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The Goodwill of Her Grace was a pivotal moment in the life of every young witch: passing meant graduating from their master’s atelier, becoming an independent witch ready to explore the world. Or stay in the dark, humid underwater prison of the Great Hall.
They had both turned twenty right before Silver Eve. The season turned after the festival, and now here they were, Qifrey and Olruggio, no longer apprentices, but young adults with their own identity.
Olruggio landed right next to Qifrey. They were out, after passing the Fourth Test, in the Naakiwan Downs. Qifrey was sitting on a rock, a sketchbook was resting on his knees and a pen imbued with normal ink held in his drawing hand.
Peeking over his shoulder, Olruggio could see a few sketches drawn on the pages and, ignoring the protest of his friend, he grabbed the sketchbook and started to skim through it.
Various models of robes and different hat designs filled the pages. Some were scribbled over in a rush to cancel the idea, others had rounds connected to them with details of materials and motifs.
“I see you’ve kept yourself busy.” Olruggio said, going through more pages.
“Well, yeah. We’re going to get our own witch attire. Haven’t you thought about how you will style yourself, oh mighty Olruggio of the Torch?” Qifrey bit back in a teasing tone.
Olruggio closed the sketchbook and sat down next to Qifrey, looking at the construction in front of them. It was the old shepherd’s house he had found when they were kids, the ruins just a memory now, after years spent rebuilding it.
Qifrey had more than once expressed the will to leave the Great Hall and live a life far away from the bottom of the ocean and, now that they were full-fledged witches, they could go live in an atelier of their own.
Their home.
His cheeks warmed up at the thought, absentmindedly handing back Qifrey his journal.
“Not really. I think I’ll stick with the black, maybe change a bit the decoration on the cap. Nothing too fancy.”
Qifrey hummed, looking for a specific drawing and leaning towards Olruggio, showing it to him.
“What do you think of this one?”
It was a very simple design, both the robe and the cap were of a smokey colour, nothing too eccentric and that didn’t stand out. For someone like Qifrey, who hated drawing attention to himself, it was perfect.
“I like it.” Olruggio said, resting his head on Qifrey’s shoulder.
It was only missing one thing.
“Where’s the ornament?” he asked.
“On my current cap, Olly.”
Oh.
“You’re keeping my old ribbon?”
Qifrey looked down at him, brows furrowed.
“Of course I am.”
His voice held a certainty Olruggio had only ever heard when the situation was serious, although he didn’t quite understand what had upset Qifrey this time. Part of him wanted to ask, the other knew that it would only lead to Qifrey withdrawing in himself, going somewhere where Olruggio couldn’t follow.
“Then I’m keeping mine too.” he stated. “Not that I had any intention of changing it, anyway.”
They sat like that, in silence, for a while. The breeze of mid-spring ruffled their hair, and Olruggio looked up. Ever since he met him, Qifrey reminded him of snow. Of home. Their first meeting had been hectic, but Olruggio’s first thought when he got to properly see him was that he was pretty.
Qifrey had always been pretty.
His hair, his eye, his nose, his lips. Olruggio adored everything about him.
“Are you sure you want to come live with me here, Olly?” Qifrey asked, eyes fixed on what was going to be his atelier. “You could travel, visit lots of places and get a lot of money from selling your contraptions-”
“You sound like you’re trying to get rid of me.” Olruggio snorted.
He took Qifrey’s hand in his, gentle, because Olruggio always touched him like he was the most precious thing in the world, and brought it to his lips, leaving a kiss. Qifrey inhaled deeply, turning to look at him.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be that isn’t near you. With you. If you want to stay here, in this house we’ve built together, then I will, too. If you want to leave and go far, far away from here, I will follow. Wherever you want to go, I’ll take you there.”
Olruggio’s eyes locked with Qifrey’s, the other witch’s cheeks bright red at the declaration. He smiled, thinking that a flustered Qifrey was a cute thing to witness, and closed the brief distance separating them, closing his eyes and pressing his lips against Qifrey’s.
Qifrey tensed, fingers tightening around Olruggio’s. For a moment, after the surprise subsided, he embraced the sensation, kissing Olruggio back.
His lips were rough and chipped, from nights spent biting them trying to come up with more ideas for his contraptions. They tasted good, like the chasenuts pancakes they had for breakfast.
Before Olruggio could deepen the kiss by sneaking his tongue in, a sharp pain in the right side of his head made Qifrey retract abruptly, clutching the emptiness of his eye with one hand, hunching over.
“Qifrey!” Olruggio shouted, holding him firmly by the shoulders to avoid him colliding to the ground. “What’s wrong? Is it another migraine?"
Qifrey nodded, not giving any further explanation. Olruggio helped him in a standing position, walking with him towards the windowway they had used to come here. He never left his side, not until he was back in his bed, in Beldaruit’s atelier, and the Wise dismissed him, thanking him and saying Qifrey needed to rest now.
In his bed, Qifrey looked at his cap, laying on the nightstand, and the ribbon flowing from its tip.
Biting his lower lip, he could still taste Olruggio on it. Sharing a house together, just the two of them, was going to prove to be extremely difficult, Qifrey realised.
He just hoped he would find a way to make it bearable soon.