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Qifrey can tell the second Olruggio steps through the windowway that something has gone terribly awry.
To the untrained eye, everything is perfectly normal. Olruggio’s immediately greeted with an armful of excited Coco and Tetia, who beam up at him and chatter away about how much they’ve missed him and the spells they worked on while he was at the Great Hall. Richeh quietly attaches herself to his side, smiling contentedly when his hand finds the top of her head, and she comments on how she can’t wait to eat the dinner they’ve prepared to welcome him home. Even Agott is happy from her place one step in front of Qifrey, relief evident on her features as she basks in the fact that both of her guardians are now back to where they belong.
But through the years, Qifrey’s studied all forms of Olruggio-isms diligently, so he notices. He notices that Olruggio’s smile slides off his face just as quickly as it had first appeared when he stepped into the atelier. He notices the furrow in his brow that won’t disappear, and the reluctance to shake off the girls so that they can all move into the kitchen for dinner. Above all, Qifrey notices how his deep blue gaze can’t seem to quite meet Qifrey’s eye.
It's strange. Usually, Qifrey’s the one immensely bothered by a trip to the Great Hall. To Olruggio, business trips like this were nothing out of the ordinary. Unlike Qifrey, ‘Olruggio of the Torch’ was well-respected and well-liked by his peers, and any gossip that followed him was only born when the two of them were spotted in the Great Hall together. A solo trip should have been a few simple business-related happenings, with some alcoholic socializing and exotic shopping mixed in. All in all, the Great Hall contained things Qifrey knew Olruggio didn’t mind too much and viewed as simply part of his job as an inventor.
When the girls finally clear and let Olruggio breathe, Qifrey steps towards him to take his heavy backpack. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly as he dips forward into Olruggio’s space to tug the strap from his shoulder. His lips are inches from Olruggio’s bare neck as he speaks, and he watches from the corner of his eye as a slight shudder runs through Olruggio when his breath ghosts over his skin.
It’s a mistake; the sight of Olruggio, neck slightly exposed and a tremor quickly running down the length of his body does something, something wrong to him. His head is suddenly full of writhing and a painful, twisting sensation, causing his breath to catch in his throat. But Qifrey’s been living like this ever since he could remember, so he blinks once as he regains his composure before hastily stepping back, backpack in hand and his heart pounding.
Olruggio finally looks at him when he’s retreated to an appropriate distance. Exhaustion is all but etched into his face, and something unreadable swims in his eyes as he gazes at Qifrey like he’s a mirage, or an image made of mist. Qifrey frowns, his mouth opening again to ask again. “Olly, are you-“
“I’m fine,” Olruggio interrupts, closing his eyes and sighing. “I’m fine. It was just…” he pauses and opens his eyes once more, and his gaze flits towards the girls before settling back on Qifrey. “It was a long trip.”
Qifrey raises his visible eyebrow, and Olruggio just shakes his head ever so slightly, looking once more at Coco to his left. So. Something did happen. But it was something that apparently couldn’t be discussed with the ears of apprentices present, so Qifrey schools his expression into something more neutral.
“Long? It was only three days, Master Olly!” Tetia chirps, interrupting Olruggio and Qifrey’s silent conversation. Her hand darts out to grasp Olruggio’s firmly and she begins to drag him in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m just jealous you got to go take a trip! How exciting!”
“No, no, trust me, Tetia. It was really boring,” Olruggio splutters as he follows the girls into the warm kitchen. The smell of freshly made carapace yam stew fills the room, and Qifrey can feel some of the tension in his frame start to melt as he watches the girls - no, their girls - take their usual places around their small dining table. By now, Olruggio’s managed to wrangle the conversation topic back to the most recent lessons that he’s missed. He slumps over tiredly in his chair as he listens to them speak, a smile on his lips and a special fondness in his eyes. The writhing intensifies in Qifrey’s right eye socket as Olruggio catches his eye and directs that fondness towards him, so he quickly looks away and busies himself with ladling their stew into bowls.
And as the six of them settle down around the table, spooning hot pieces of carapace yam into their mouths with joyful exclamations, Qifrey glances towards the bottles of Silvernectar Wine on the rack to his left. Tonight, he will get the answer out of Olruggio.
Later, when the girls have scampered off to bed and Qifrey sees the small windows on all their bedroom doors go dark, he strides into the kitchen and grabs two of the most expensive wines on the rack. He takes a few steps towards the living room, and then after a moment’s consideration, goes back and grabs two glasses from a nearby cabinet.
He approaches the back of the couch where Olruggio’s been resting after dinner, sets the glasses and bottles on the floor beside it with a slight thunk against the wood, and glances at Olruggio. He’s lying stretched out on the couch with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling softly, and Qifrey sighs as he weighs the possible consequences of waking him. And if he also takes a moment to kneel down and gaze at his best friend’s sleeping form, well, that’s between Qifrey and the sleepy silence of the atelier living room. Qifrey thinks, privately, about how Olruggio looks so peaceful lying there, his dark bangs brushing into his eyes and his mouth slightly parted and his cheek smushed into the cushion- and that’s when the pain in his right eye flares up again, and this time Qifrey can’t stop the pained gasp that escapes his lips.
Olruggio stirs immediately at the sound of his voice. His eyes shoot open as he pushes himself into a seated position, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “What’s wrong?” he says, his voice scratchy from sleep and his eyes scanning Qifrey up and down. “Shit, are you hurt? Did something happen while I was away?”
“What?” Qifrey blinks as the pain dies back down again. “No, I’m not hurt. Just, well…” he gestures to his face and forces his lips to stretch into a smile. “No more than usual, I suppose.”
Olruggio frowns as he takes a moment to stare at Qifrey’s face, where he knows his right eye socket is hidden beneath a swathe of silver hair. “Just tell me if your eye pain gets too bad to handle,” he finally grumbles, running a hand through his own messy bangs and sighing. “I know your phantom pain is hard to deal with, sometimes.”
Stars above, if only he knew. “I will,” Qifrey lies easily, and takes a glass from beside him to present it to Olruggio. “Wine?”
Olruggio takes the glass as soon as it’s presented to him, his face lighting up at the mention of alcohol. Then he squints suspiciously at Qifrey as he slides off the couch to join him on the floor. “What’s this about?” he questions, a grin growing on his lips. “Normally I’m the one who’d convince you to have some wine. Do you need a favor from me, or something?”
Or something, Qifrey thinks immediately, but he shakes his head, smiling. “You seem like you had a long couple of days,” he begins, choosing his words carefully. “And I know that there very few things that trouble you that can’t be made better by a bit of Silvernectar Wine.”
Olruggio snorts and takes the bottle from Qifrey when it’s given to him next. He whistles, low and melodic when he catches sight of what type of Silvernectar Qifrey’s handed him. “Damn, Qifrey,” he says quietly, inspecting the label. “You really know how to spoil a guy. You brought me the good stuff.”
Qifrey feels his cheeks heat at the possible implication, but Olruggio’s too busy uncorking the wine and pouring it into his glass to pay much attention for the double meaning he’s given his words. He gestures with the bottle once he’s given himself a full glassful, and Qifrey raises his glass to allow him to pour him a generous amount of wine.
After the first few sips in content silence, Olruggio sighs deeply before taking a large swig from his glass. “Well,” he says finally, gesturing halfheartedly with his free hand. “I suppose you’re wanting to know about my trip, then.”
Qifrey hums as he brings his glass to his lips. “You seemed upset, when you came home,” he says slowly. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”
“I am, I am,” Olruggio mumbles, and then tips his glass back once again. “It was just kind of a shitty trip, is all.” He sighs again, moodily staring into his now almost-empty glass. “Maybe I’m just getting old. Trips like that aren’t nearly as fun as they used to be.”
“No?” Qifrey raises his eyebrows and swirls the wine slowly around in his glass. “I thought you didn’t mind the Great Hall.”
“Usually, I don’t,” Olruggio replies. He’s silent for a beat longer, and his next words come out in a quiet, rushed jumble that Qifrey barely catches. “I just missed you and the girls, is all. Felt a little lonely.”
Qifrey feels his face start to burn in a way he knows isn’t connected to the wine. “Oh,” he says in lieu of an answer, and hurriedly raises his glass to take another drink. Olruggio’s ears are an impressive shade of crimson, and he thinks, privately, how cute that is as he searches for what to say. “Well… we also missed you very much, Olly,” he finally murmurs.
Olruggio’s gaze flits to him, eyes widening, before he turns back to the fire and tips back his glass to drain the remaining wine in one go. “Yeah?” he says, his voice rough with a tone Qifrey’s not sure he’s ever heard before.
“Yeah,” Qifrey responds quietly, and reaches for the Silvernectar bottle to pour more wine into his glass. “Was that all that was bothering you?”
Olruggio’s quiet for a few seconds, visibly thinking, and finally drags his gaze from somewhere on the floor to meet Qifrey’s pale blue eyes. “Not entirely,” he admits, and he curls his legs under him, where they rest atop Qifrey’s skirts. The urge to move over and press his entire side against Olruggio overwhelms Qifrey for a moment, and he has to breathe deeply to get his train of thought back on track, staring fixedly at the fireplace in front of him.
Olruggio continues talking, seemingly oblivious to Qifrey’s struggle. “I don’t know. It’s just… everyone knows everyone in the Great Hall, yeah? It’s like, I can’t take three steps anywhere in there without someone approaching me, or recognizing me, or…” he trails off, and reaches a hand to scratch sheepishly at the back of his head. “Sorry, that sounds pretentious. But, I mean, it’s true. I guess I’m irritated because during my time there, people tried to stick their noses into personal matters that don’t have anything to do with them.” He falls silent again, and when Qifrey finally tears his gaze away from the flame he’s been fixated on to glance at Olruggio’s side profile, his brow is knit and he’s chewing on his lower lip.
Qifrey reaches out to rest a gentle hand on Olruggio’s knee before he can stop himself. The tension in the little living area grows until Olruggio’s next words spill from him in a too-fast, too-rushed mess. “So, basically, some stupid middle-aged witches saw that I was by myself, and they approached me and asked if I had plans to return to the Great Hall.” He chuckles with no humor in his voice. “I said no, of course, and that I was just there on business. Said that I was perfectly content being a Watchful Eye-“
MY Watchful Eye, Qifrey thinks immediately.
“-and I tried to just bid them a good day and leave. And then one of them asked me,” Olruggio swallows, his face twisting into something painful, “how I could be so selfish.”
“Selfish?” Qifrey echoes softly, his heart sinking. Olruggio nods and takes another long drink of wine. “You?”
“They told me that apparently, the birth rate of pure-blood witches has been falling. Something about how all the old-fashioned witches making all the decisions up top are trying to do everything in their power to keep magic knowledge inside preexisting witch bloodlines, but there’s not enough young, eligible witches to make that happen,” Olruggio explains, his voice rising. “So, they asked me if sometime in the future, I’d be willing to…” His voice trembles. He breathes in, deeply. “Agree to an arranged marriage. And, eventually, have witch children.”
Qifrey can’t stop the small gasp that escapes his lips. Olruggio turns his gaze to him, looking despondent, before he hangs his head. “I didn’t know how to respond to them. They went on and on about setting up a meeting for me, about nice girls they knew around my age in the Great Hall-“ he grimaces. “And about how I, the most eligible bachelor in the entire Zozah Peninsula, am apparently too gifted to ‘let my talents wither in someone else’s atelier in the countryside’. Among other garbage like that.”
“…What did you say to them?” Qifrey finally asks, fighting to keep his voice calm. His fingers dig slightly into the fabric of the other man’s skirts.
Olruggio suddenly snorts then, gesturing halfheartedly. “Honestly, Qifrey? I told them to fuck off, and then I gathered my things and left.” He gives Qifrey a half-hearted smile. “Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not- I’m not mad at you, Olly,” Qifrey assures, brain whirring. His mind is filling with images of Olruggio, politely bowing to a faceless witch. Olly, walking through town with a stranger's hand on his arm. His best friend, dressed in white, standing at an altar. The man he’s been hopelessly in love with for as long as he can remember, turning around to beam at him as he shows off a black-haired bundle gently resting in his arms-
No, no, no. It’s all so incredibly, horribly, wrong. Qifrey feels sick to his stomach, and the expensive wine turns sour in his mouth. That’s not where Olruggio belongs. Olruggio’s place is here, teaching beside Qifrey at their atelier. His place is sleeping on the couch after finishing commissions, and baking sweets during the late hours of the night when stuck on a contraption. There’s an overwhelming sense of right that Qifrey feels whenever he sees him with their girls, gently pointing out ways to improve their sigils and ruffling their hair when they tease his poor lifestyle habits and pacing the floor of the atelier, worrying about them when they go anywhere on their own.
A warmth settles in his bones when he thinks of Olruggio, steadily by his side, living in this atelier, forever. Yes. That is how things should be.
And stars above, the damned wine has loosened his tongue, so Qifrey opens his mouth to tell him exactly this. “Olly, I-“
Ah, this is perfect.
A skull-splitting pain accompanies the silvery voice in his head, and Qifrey gasps as he hastily clutches at his eye, spilling his wine glass on the floor in his haste. “Qifrey!” Olruggio exclaims and reaches one hand over to upright the overturned glass, and the other hovers in front of Qifrey’s own, unsure.
Qifrey can’t make out anything else he’s saying over the pounding in his head. The familiar voice of silver sounds like the rustle of leaves in a forest during a storm, the creaking of branches swaying in the wind.
Well done, it whispers to him, crooning. This is truly perfect. Let him know how you feel, forgotten child. You can finally let go after all these years of torment. Let go, and he will be there to take care of us in every day that follows.
Blind panic seizes Qifrey, and his breath comes out in short, shallow gasps as he racks his brain for something to stop the quickening creep of Silverwood. He can feel it moving underneath his fingers as he presses firmly on his empty socket, desperately wishing for it to stop.
In his frenzy, he casts his remaining eye upwards for a moment. That’s when finally, he can see his best friend, mouth moving and hand outstretched towards him, and at that moment, he understands.
Of course, the answer’s Olly. It always has been.
“I’m not mad,” Qifrey blurts suddenly, and he sees Olruggio stare dumbfounded at him, his mouth hanging open. “I’m just confused, Olly.”
“Oi,” Olruggio says incredulously, and Qifrey can barely hear him over the rushing in his skull. “I’m serious. Are you okay, Qifrey? Maybe you should see Sinocia. We can go by windowway and be there in-”
“I’m confused,” Qifrey repeats, interrupting. “I don’t know why you’re so upset about the prospect of an arranged marriage.”
And stars, Qifrey tries to tell himself it’s worth it as he watches Olruggio’s face morph from worry, to confusion, to hurt. The guilt seeping through every cell in his body is not an unfamiliar feeling, but knowing that he is the cause of such direct, immediate harm… the throbbing pain in his head begins to quiet almost instantly, and he’s relieved to see that when he pulls his hand away from his face, silver leaves do not fall into his lap.
“What… what do you mean?” Olruggio sputters, and he waves his hands in front of his face. “Me, being married off to some random woman and having children?” His voice rises at the end, slightly hysterical. “That’s not me, Qifrey. You know it’s not.”
But it must be, Qifrey thinks, and feels nauseous as the weight of his selfishness washes over him. “It could be,” he says instead. “They’re not exactly wrong, Olly. You’re a young, handsome, bright witch at a marriageable age. Why is it such a bad idea?” His head hurts less and less with each dagger to his heart. “Otherwise, you’ll just be stuck here as a bachelor forever.” He smiles tentatively, but Olruggio looks like he’s been struck by time-stop magic.
“But that’s! Stars, Qifrey, you- You can’t possibly think-“ Olruggio’s words trip over themselves, gliding into one another, and it’s then Qifrey realizes just how much he’s had to drink in the short period of time they’ve been here. “You can’t possibly be that dense, Qifrey!”
“Pardon?” Qifrey tilts his head.
“What- haven’t you been able to tell? Qifrey, you… YOU IDIOT!” Olruggio suddenly roars, and grabs both of Qifrey’s shoulders to look him square in the eye. “I want that!” he exclaims suddenly, his face bright red but gaze unwavering. “I want to be stuck here in this atelier, with you, Qifrey. Forever.”
Qifrey sucks in a sharp inhale and kills the fluttery feeling in his stomach as soon as it begins. He can’t have this, he reminds himself. What he’s wanted, what he’s longed for is so incredibly close, yet he still- he can’t- he can never-
“And I’m… flattered,” Qifrey replies slowly, and raises his hands to gently push Olruggio’s hands off his shoulders. “But my dear Olly, I do fear you’ve had too much to drink. You’re not thinking properly about your possible future.” He pauses, searching for the words. “Don’t you want to have a family someday?”
The color drains from Olruggio’s face, and Qifrey can see in real time the moment his heart is cleanly severed in two. He gapes at him, his eyes swimming with hurt and wine and disbelief. “You’re seriously asking me that?” he asks quietly, his eyes searching Qifrey’s expression for something that he’s missing. “I mean, I thought- Qifrey, for all these years… I’ve thought my future was right here. With you.” His voice breaks. The Silverwood rustles in anguish.
“And it is, for now,” Qifrey assures, his tone deceptively calm. “But I think it would be good for you to get married and have a family of your own, someday, Olly.” By the stars, he’d never have to wipe Olruggio’s memory again if there was another witch hanging off his arm, taking Qifrey’s rightful place. He could stop hurting Olruggio, free him from the shackles of their curse, and at the same time keep himself alive by watching Olruggio and his new family begin a life from afar. It’s truly cruel, how well it could all work out.
Olruggio huffs out a laugh, frantic. “You’re seriously telling me I’ve been reading things wrong for all these years?” His voice cracks on the last word. Qifrey’s heart seizes. “Stars, I’m so pathetic. What is wrong with me?”
Nothing, Qifrey replies silently as he watches Olruggio droop over himself, shoulders shaking quietly. I’m the pathetic one. I should have never let you get so close to me.
Qifrey can only watch in silence as the shaking of Olruggio’s shoulders lessens more and more until eventually, he stops moving entirely. He thanks the stars that he had enough foresight to add wine to this entirely miserable conversation. Olruggio’s always been a notoriously sleepy drunk, and when Qifrey crawls forward slightly to peek under Olruggio’s messy black bangs, he can confirm that Olruggio’s fallen into a slightly restless, Silvernectar-induced sleep.
He also notes, with an overwhelming wave of shame, that tears cling to Olruggio’s long eyelashes, and cast tracks that shine golden in the firelight down his cheeks. He looks away, swallowing hard, and can feel his own tears pricking at the corner of his vision. Stars above, he’s just about the most miserable excuse of a person that has ever existed in this world. Olruggio does nothing but give and give and give to Qifrey and their girls, and this is what Qifrey offers to him in return. He feels like his heart is about to explode with the guilt coursing through his veins.
If the Silverwood rooted in his eye doesn’t kill him, his aptitude for destroying everything and everyone he loves just may.
Qifrey rises to his feet, the world tilting ever so slightly and deliberates on what to do with Olruggio. He can’t just leave him there on the ground, but Olruggio’s quarters are on the opposite side of the atelier. There’s a distinctive throbbing sensation in his head that he knows has almost certainly been brought on by his own wine consumption, which he finds he’s almost grateful for. Qifrey’s learned over the years that there’s much he’s willing to put up with as long as branches don’t start sprouting from his eye.
He weighs his options, and then slowly bends down over the witch he’s been desperately in love with for over twenty years. Qifrey carefully, gently, reverently gathers Olruggio in his arms and quietly deposits him onto the couch, settling his head on one of the pillows. He does his best to avoid looking at his face, but his eye betrays him as it sweeps across the curve of Olruggio’s cheek, the scruff of his beard, and the long column of his throat half-hidden by his flowy shirt collar.
If I ever permanently turn… this is what I want to see before my eye closes.
The burning in Qifrey’s eye starts to drip down his cheek when the thought passes through his mind, and he whispers a curse as he, as quickly as the Silvernectar allows, rises to his feet, putting a sudden distance between him and his best friend. He searches the living room for a blanket, finding none, and crosses briefly to the threshold of the atelier to retrieve his own cloak, hanging on a peg. He brings it over to Olruggio and lays the white garment softly over him.
You don’t deserve him by your side, he hears a voice that sounds suspiciously like his own say inside his head. And as he swiftly turns on his heel and leaves the living room, he casts one more look over his shoulder. He can see Olruggio’s sleeping form on the couch, stirring slightly with what Qifrey knows are bad dreams and wine, and he silently agrees with himself.
He knows he’s hurt Olruggio deeply, more times than he can bear. He knows that he’ll always be on the cusp of reaching something, someone he so desperately wants, but never will be able to have. He knows that this will not be the end of their shared suffering. He will undoubtedly hurt Olruggio many, many more times in the future.
But for now, the Silverwood is silent, so he closes the door to his bedroom, sinks to the floor, and can do nothing else but sob quietly into his hands.