Chapter Text
Olruggio gave the wooden door a final testing swing. The oiling spell had worked; the hinges were finally quiet enough. It’s been a little over a month since he and Qifrey finished reconstructing the ruins that his friend later decided they would call home. A little atelier of their own. Nothing too fancy, but it would do for now. There was a small living space, an even smaller kitchen, spare rooms for his partner's future apprentices, and, of course, his own workshop.
At last, satisfied with his work, he considered oiling the rest of the doors before his gaze drifted to Qifrey's room. It had stood empty so often lately that it felt colder than the rest of the house. Olruggio let out another sigh, heading to the kitchen instead, brows furrowing. For someone so excited to open his own atelier, Qifrey certainly wasn’t too keen on staying in it.
Honestly… Why did I think things would be different now? He thought, rummaging through the contents of their food storage. His fingers brushed past the simple cooling spell Qifrey installed there. Unlike its creator, it was exactly where it was supposed to be.
His initial giddiness at being assigned the role of a watchful eye over Qifrey’s atelier had long since died, leaving room for a bitter acceptance he was now getting used to. Every time he dared to hope his friend was finally settling in — sharing a glance while installing a window, debating beds for future students, sitting in exhausted silence after another day's work — every time Qifrey's lips softened into the beginning of a smile...
Only for it all to shatter far too quickly, each time the same.
Olruggio could now tell the exact moment something would snap in Qifrey's head, his fluttering lashes a clear tell that he would soon hastily turn away, blabbering about something he forgot to do. It had only become more frequent since they'd moved here together. What was Qifrey so afraid of?
Anyway, he ought to get used to his behavior by now. He could only blame himself for hoping Qifrey would hold his gaze just a little longer, or that the curve of his lips would deepen into a smile.
Instead, he didn’t even know where this idiot went. The note left on his table was infuriatingly brief and contained no useful information. For the past few days, Olruggio had been forced to store away half of the meal cooked for two. He was getting sick of it and was resolved to cook only for himself tonight. Qifrey could think of his own meal for all he cared. That is, if he’ll be back tonight at all.
Pushing the thought aside, Olruggio cast a few light spells and began preparing a simple dinner. The sun had yet to set, but dense storm clouds had swallowed what little daylight remained. He worked by habit, the rhythmic chop of his knife filling the otherwise silent kitchen. Sword carrots. Horncaps. Greens. A pinch of seasoning. The familiar motions occupied his hands well enough to keep his mind from wandering. Rain hammered against the roof with enough force to drown out the hiss of the pan. He reached for a second bowl before stopping.
…Damn it. The vegetables already sizzling in the pan were enough for two.
A violent gust exploded against the side of the house. The kitchen window flew open with a deafening bang. Cold rain burst inside, drenching the windowsill and scattering the spell-lit papers in every direction. Cursing under his breath, Olruggio hurried to wrestle the window shut, the wind fighting him every inch of the way before finally yielding with a heavy thud. He lingered at the window, rain blurring the forest beyond. Was Qifrey sheltered from the storm at all?
Familiar unease tightened in his chest.
He forced it down.
"It'll pass." The words sounded far less convincing aloud as another gust struck the house hard enough to make the shutters rattle. Then came the crack. Somewhere outside, a tree surrendered with an unmistakable snap before disappearing beneath the roar of rain.
Olruggio crossed the kitchen in three quick strides. His hand found his coat almost of its own accord. If that fool wanted to wander through a storm that could split trees in half, then someone had to drag him back before he—
The front door swung open before he could even reach the handle, making Olruggio flinch. “Gods! Qifrey, where the hell— Well, don’t just stand there, you oaf! Quick, come inside!” He seized Qifrey by the sleeve, hauled him inside, and slammed the door against the storm. He snapped around, glaring at the soaked man before him. A scolding tirade rose to the tip of his tongue, relief tangling with irritation.
Then—
A tiny wail.
Olruggio froze.
Another.
Baby wailing.
...
His gaze slowly drifted from Qifrey's face to the bundle tucked beneath his cloak. Qifrey gently lifted it into the light.
"Olly," he said, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world, "could you hold her for a moment?"
Before Olruggio could protest, a surprisingly warm, surprisingly real infant was deposited into his arms.