Work Text:
The atelier was never truly silent.
Even in the deepest part of the night, the old beams murmured as they settled, wind sighed beneath the roof tiles, and the trees surrounding the house whispered whenever their branches brushed together. Somewhere beyond the bedroom walls, a loose shutter gave an occasional wooden tap. It was a familiar collection of sounds, softened by years of sleeping beneath the same roof, and Olruggio had long ago learned to let them pass through his dreams without waking him.
The sound that pulled him from sleep was different.
It was quiet enough that, at first, he mistook it for the wind. A thin, uneven breath came from the other side of the bed, followed by the faint rustle of blankets being clutched too tightly. Olruggio’s eyes opened to darkness. He lay still for several seconds, listening, before another breath caught sharply in Qifrey’s throat.
Then came a muffled sob.
Olruggio was awake at once. “Qifrey?”
There was no answer, only a hurried attempt to become silent. Qifrey had turned away from him, curled tightly on his right side with his knees drawn up. The moonlight slipping between the curtains traced the pale line of his hair and the strained curve of his shoulders. One hand was buried beneath the pillow while the other gripped the front of his nightshirt, his knuckles almost colourless.
Olruggio pushed himself up on one elbow. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry,” Qifrey whispered.
The apology came so quickly that Olruggio’s worry sharpened into irritation not at Qifrey, never truly at him, but at the stubborn habit that made him apologise before admitting he needed help.
“For what? Being in pain?” Olruggio reached across the mattress, but paused before touching him. “Is it your old injury?”
Qifrey hesitated. That was answer enough.
His breaths were shallow and carefully measured, as if even the rise of his ribs had become something dangerous. When he finally nodded, a tremor travelled through him. “It will pass.”
“That wasn’t what I asked my love.”
“I know.
Olruggio lowered his voice, sanding away the harshness that had slipped into it. “Can you turn towards me?”
Qifrey tried. The movement had barely begun when his body seized, and a strangled sound escaped him. He folded in on himself again, forehead pressing into the pillow as his breath broke apart. Olruggio’s heart clenched. He had seen Qifrey conceal wounds with a smile, turn exhaustion into a joke, and walk on injuries that should have put him in bed for days. Tears were different. Qifrey cried rarely, and almost never where anyone could see.
Olruggio placed a careful hand on his upper arm. “Don’t force it. Stay there.”
“Im sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Aye, you’ve committed a terrible crime. I might never recover.”
A wet, breathless laugh came from the pillow, though it dissolved into a wince almost immediately. Olruggio kept his palm where it was, giving Qifrey something steady to feel without pressing near the source of the pain.
“Where is it worst?”
“Left shoulder,” Qifrey murmured. “Down my back. Around the ribs.”
“The usual path?”
“Mostly.”
Mostly meant that the pain had spread farther than it sometimes did. Olruggio leaned closer, studying what little of Qifrey’s face he could see. His skin looked pale even in the darkness, and damp strands of hair clung to his temple. The muscles beneath Olruggio’s hand were rigid.
“How long have you been awake?” Another hesitation.
“Qifrey.”
“Perhaps an hour.”
Olruggio closed his eyes for a moment. “And you thought lying here crying quietly was a good plan?”
“I wasn’t crying quietly on purpose.”
“That isn’t the part of that sentence you should be defending.”
Qifrey’s fingers tightened in the blanket. “You were sleeping so peacefully, Olly.”
The familiar nickname, spoken so weakly, took the last edge from Olruggio’s frustration. He bent until his forehead rested lightly against the back of Qifrey’s head. “I’d rather lose sleep than wake in the morning and find out you spent half the night suffering beside me.”
“I know.”
“Do you though? Do you know that there are people that would rather look after you then see you suffer?" Qifrey’s silence was soft and guilty.
Before Olruggio could continue, there came a faint scratching at the bedroom door. Both men went still. The scratching became a determined scrabble, followed by a tiny thump as something soft collided with the wood.
Olruggio sighed. “Apparently more than just me has awoken.”
He eased out of bed, keeping one hand on Qifrey until the last possible moment. The floor was cold beneath his feet. When he opened the door, a small white shape tumbled across the threshold. Brushbuddy righted himself, shook out his fluff, and stared up at Olruggio with wide dark eyes.
“Yes, I know,” Olruggio whispered. “Your favourite person is having a difficult night. I supposed you heard us talking ay little one."
Brushbuddy didn't answer but instead hurried towards the bed on his tiny legs. He tried to climb the hanging edge of the blanket, slipped down, and immediately tried again. Olruggio scooped him up before he could exhaust himself and placed him beside Qifrey’s pillow.
The little creature crept forward cautiously. He sniffed Qifrey’s hand, then used his round head to rub against Qifrey’s cheek in comfort. Qifrey opened his visible eye. Even through the pain, his expression softened.
“Hello, little Puff-Puff,” he breathed. “I’m all right.”
Brushbuddy flattened himself against Qifrey’s face in a manner that suggested he found this claim deeply unconvincing.
“Even he doesn’t believe you,” Olruggio said.
Qifrey managed the ghost of a smile. “I’m surrounded by critics.”
“You’re surrounded by people who care for you but seem to misunderstand that.”
Olruggio pulled on his robe and lit the small lamp on the bedside table, shielding the flame until it steadied. Warm amber light filled the room. It revealed the strain Qifrey had tried to hide: the tear tracks on his cheek, the fine trembling in his hand, and the unnatural way he held his left shoulder forward to protect the damaged muscles beneath it.
The injury had healed years ago. At least, that was what the physicians at the Great Hall had said. The torn flesh had closed, the fractured ribs had knitted, and the burns left by the corrupted spell had faded into pale, twisting scars. Yet some wounds remembered. Cold weather, exhaustion, and long days spent bent over a worktable could awaken the damaged nerves until every movement sent fire across Qifrey’s shoulder and around his chest.
Olruggio knew the signs. He also knew that the storm earlier that evening had brought a damp chill into the atelier, and that Qifrey had spent most of the previous day demonstrating precision strokes to Coco until his posture had become increasingly stiff. He had noticed Qifrey rubbing the base of his neck during supper. He should have asked then.
Qifrey watched his expression and, as usual, seemed to know exactly where his thoughts had gone. “It isn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You have the face.”
“I have one face.”
"You have several. This is the one where you decide you should have noticed something sooner.”
Olruggio frowned. “And oh what face do you have right now do tell?", he asks sarcasticly.
“The charming one?", he smirks cheekily.
“Well you should have the one that needs to stop talking before I fetch the bitterest medicine in the cabinet.”
Qifrey’s smile was small, but real. “You wouldn’t.”
"Oh I absolutely would.”
Olruggio gathered another pillow and slid it carefully behind Qifrey’s back. Moving him would have to be done slowly. He placed one arm beneath Qifrey’s knees and the other near his waist without lifting, simply giving him support.
“We’re going to get you onto your back, but not flat,” he explained. “I’ll hold your left side steady. You tell me the moment it becomes too much.”
“Okay I trust you.”
The words were simple and immediate. Olruggio looked at him for a heartbeat, then nodded.
Together, inch by inch, they shifted. Qifrey breathed through his teeth as Olruggio guided him onto the pillows, keeping the injured shoulder supported so it would not pull backwards. Halfway through, a spasm caught beneath Qifrey’s ribs. His hand flew out blindly and seized the front of Olruggio’s robe.
“Stop,” Qifrey gasped.
Olruggio froze. “Okay I’ve stopped, take deep breathes.”
Qifrey squeezed his eyes shut. Tears gathered beneath his lashes as he struggled to breathe without expanding his ribs too far. Olruggio did not tell him to relax; he knew better than to give impossible instructions. Instead, he covered Qifrey’s hand with his own and allowed him to grip as hard as he needed.
“I’m here,” he said. “Nothing else is moving until you say so.”
Brushbuddy crept onto Qifrey’s chest, then reconsidered when he felt how shallowly Qifrey was breathing. He shuffled instead to the uninjured side of his neck and nestled there, warm and impossibly soft.
The pain eventually loosened enough for Qifrey’s fingers to uncurl. “All right.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, but I would like to finish before dawn.”
They completed the movement. Once Qifrey was settled at an angle against the pillows, Olruggio tucked a folded blanket beneath his left arm, supporting the shoulder without forcing it upwards. Qifrey sagged into the arrangement, exhausted by the effort.
“I’m going downstairs,” Olruggio said. “I’ll make the blue-leaf mixture and warm a compress.”
Qifrey’s hand tightened around his wrist. “Don’t be long.”
It was spoken so quietly that Olruggio almost thought he had imagined it. Qifrey’s bravado had fallen away, leaving something younger and more vulnerable behind. Olruggio turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
Olruggio leaned down and pressed a kiss to Qifrey’s forehead. “Promise.”
Brushbuddy lifted his head as if accepting responsibility for guarding the bed in Olruggio’s absence. Olruggio pointed at him. “Keep him from doing anything foolish.”
Qifrey gave a faint huff. “That seems unfair. He’s very small and adorable. Who am I to not listen to little Puff-Puff?”, he asks with a faint smile and his fingers scratching Brushbuddys chin.
“He has better judgement than you.” Brushbuddy puffed himself up.
“See look at that confidence. I believe he has everything under control ” Olruggio said with a smile.
The stairs creaked beneath him as he descended. He moved through the darkened atelier without lighting the main lamps, guided by memory and the faint glow of a small witchlight he drew with a practised stroke. The kitchen retained the comforting scents of dried herbs, old wood, and the bread Tetia had baked that afternoon. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with jars whose contents ranged from ordinary cooking spices to plants gathered specifically for healing.
Olruggio found the blue-leaf in a narrow clay pot. It was not powerful enough to erase pain, but steeped with moonmint and a shaving of sunroot, it helped ease muscle spasms and dulled the sharpest edges. He measured the herbs into a cup, added hot water, and left them to steep while he prepared a cloth compress.
His hands worked efficiently, yet his thoughts had already returned upstairs.
He remembered another night, many years earlier, when Qifrey had made that same broken sound.
They had been younger then, still carrying more confidence than sense, sent to inspect a ruined waterway beneath an abandoned village. A spell had been discovered in one of the lower tunnels, its circle drawn in concealed ink upon the stone, its purpose impossible to determine without getting closer. Olruggio had crouched near the outer ring, examining the pattern by lamplight, while Qifrey watched the passage behind them.
“It’s incomplete,” Olruggio had said. “Or it was damaged.”
Qifrey’s expression had sharpened. “Olly, don’t touch-”
The circle had awakened before either of them laid a finger on it.
Ink flashed across the wall in violent blue lines. The tunnel convulsed, stones splitting as pressure exploded outward from the centre of the spell. Olruggio remembered being seized by the collar and thrown backwards. He remembered Qifrey turning between him and the circle, one arm raised as though flesh and bone could shield another person from corrupted magic.
The blast struck Qifrey’s left side.
He hit the opposite wall hard enough to crack the stone.
For several terrible seconds, Olruggio had heard nothing but the ringing in his own ears. Dust filled the tunnel. His lamp had gone out. When he found Qifrey beneath the fallen debris, Qifrey was conscious but unable to draw a full breath. His robe had been burned through at the shoulder, and every attempt to move sent agony across his face.
“You idiot,” Olruggio had choked, dropping to his knees beside him. His hands hovered uselessly, terrified of touching the wrong place. “You absolute, impossible idiot.”
Qifrey had opened his eye and smiled through bloodless lips. “You’re welcome.”
“That isn’t funny!”
“It was a little funny.”
Olruggio had carried him out of the tunnel while Qifrey drifted in and out of awareness against his shoulder. The physicians had saved the arm and repaired the worst of the internal damage, but the spell had burned deeper than ordinary fire. The nerves along Qifrey’s shoulder and ribs had never entirely recovered. Some months were nearly painless. Others brought attacks so fierce that Qifrey could barely stand.
Even then, he had tried to hide them.
The kettle clicked softly as it cooled, drawing Olruggio back to the present. He strained the tea and added a little honey, knowing Qifrey would complain about the bitterness regardless. For the compress, he warmed smooth river stones in a pan, wrapped them in layers of cloth, and tested them carefully against the inside of his wrist. Warm, not hot. Heat helped the muscles around the scars relax, but too much could make the sensitive skin burn before Qifrey realised it.
Olruggio carried everything upstairs on a tray. As he approached the bedroom, he heard Qifrey murmuring.
“No, Brushbuddy. You mustn’t eat the blanket. Olruggio will blame me.”
Olruggio pushed open the door. “Correct I would.”
Qifrey looked towards him. Brushbuddy had somehow burrowed beneath the upper fold of the blanket and was now wearing it like an oversized hood. “He became concerned.”
“He became hungry.”
“Honestly for such a little thing I don't know how he contains a multitude of feelings and behaviours," he says smiling sweetly before turning his attention back to Qifrey.
Olruggio set the tray down and sat beside him. “How bad is it now?”
“Still unpleasant.”
“Honest number out of 10?" Qifrey considered. “Eight.”
The admission worried Olruggio more than the number itself. Qifrey usually claimed a pain was manageable until it had driven him nearly senseless.
“All right. Lets have tea first.”
He slid one arm around Qifrey’s shoulders, supporting him without pressing the left side, and raised the cup to his lips. Qifrey took a cautious sip. His nose immediately wrinkled.
“This is dreadful.”
“It has honey.”
“That only makes the betrayal more confusing.”
“Hm, drink now.”
Qifrey obeyed, pausing between mouthfuls when his breathing became strained. Olruggio did not rush him. He held the cup, kept his other hand steady at Qifrey’s back, and watched until the final swallow was gone.
“I dislike you,” Qifrey informed him.
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” Qifrey conceded, his head falling against Olruggio’s shoulder. “I really don’t.”
Olruggio set the cup aside. He unfolded the compress and pressed it gently against the worst of the tension near Qifrey’s shoulder blade. Qifrey flinched at first, then slowly exhaled as the warmth spread.
“Too hot?”
“No. It’s good.”
“Tell me if that changes my dear.”
“I will.”
“You said that last time.”
“I will attempt to become a more reliable source.”
“You could start by waking me before you’ve been crying for an hour.”
Qifrey’s gaze dropped. For a while, only the soft crackle of the lamp filled the room. Brushbuddy climbed into the space between them and curled against Qifrey’s stomach.
“I didn’t want you to look at me like this,” Qifrey finally said.
Olruggio’s brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“Helpless.”
“You aren’t helpless.”
“I could hardly turn over.”
“That means you needed help moving. It doesn’t erase everything else you are.”
Qifrey’s mouth tightened. His fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket. “When it is this bad, I feel as though I’m back in that tunnel. I remember not being able to breathe. I remember hearing you call my name, and knowing I had frightened you, but I couldn’t make my body answer.” His voice grew rough. “And then I think about the children. If something happened tonight like if Coco needed me, or Agott lost control of a spell, I wouldn’t be able to reach them.”
“They have me.”
“Maybe so, but I would still feel useless. So it isnt the same.”
“No, it isn’t,” Olruggio said. “It means they have another adult who loves them and knows what to do. Another adult they can rely on. You don't have to take all the responsibility for yourself."
Qifrey glanced at him.
“You don’t have to be the only wall between them and every danger in the world,” Olruggio continued. “You’re their teacher, not an indestructible shield. And you’re allowed to have nights when you need someone else to hold you together.”
“I’m supposed to be dependable.”
“You are dependable. You’re also a man with an old injury that hurts. A man that carries birden after burden. All of those things can be true.”
Qifrey blinked rapidly, but fresh tears still escaped. “You always make it sound simple.”
“My dear, it is simple but never easy. There’s a difference.”
Olruggio adjusted the compress and felt some of the rigid muscles finally beginning to soften. Qifrey’s breathing remained guarded, but it was deeper than before. The herbs would need more time to take effect.
Qifrey looked at him through lowered lashes. “You could have been killed that day.”
“So could you.”
“I saw the spell turn towards you.”
“And you decided throwing yourself in front of it was the sensible answer.”
“There wasn’t time to draw.”
“There was apparently time to ruin your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
A flicker of hurt crossed Qifrey’s face, and Olruggio immediately regretted the phrasing.
“Qifrey, I didn’t mean-”
“I know.” Qifrey looked down at Brushbuddy, stroking one fingertip over his fluff. “Would you rather I hadn’t done it?”
Olruggio stared at him. The question was not accusatory. That made it worse. It carried the quiet fear that had haunted Qifrey since the accident: that his injury had become a burden Olruggio secretly resented.
Olruggio removed the compress and set it aside. Then he took Qifrey’s face gently between both hands.
“I would rather the spell had never been there,” he said. “I would rather neither of us had been hurt. But I have never wished that you had let it kill me.”
Qifrey’s lips parted.
“And I have never looked after you because I owed you repayment,” Olruggio continued. “I do it because I love you. I would have loved you without the injury, and I love you with it. I love you when you’re teaching, when you’re scheming, when you’re being so charming that everyone misses the trouble you’re causing. I love you when you’re half asleep and stealing all the blankets. I love you when you’re in pain and frightened and not particularly charming at all.”
“I am always a little charming.”
“Not when you’re using tea as a personal attack.”
“That was very cruel tea.”
Olruggio’s thumbs brushed the dampness beneath Qifrey’s eyes. “You don’t become less precious to me because I have to help you sit up.”
For several seconds Qifrey simply looked at him. Then his face crumpled with an honesty Olruggio rarely saw. He leaned forward as far as his shoulder allowed and pressed his forehead against his Ollys chest.
Olruggio gathered him carefully into his arms.
Qifrey couldnt hold it back anymore. He cried without trying to hide it this time. His sobs remained quiet, but they shook through his whole body. Olruggio held him loosely enough not to trap his ribs, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other moved in slow circles along the uninjured side of his back.
“There you are,” Olruggio murmured. “Let it out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Don't ever apologise for this my love.”
“I’ve made such a mess of your robe.”
“It was already ugly.”
Qifrey gave a watery laugh against him. “You made it.”
“That proves my point.”
Brushbuddy, apparently deciding that their embrace required his participation, climbed onto Qifrey’s lap and squeezed himself between them. His tiny body disappeared almost completely, leaving only a puff of white fur visible beneath Qifrey’s chin.
Qifrey loosened one arm and tucked Brushbuddy close. “Im so glad you joined our family little one."
"Hm okay surrre," Olruggio says sarcasticly with a smirk.
Brushbuddy peered at Olruggio.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Olruggio muttered. “You don’t contribute to the household.”
A small chuckle rises from Qifreys throat. Brushbuddy placed one small paw on his chest.
Qifrey smiled tiredly. “He contributes emotional support.”
“Maybe, but he eats ink and paper also.”
Olruggio felt the tension ease from him by degrees. They remained like that until Qifrey’s tears stopped and his breaths became steadier. When Olruggio touched the side of his neck, his skin was no longer clammy.
“What number now?”
“Six,” Qifrey answered. “Perhaps five and a half.”
“Good so the herbs are working.”
“Or your lecture frightened the pain away.”
“Good. I’ll prepare a longer one next time.”
Qifrey lifted his head. His eye was red-rimmed and weary, but warmer. “Will you lie down with me?”
“That depends. Are you going to wait until I’m asleep and then quietly suffer again?”
“I will wake you.” “Immediately?”
“Within a very reasonable period.”
“Qifrey.”
“Immediately,” he promised.
Olruggio arranged the pillows so they could lie facing one another without putting pressure on Qifrey’s left side. He settled the warm compress along Qifrey’s back once more, secured loosely beneath the blanket, then climbed in beside him.
Qifrey shifted until his forehead rested beneath Olruggio’s chin. His injured arm remained supported between them, while Olruggio laid a hand over his waist. Brushbuddy circled twice near their pillows before curling into a tiny white ball against Qifrey’s throat.
“This is crowded,” Olruggio observed.
“It’s cosy.”
“He’s in my space.”
“You invited him into the bedroom.”
“I placed him on the bed as a temporary medical assistant.”
Brushbuddy stretched one leg across Olruggio’s pillow.
“He’s abusing his position,” Olruggio said.
Qifrey’s laughter was soft and careful, but this time it did not end in a wince. He tilted his face upwards and kissed Olruggio’s chin. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Olruggio brushed Qifrey’s hair away from his face. “Then you’re welcome.”
“For the herbs.”
“Mm.”
“And the compress.”
“Mmhm.”
“And holding me.”
Olruggio pressed a kiss to his brow. “Go to sleep.”
“And for loving me when I’m not charming.”
“You’ve thanked me enough and I dont want to hear you talk about yourself like that again. I love you, you stubborn man.”
Qifrey’s fingers curled into the fabric over Olruggio’s chest. “I love you too, my dear Olly.”
The words settled between them, familiar yet never ordinary. Olruggio drew the blanket higher around Qifrey’s shoulders and tucked it carefully beneath his chin.
“Get some rest Qif.”
Outside, the rain began again, light and steady against the roof. The damp weather would linger until morning, and the pain might not be entirely gone when Qifrey woke. Olruggio was already planning to cancel the early lesson, no matter how dramatically Qifrey objected. Coco and the others could spend the morning reviewing their sigils. He would make another pot of the herbal mixture, perhaps with enough honey to prevent further accusations of betrayal, and warm fresh stones for the compress.
For now, though, there was nothing to do but remain beside him.
Qifrey’s breathing gradually deepened. Each exhale warmed the hollow of Olruggio’s throat. The grip on his nightshirt loosened, though Qifrey did not release him completely. Even in sleep, he kept two fingers curled into the cloth as if reassuring himself that Olruggio was still there.
Olruggio had no intention of moving.
Much later, when the first grey hint of dawn appeared beyond the curtains, Qifrey stirred. His face tightened briefly, but the sharp agony did not return. He opened his eye to find Olruggio watching him.
“Were you awake all this time?” Qifrey mumbled.
“Not all of it.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a lie.”
“You’re a poor judge of character before breakfast.”
Qifrey shifted closer, pressing a sleepy kiss against the corner of Olruggio’s mouth. “It still hurts.”
Olly frowns immediately feeling concern.
“But not as much.”
“Good,” Olly says with a sigh.
Brushbuddy emerged from beneath Qifrey’s hair with his fluff flattened on one side. He blinked at both of them and gave a tremendous silent yawn.
Qifrey smiled and drew the tiny creature beneath his chin again. “All three of us should stay in bed today.”
“Brushbuddy may stay. You’re resting. I have work.”
“That sounds very lonely.”
“My dear, you’ll survive.”
“Perhaps, but my recovery would be faster if you remained close.”
“Ive never heard of such a medicine," said with a smirk by Olly.
“I’m the patient. You’re supposed to take in consideration of my feelings.”
Olruggio stared at him for a long moment. Qifrey widened his eye with exaggerated innocence, the picture of fragile suffering except for the mischievous curve beginning at the corner of his mouth.
There he was.
Olruggio sighed and settled back against the pillow. “Another hour.”
Qifrey beamed, then immediately tried to disguise it as a dignified, grateful expression. “Your generosity is boundless.”
“Go back to sleep before I reconsider.”
Qifrey tucked himself against Olruggio’s chest, Brushbuddy warm between them. “I knew you were soft-hearted.”
“Yet if you tell anyone and I’ll deny it.”
“I would never betray your fearsome reputation.”
Within minutes, Qifrey’s breaths became slow and even once more. Olruggio listened to the rain, felt Brushbuddy’s tiny body rise and fall beneath his hand, and held the man he loved through the last dark hour before morning.
The pain had not vanished. Perhaps it never entirely would. Yet here, wrapped in warmth and familiar arms, it no longer possessed every part of Qifrey. There were places it could not reach, the gentle pressure of Olruggio’s lips against his hair while murmuring sweet nothings or Brushbuddy’s soft weight tucked beneath his chin. All of this made it a certainty that when the ache returned, he would not have to face it alone.