frustrated, and—" She broke off with a huff that was almost, but not quite, a growl. "Richeh doesn't like to rush. It's supposed to take time. That's the whole point."

Olruggio nodded slowly, his work now completely forgotten. He set down his pen and turned slightly to face her, his expression soft. It was, in the end, not silly at all. If it was important to her and it was making her upset, it was a valid reason to get frustrated.

He'd lived long enough to know that small arguments were rarely about the things they appeared to be about. Most of the time, beneath the surface of every petty squabble lay something deeper, more vulnerable.

"Have you told her that?" Olruggio asked gently. "That you don't like to rush because you want to do it properly?"

"Richeh tried," she said, and there was a note of genuine hurt in her voice now, carefully buried but still audible if you cared enough to listen properly. "But Tetia said Richeh was being too slow."

Her lower lip trembled, just barely, and she buried her face completely in her knees. When she spoke next, her voice came out muffled, the words pressed into the fabric of her pajamas.

"Richeh braids hair because it's familiar," she whispered, and the words came out so small and fragile that Olruggio felt something twist in his chest. "It's familiar. When Richeh braids, it feels like..."

She trailed off, but she didn't need to finish. Olruggio understood.

"It feels like home," he supplied gently.

A long pause. Then, so quietly he almost missed it, "Richeh misses braiding her brother's hair."

And doesn't Olruggio know about how it feels to miss someone? He had been through that particular kind of pain multiple times and will surely go through it again in the future. He knew the desperate, quiet ache of reaching for someone who was no longer there, who would never be there again. It was simply the cost of caring, of letting people in deep enough that their absence left a wound.

But knowing that doesn’t make him want to watch Richeh endure it. Not her. Not any of them, really. He’s not their Master and he certainly isn’t their father, however, sometimes, that doesn’t matter — because there’s something in him that rises up, stubborn and fierce, a need that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with love: the irrational, aching desire to shield them from every hurt this world could possibly throw their way.

"Richeh," Olruggio said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "Have you ever tried braiding Coco's hair? Or Agott's?"

Richeh shook her head firmly, her hair swishing against her knees. "Their hair is too short," she said, her voice carrying a note of stubborn finality. "Not like... not like Rili's. Rili's hair was long. Almost to his waist."

Olruggio absorbed this information, turning it over in his mind. He looked down at his own hands, calloused and ink-stained from years of work. Then he looked at Richeh, small and hurting beside him, and ached to find a solution to her problems.

While Agott and Coco surely wouldn't mind having Richeh touch their hair once she explained why, it would still take a long while for their hair to grow. Furthermore, it felt wrong to make the girls do it if they didn't want to, just because Richeh needed it. Especially Agott, who he knew didn't really like to have long hair in the first place.

In Tetia's case, he knew it wasn't her fault and that she definitely didn't realize this was important to Richeh. The girl was a ball of energy, always wanting to move here and there. In the long run, it felt wrong to make her sit for hours too, if she was going to be uncomfortable doing it.

Qifrey's hair was short too, and Olruggio knew, after living with the man almost his whole life, that it took time to grow. That, and Qifrey wasn't very fond of the feeling of it scraping his neck.

There was no one with long hair in the atelier or its proximity to be able to be a willing participant in Richeh's braiding time almost, if not, every day.

However, a very simple solution appeared before him. He was from Ghodrey, a place where everyone usually kept their hair long due to the cold. Maybe due to genetics, it took no time at all for it to grow. In fact, Qifrey had to help him cut his own hair not even a week ago because it had grown longer than he usually kept it.

He'd always preferred it short, mostly because it was practical and it wouldn't get in the way of his work, but—

"Hey, I have an idea," he said slowly, the words coming together as he spoke them. A small, rueful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I've been thinking about growing my hair out for a while now, but I surely wouldn't have the time to maintain it properly." He paused, then added, with studied casualness, "If you ever wanted to braid it, I suppose I wouldn't mind."

Richeh's head immediately shot up from where it was buried on her knees with a speed that made part of her hair stick to her face. Her eyes went wide, impossibly wide, and for a moment she just stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"Really? You would let Richeh do it?"

"Really," he said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. The words felt right in his mouth, settling into something warm and true. "If it would help. I can't promise I'll be as patient as you're used to—after all, I'm told I fidget quite a bit when I'm not working—but I can try."

For a long moment, Richeh just stared at him, her expression unreadable, before she launched forward and hugged him, tight enough to get an oof out of him.

"Richeh would like that," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "Richeh would like that very much."

Olruggio's surprised expression melted into a soft smile. He patted her hair gently, his hand moving in slow, gentle strokes. She was so small against him, it was impossible not to feel a fierce surge of protectiveness inside him.

"Well, glad we have an accord now," he said softly, still stroking her hair. "However, you still need to apologize and explain what happened to Tetia completely. I'm sure she didn't want to hurt your feelings."

The body now attached to him froze. Every muscle in Richeh's small frame went rigid, and he could feel the moment she pulled back, her expression shuttering closed.

"Richeh is going to sleep," she announced, her voice flat and final, showing just how displeased he was at the idea of being the first one to relent in that silent war of theirs.

Before he could say another word, she was gone, floating out of his room on her sylph shoes with the speed of a startled bird. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Olruggio alone with his half-finished work and the little promise he had just made.

"Well," he said, to no one in particular, already turning back to work, "Qifrey, you better pay up later. I have to do everything around here, I swear."

.

The first one to notice the change, of course, is Qifrey.

It's not that Olruggio was trying to hide anything. To begin with, he was not even sure there was anything to hide, but Qifrey had always had this unsettling, almost creepy awareness when it came to Olruggio's body. A flicker of fatigue in his eyes, a few pounds dropped from stress, even the subtle texture change in his hair when he's been neglecting his routine already made him question if something happened. It was the sort of attention that might be flattering if it weren't so persistently disconcerting, and occasionally, a little irritating.

However, Olruggio caught Qifrey's inquisitive gaze lingering a fraction of a beat too long on the crown of his head one too many times to be an accident. The black strands there have grown longer now, brushing just past his ears and curling softly at the nape of his neck in a way they haven't done in years. He could practically see the question coalescing behind his friend's solitary eye.

Olruggio hadn't intended to conceal it. But what would he even say? No, I simply felt like letting it grow? That would be a lie, and they would both know it, considering he made his distaste for longer hair abundantly clear years ago.

Still, it felt wrong, somehow, to explain Richeh’s quiet longing for a piece of someone who felt like home to her without asking her for permission. She was a private girl. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable by telling Qifrey something she hadn't chosen to share with her Master quite yet. Olruggio knew better than most that some things needed to be discovered in their own time, and if she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. Or she wouldn't. Either way, it was not his place to pry.

Not that he doubts Qifrey has an inkling of what happened, considering the hopeful gazes Richeh throws his way every time she sees his hair slightly longer. Her barely-contained excitement whenever she notices the incremental growth is telling enough. Qifrey, observant as always, surely must have pieced something together by now.

The first inquisitive question comes when he is sitting on the couch, legs stretched out before him, a book resting open but unread on his lap. Qifrey is by his side, close enough that Olruggio can feel the warmth radiating from him. The girls are sprawled on the floor before them, their small faces scrunched in concentration as they work on their individual spells lazily, the soft glow of the afternoon coming through the windows.

Then, suddenly, he felt something touch the back of his neck.

Qifrey's fingers curled in the hairs at his nape, making Olruggio nearly jump out of his skin. The touch was deliberate, if not exploratory, sending goosebumps across his skin that were almost an answer to the coolness of Qifrey's fingertips. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, a startled gasp dying on his lips. Qifrey continued to toy with the strands as though he had all the time in the world, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost reverent.

It was rare for Qifrey to initiate touch of any kind. So when he did, it always left Olruggio at a loss, caught in a painful limbo between leaning into the touch out of pure, desperate longing and staying utterly still out of terrifying doubt.

"Are you thinking about growing your hair out, Olly?" Qifrey's voice was low, almost musing, as though he was speaking more to himself than to Olruggio. "You with long hair, huh? Can't say I've ever seen it before."

Olruggio turned his head slowly, careful not to dislodge Qifrey's fingers, just to find his friend almost transfixed. Qifrey's gaze was fixed on the strands of hair slipping through his fingers, his expression unreadable but his attention absolute. It was a look that made Olruggio's heart stutter and stumble in his chest. He did his damn best to not bolt like a frightened cat, even as a hot blush crept up his ears and stained his cheeks a faint, mortifying pink.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to answer. "Well, I’ve decided to try it out once, just to see how it looks." Olruggio’s voice came out rougher than he intended, a little breathless. He cleared his throat, trying to mask his fluster. "It was pretty common, back where I grew up."

Truth be told, he barely recalled what his own father looked like anymore. The memories were faded, nothing but ghosts of images from his childhood by now. But he did remember the long, dark hair and how it would fall in front of his father's face like curtains when he held him. How it would sway with his every movement. It was a memory he clung to more tightly in the years since he lost him and everyone else.

Qifrey hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still playing with the ends of Olruggio's hair, seemingly unaware of the inner panic he was causing. "I think it will suit you," he said simply, matter-of-factly.

A small, genuine smile touched his lips. He could only hope he would look half as good as his father did.

"I hope so too," Olruggio replied, his voice soft.

That, for some reason, made Qifrey’s fingers retract almost as if burned. He pulled his hand back sharply and immediately turned his attention to the girls, clapping for attention with a forced brightness that was almost jarring. The warm bubble they had been in was completely forgotten, shattered as if it had never happened at all.

.

The first month was the worst.

Olruggio was, at that time, in that purgatory of hair length where it was too long to ignore but too short to do anything practical with. The strands fell into his eyes constantly, tickled the back of his neck in a way that made him twitch, and refused to stay tucked behind his ears no matter how many times he pushed them back. He often found himself shaking his head like a dog after a bath, trying to deal with the wet hair that seemed determined to drive him slowly insane.

He considered cutting it off. Multiple times, in fact. Olruggio lost count of how many nights he stood in front of the mirror with scissors in hand, glaring at his own reflection, thinking the whole situation was too absurd to begin with.

But then he remembered Richeh's quiet, hopeful gaze, and the scissors went back in the drawer.

So he suffered through it. He endured the constant irritation, the way his hair stuck to his forehead when he worked in his room that was definitely one of the warmest parts of the atelier, the way it got caught in his collar and pulled painfully when he turned his head. He endured Qifrey's amused glances, which he pretended not to notice, and Tetia's occasional comments about how "cute" he looked with his "little baby bangs."

He endured it all, even though he didn't really need to, because somewhere in the back of his mind, he was still doing this for a little twelve-year-old girl who just really missed her brother.

If he could make her at least a tad more happy, why wouldn't he?

And then, one morning about a month and a half in, he woke up to find his hair long enough to actually pull back.

He didn't notice it at first, too busy grumbling about the early hour and the cold floor and the fact that Qifrey already started breakfast without him. But when he reached up to shove his hair out of his face for the hundredth time, his fingers caught on a length that actually gave. He blinked, pulled at it experimentally, and realized that the strands now reached past his jawline, curling just above his shoulders.

Olruggio stayed still in the middle of the room, trying to decide if this development was a blessing or a curse, when his door opened almost as if the visitor was awaiting that exact moment to enter. Before he could do anything, Richeh slipped inside like a shadow.

"Good morning, Master Olly," she said, hands tightly holding translucent ribbons in front of her. Olruggio immediately recognized them as one of the girl's spells.

"Good morning. I'm not your Master, though," he grumbled, stifling a yawn with one of his hands. "What are you doing here so early? You're usually the first one at the table waiting for breakfast."

"Richeh came to do your hair."

He looked at her, faintly amused and surprised.

"Already? Isn't it too short for what you want to do?"

She shook her head with force, stepping forward, gesturing for him to sit on the edge of his bed, back turned toward her. He obeyed without thinking, as this was clearly something she'd been waiting for.

Her small fingers gathered his hair with surprising gentleness, combing through the tangles with the patience of someone who'd done this one too many times. He sat perfectly still, barely breathing, as she gathered the strands at the nape of his neck and wrapped the ribbon around them.

She let him go in no time at all with a proud humph.

Olruggio gently caressed the hair now, and found it to be the shape of a low ponytail. Neat, simple, functional. He almost cried out of relief because the length was actually useful now and it wouldn't bother him to work.

He turned to look at Richeh, and his heart ached at the expression on her face. She was smiling. Not her usual faint, almost-there smile, but a real one, small and bright and so full of something he couldn't quite name that it nearly undid him.

"Thank you," he said, his voice coming out a little hoarse. "It's... it's really nice. Really good work."

Richeh nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly, and slipped out of the room as quietly as she came.

Olruggio touched the ribbon at the back of his neck, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't want to cut his hair at all.

.

Accidentally, it ended up becoming a ritual.

Richeh appeared in his room every morning, always with a different ribbon, and pulled his hair into low ponytails — the only possible hairstyle for now — that sat perfectly at the base of his skull. Olruggio even found himself even looking forward to it, to those few minutes of stillness and silence when her small hands worked through his hair with such focused care.

And then Tetia discovered what was happening, which wasn't really difficult to begin with, considering the ribbons were a telltale sign Richeh was the one behind all of this.

One morning she barged into his room side by side with Richeh, and her eyes went impossibly wide.

"Oh my stars!" Tetia shrieked, her voice reaching a pitch that almost made Olruggio flinch, so early in the morning. "So you were doing Master Olruggio's hair! That's so cute! Why didn't you tell me?!"

Richeh's face went scarlet immediately. She hid behind Olruggio's shoulder, peeking out with narrowed eyes, but Tetia was already bouncing around them like an overexcited kitten.

"Can I help? Please, please, please? I have so many clips! I've been collecting them forever! Look!"

Before either of them could say anything, Tetia ran back to her room and came back with a small pink pouch, which she opened onto the bed. Clips spilled out in a cascade of colors and shapes: tiny flowers, glittering stars, delicate butterflies, vibrant bows. Some were practical, but most were purely decorative, little whimsies that Tetia had obviously been hoarding for years.

"See?!" she said, brandishing a particularly garish pink clip in the shape of a cat. "We can put these in! It'll look soooo pretty!"

Olruggio, who looked terrible on a good day and run-over by a pegasus on a bad one, genuinely doubted a pink cat clip would look nice on his hair, but if the two girls would have fun and he wouldn't really leave the atelier soon, he didn't see why not.

Richeh stepped forward, her expression shifting from the previous mortification to something almost like curiosity. She picked up a small silver clip, a simple crescent moon, and held it up to Olruggio's hair.

Tetia gasped. "Oh, that one's perfect! You have such good taste, Richeh!"

Richeh nodded, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

And that was how Olruggio's morning routine became a three-person operation.

Soon enough, of course, it became a five-person one, much to Olruggio's dismay.

.

Some mornings, when he slept on the couch, he woke up and his hair was already done.

It was unsettling at first. He would stir from sleep, still half-dreaming, reach up with clumsy fingers, and find a tiny ponytail already in place, neat and careful, like someone worked on it while he was unconscious. He asked the girls about it once, but they just exchanged glances and said nothing, which was strange in itself. They usually jumped at any opportunity to gloat about their handiwork.

But there was another possibility, one he didn't let himself dwell on for too long.

Because sometimes, when he woke up with his hair perfectly styled, he caught a faint scent in the air — floral and familiar, like the soap Qifrey used. And sometimes, just sometimes, his hair fell in a way that was slightly different from the girls' usual work, almost as if someone with longer fingers and more practice had been the one to arrange it.

He didn't ask about that. It felt extremely presumptuous, after all, Qifrey didn't seem to care about the change, except for the furtive glances here and there. The witch never said anything. Not "You look nice." Not "That's interesting." Not even a teasing remark about how Olruggio had become a walking hair accessory display.

But that was fine. Olruggio had grown past the stage where he hoped Qifrey had any feelings for him.

Though that part of him that was thirteen and desperately in love with his best friend still hoped he at least looked a little nice to him.

Which was, unfortunately, just plain stupid. He had been doing this for years, hoping for something that would never come, and it was exhausting. It was embarrassing. He was a grown man, for crying out loud. He shouldn't still be pining after his childhood best friend like that.

But he had been doing it for his entire life. It was a feeling he had already accepted would never go away, even if accepting didn’t mean it would make it hurt any less.

What do you do when you are made to hold someone and they never let you?

You let go. That was what you do.

Except, for all his mastery over the spells he created, he never quite mastered how to let Qifrey go yet.

Olruggio had been trying to let go for a long time. He had built walls, created distance, filled his life with other things — his work, the girls, the endless tasks of running an atelier. He had told himself that Qifrey's approval didn't matter, that Qifrey's feelings didn't matter, that he was fine on his own.

But then Qifrey would look at him, every once in a while, with that gaze that was nothing but fond, and Olruggio's carefully constructed walls would crack, just a little. He would want.

And oh, if it wasn’t embarrassing how much the wanting shows.

It was always in the little things. The way he held his breath when Qifrey stepped too close. The way his heart stuttered when Qifrey laughed at something he said. The way he wanted to walk through places with Qifrey's hand on his own. To wake up and have Qifrey be the very first thing he saw in the morning. To look at Qifrey and not feel like he was doing something wrong for once in his life.

It felt like holding the moon's reflection on the water and saying it belonged to you.

It was embarrassing to be asking for the impossible, even when twenty years had passed. That was what it was.

.

The day the ends of his hair brushed against the curve of his spine, settling into that spot where it was long enough to actually do something with, Richeh appeared in his room like a scalewolf smelling blood.

Except, she had the three other girls in tow, and an enthusiastic Brushbuddy who immediately came to sit on his shoulder to sleep.

Coco stood behind her, eyes bright and curious, clutching a small box that Olruggio recognized as the one she kept her hair accessories in. Agott followed, looking slightly uncomfortable but present nonetheless, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. And Tetia, of course, brought her own things, practically vibrating with barely-contained excitement.

Olruggio blinked at the assembled girls, his hand still frozen mid-motion, his hair still fisted in his grip.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice coming out sleep-roughened and confused. "Should I be worried?"

"Richeh said it's time," Coco announced, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who had been fully briefed on the mission. "She told us this morning. We're all going to help!"

"We are not 'all' going to help," Agott interjected, her tone sharp but without real bite. "Some of us are simply observing. I have no interest in participating in... whatever this is."

"You're definitely participating," Tetia said cheerfully, bouncing past Agott to stand at Olruggio's bedside. "You promised, remember? You said you'd try!"

Agott's cheeks flushed a faint pink. "I said I would consider it. That is not the same as promising."

Olruggio looked between them, still utterly lost.

"Hold on. What exactly is happening right now?"

Richeh, who had been standing silently in front of them, finally stepped forward. There was something different about her expression this morning, something that made Olruggio's breath catch in his throat. She looked almost... excited, which was rare for the girl.

"Richeh can braid now," she said simply, and in those few words, Olruggio understood everything.

How did she know when exactly was the right time? Olruggio couldn't say for certain. Perhaps it was a brother thing. Maybe she had memorized the exact length of her brother's hair, the way it felt when it was long enough to braid, and she simply recognized it in Olruggio's own growth. The thought made something ache in his chest.

Maybe if he talked with Qifrey they could steal Beldaruit's apprentice for a little while. He is sure neither witches would mind.

"Alright," he said, settling himself onto the edge of his bed easily. "Alright, let's finally do this. But I'm warning you, I'm not very patient. And I fidget. And I'll probably complain if you pull too hard."

Tetia clapped her hands together. "That's fine! We'll just have to work around you!"

The next hour was complete and utter chaos.

Richeh took charge immediately, directing the others with quiet authority that was surprising in its effectiveness. She positioned Tetia on one side of Olruggio, tasked with holding sections of hair out of the way while she worked. Coco was on the other side, serving as the designated "ribbon keeper," her small hands holding out the translucent strips that Richeh had prepared in advance. Even Agott was pressed into service, albeit reluctantly, standing behind Olruggio with a comb in her hand and a deeply put-upon expression on her face.

"I don't see why I have to be the one to detangle this," she muttered, running the comb through a particularly stubborn knot. "This is incredibly tedious work."

"Because you're the best at it," Tetia said brightly. "You're so careful! And you never pull, even when the tangles are really bad. It's like you have magic fingers or something."

Agott's cheeks flushed again, but she did not argue. She simply continued working, her touch surprisingly gentle despite her grumbling.

Olruggio sat still through all of it, his eyes closed, letting the sensation wash over him, letting a few ouches escape now and then when one of them accidentally pulled too hard.

"How do you even know where to start? It's so long!" Tetia suddenly asked, when they were more or less in the middle of his hair.

Richeh paused at Tetia's question, her hands stilling in Olruggio's hair. When she spoke, her voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant.

"Richeh's brother had long hair. Almost to his waist." A pause, then, quieter still, "Richeh used to braid it for him. Every morning. He would sit still for hours, just to let her practice."

Olruggio felt his heart clench, but said nothing, not wanting to disrupt the moment between the apprentices.

"Your brother sounds like a good person," Coco supplied. "I used to help my mom with her hair too! It was really nice."

A small, pleased sound came from behind him, and Richeh's fingers resumed their work with renewed purpose.

Olruggio could feel the braid taking shape against his scalp, and to that, he found himself relaxing into the sensation, his eyes drifting closed, his usual restlessness fading away.

It felt nice. It felt more than nice. It felt like being taken care of, which was something he was not particularly used to.

He was so relaxed, in fact, that he almost did not notice when the braid finished. It was only when he felt all the tiny hands leave his hair that he realized it was over.

"You can look now," Agott said, holding out a tiny mirror toward him.

Olruggio opened his eyes and reached up to touch his hair as he looked at his reflection. His fingers encountered a thick braid that ran from his crown to the middle of his back, smooth and even, intertwined with the ribbons the girls brought, most of them translucent and others blue colored.

"It's beautiful," he said, meaning it. "It's genuinely beautiful. You all did an incredible job."

The girls erupted into excited chatter, crowding around to admire the finished product. Coco was practically vibrating with enthusiasm, her hands clasped together in delight. Tetia was bouncing on her heels, exclaiming over the neatness of the braid and the way the ribbons caught the light. Even Agott looked impressed, though she tried to hide it behind a mask of indifference.

"The left side is slightly looser than the right," she observed, her tone carefully neutral. "But overall, it's acceptable work."

"Agott, that's the nicest thing you've ever said about anything I did," Tetia gasped.

"It is not. I say nice things all the time."

"When?"

Agott's cheeks flushed a vivid red. "I am not going to dignify that with a response."

Olruggio laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Alright, alright, break it up. We still have breakfast to get to. I'm sure Qifrey is wondering where all of you disappeared to."

The girls exchanged a glance, the kind that suggested they were sharing a secret he was not privy to. But before he could ask, they had already scrambled out of his room, chattering excitedly amongst themselves, leaving him alone with his new braid and a growing sense of curiosity.

He stood, stretched, and made his way to the door.

The dining room was warm, filled with the familiar smells of breakfast. Qifrey was already at the table, an empty plate in his hands, his back to the door as he arranged the dishes with his usual careful precision. The girls were already seated, their expressions carefully neutral, though Olruggio noticed the way they kept glancing at the doorway.

He stepped inside, his new braid laying lazily on his right shoulder, and opened his mouth to greet Qifrey.

To that, the white-haired turned, his smile already in place, the words of a familiar greeting already forming on his lips. However, when he saw Olruggio, his eye went wide and the dish in his hands slipped through his fingers, crashing to the floor with a sound that shattered the morning silence.

The smile stayed frozen on his face, but it seemed forced. Almost as if a kid was playing with clay and drew it on there.

"Olly, you—" Qifrey started, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Your—"

He stopped, swallowed hard, and Olruggio could have sworn he saw color rising in his cheeks at the same time the smile became a flat line.

The girls watched with barely contained glee, their eyes darting between the two men like they were spectating a particularly exciting match.

After a few seconds passed, Qifrey seemed to collect himself. He stepped back, his usual composure sliding back into place like a mask, and bent to pick up the fallen platter, which was, thankfully, not broken.

"The seasoning," he said, his voice slightly too high. "I need to—I forgot some seasoning. In the kitchen. I'll be right back."

And then he was gone, disappearing through the kitchen door with a speed that would have been comical if Olruggio had not been so utterly confused.

The girls all joined to do a high five in group, which only seemed to deepen his confusion.

.

The morning before they left for Kalhn, Coco insisted on doing his hair. Her eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect of a day out in the bustling town, and she practically vibrated with anticipation ever since they announced the trip. Her usual gentle demeanor gave way to something almost feverish in its enthusiasm.

"Please, Master Olruggio?" she asked, her hands clasped together in a gesture impossible to refuse. "I've been practicing a new style. It's only half-up, so it won't be too much. I promise!"

Olruggio sighed, but he agreed. He always agreed. A weakness he'd developed over the past few months — this inability to say no when the girls looked at him with those hopeful expressions. They wrapped him around their little fingers, and they, unfortunately, knew it.

So he sat patiently on the edge of his bed while Coco worked, her small fingers gentle and careful as she gathered the top section of his hair and secured it with a simple silver clip. The rest fell loose around his shoulders, dark and shining, the braid he usually wore (Richeh's handiwork) carefully undone to accommodate the new style.

"There," Coco said, stepping back to admire her work. "Simple, but elegant. It'll keep the hair out of your face while still looking nice for the market."

He huffed a laugh.

"I don't know about nice," he said, touching the clip and feeling the smooth metal against his fingertips. "But it does feel pretty comfortable. Thank you, Coco."

Her face lit up with pleasure, and that alone made the whole thing worth it, even if he did feel like he looked more like a homeless man with all that hair, than anything else, most of the time.

Now, walking through the crowded streets of Kalhn with the girls scattered around him and QIfrey like a flock of excited birds, Olruggio began to understand why Coco insisted on the style.

It was too damn hot. To make matters worse, the citizens seemed intent on talking to him. Which, in itself, was not unusual. His commissions did garner him some attention, after all, but for some reason, it felt worse than normal.

He noticed people stopping mid-conversation to stare. A few vendors actually called out to him, their voices friendly and inviting in a way they'd never been before.

"Good morning, sir! Would you like to see my wares? I have a lovely selection of enchanted ribbons that would look absolutely stunning in that beautiful hair of yours!"

"Oh, my! Is that the Olruggio of The Torch I see?"

Olruggio blinked at each of them, genuinely confused by the sudden attention. He wore the same clothes he always wore. The only thing that changed was his hair, and that hardly warranted this level of interest.

Meh, he thought. Maybe one of my commissions got popular out of nowhere. It happened with the Glowstone Path, it could surely happen again.

They were finally near The Starry Sword when a young woman appeared in front of him, her expression eager. She was pretty, with bright eyes and a friendly smile.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice warm and inviting. "I know this is rather forward, but I couldn't help but notice you from across the market. Your hair is absolutely stunning. I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it."

Olruggio blinked, feeling flattered at the compliment. He had always been weak to them. "Thank you?"

"I'm a weaver," she continued, stepping closer. "I specialize in enchanted fabrics that respond to the wearer's magic. I think you would look absolutely magnificent in one of my creations. Perhaps we could discuss it over tea sometime?"

Olruggio's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, but I'm not really in the market for new clothes. I have plenty of robes already. But thank you for the offer, miss."

The young woman laughed, a tinkling sound surely meant to be charming. "Oh, I wasn't suggesting you buy anything. I was suggesting we get to know each other. Perhaps I could show you around Kalhn? There are some lovely spots that most visitors never see."

Olruggio opened his mouth to politely decline again, but before he could speak, Qifrey, who had been unusually silent the whole trip, appeared at his side. His friend's expression stayed pleasant, his smile wide, as his hand came to rest on Olruggio's shoulder.

"I'm afraid my partner is occupied," Qifrey said, his voice smooth and pleasant. "We have a rather full schedule today. But thank you for your offer. It's very... generous."

The young woman's smile faltered at the interruption. She glanced between the two men, her expression shifting from hopeful to uncertain. Then she seemed to catch something in Qifrey's gaze that made her step back, her hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Of course," she said, her voice now tinged with nervousness. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just—well, I hope you have a lovely day."

And then she disappeared into the crowd with surprising speed.

Olruggio turned to Qifrey, confused. "What was that about? She seemed nice enough. I could have just said no."

Qifrey's hand remained on his shoulder. Olruggio noticed, with a silly hope in his heart, that he made no move to remove it. "You looked like you needed rescuing. She was being rather persistent."

"She was being friendly," Olruggio corrected. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" Qifrey's smile stayed in place, but there was something straining it now. It didn't quite reach his eye. "She seemed rather forward to me."

Olruggio stared at him. "Since when do you care about that?"

Qifrey's smile tightened. "I care when my colleagues are being harassed by strangers in the middle of the street."

"She wasn't harassing me. She was just being friendly."

"She was flirting with you, old friend."

The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, and Olruggio felt his cheeks flush with sudden heat.

"Have you finally gone insane? She was not. She was just being nice."

"She was absolutely flirting with you," Tetia chimed in, appearing at his elbow with a grin. "That was like, textbook flirting."

"Kid, you're twelve. How do you know anything about flirting?"

"I read," she said primly.

Olruggio opened his mouth to argue, but Qifrey's hand on his shoulder squeezed just slightly, cutting off his protest, before moving to his back, pushing him forward.

"Let's keep moving," Qifrey said, his voice still pleasant but carrying an edge that made the girls fall silent. "We still need to pick up the ink before dark."

The rest of the trip continued much the same, and Qifrey's smiles grew increasingly strained. It was subtle at first, how his pleasant expression flickered every time someone stopped them: a twitch at the corner of his mouth or a tightening around his eyes. But as the day wore on, the strain became more and more apparent, until even the girls started to notice.

Olruggio assumed it was because Qifrey hated leaving the atelier to begin with, and people stopping them here and there certainly didn't help.

When they finally escaped the crowd, the girls ran loose to test the ink at The Starry Sword, their excited chatter fading as they disappeared into the shop's depths. That left Olruggio and Qifrey alone in a quiet corner, the remnants of their purchases scattered around them.

"I don't think I've ever been stared at so much in my entire life," Olruggio said, leaning against the cool stone wall and letting out a long groan. "What was that about?"

"Your hair is different," Qifrey said, and something in his tone eluded Olruggio's grasp. "The girls surely outdid themselves this morning. It's... it's very striking."

Olruggio touched the partial bun, feeling the smooth metal of the clip. "It's just a hairstyle. I don't understand why people are so interested."

"It's not just a hairstyle," Qifrey said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice for reasons Olruggio couldn't fathom. "It's—you look—"

He cut himself off, shaking his head. Then he looked at Olruggio, almost hopefully. "This will sound strange, but... can you put up the hood of your cloak?"

Olruggio stared at him.

"You want me to hide my hair?"

Qifrey nodded, his mouth a flat line. And well, even if Olruggio didn't quite understand where this all came from, if it made his friend at least a little more relaxed, how could he refuse? Maybe Qifrey just didn't like all the attention they gathered out of nowhere. Olruggio, who was certainly more used to it, certainly didn’t.

He nodded. "Okay, I can do that. No problem."

Immediately, Olruggio drew his hood up, tucking his hair out of sight. Qifrey visibly exhaled in relief, his shoulders dropping from where they'd been creeping up toward his ears.

"Thank you," Qifrey said, his voice softer now, almost genuine.

After that, they wandered through the shop while the girls tested their inks, falling into comfortable conversation.

When the girls finally emerged from the room they were testing the ink in, their fingers stained with splotches of color and their faces glowing with satisfaction, all of them got out of the shop, ready to go home.

Which, unfortunately, brought the same problem as before.

Qifrey turned to Olruggio after staring at the crowd in front of them. He glanced at the hood, then at Olruggio's face. Something pained passed through his expression.

"Olly, would it be possible for you to..." Qifrey said, nodding toward the hood, "next time we go out, could you put your hood up again?"

He put a finger to his chin, thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he stared at a point somewhere past Olruggio's shoulder, his gaze unfocused and distant. The finger tapped once against his jaw, then twice, a rhythmic pattern that Olruggio recognized as Qifrey's chewing over a thought before committing to it. His eye drifted to the side, then down, then back up to meet Olruggio's.

"Scratch that. How about you only let your hair loose at our atelier, hm?"