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It is a fine summer day, clear and sweltering, when Qifrey and Olruggio find time to venture back to Naakiwan Downs, which has fast become Qifrey's favorite of their haunts.
Freed from studies for the day, they escape what others might consider the cool, refreshing mists of the Great Hall in favor of rolling hills baked beneath the sun, always in search of another adventure. Despite the heat, there is nowhere else Qifrey would rather be.
Clambering through the windowway involves much laughing and tussling, in attempts to be the first one out. Qifrey pushes Olly back by the face while Olruggio tries to trip him: it ends in a draw. Then, near-synchronously, they snap their sylph shoes together and shoot off into the boundless sky.
The competition continues aloft, chasing and whooping and teasing, both trying to outpace the other and be the first to arrive at their destination. Olruggio is at a disadvantage, having insisted on carrying their knapsack of supplies. Qifrey flies circles around him, snickering as he tags the other boy on the shoulder for the third time in a row. Olruggio’s affable grumbling is only barely discernible over the wind.
Their plan is to explore the ruins of a village previously stumbled upon, with many a derelict house boasting ancient scribblings upon its walls. Whether it be something as significant as forgotten spells from the days before The Pact or simply records kept by Unknowings, it will be something new and exciting. Another memory made with his best friend, tender and glowing.
Though, they’ve barely been soaring for half a clockmark before sweat pours from Qifrey, soaking his under layers. His apprentice robes become almost oppressive as fatigue begins to weigh down his limbs. His hair curls around his ears from the humidity, sweat dripping from his brow down into his eye. He wipes at his face with a sleeve, annoyed. There is no respite from the glaring sun this high up under a cloudless sky and he squints against the discomfort.
Sweating and breathing hard, he catches Olruggio’s eye. The other is not faring any better, giving him a grimace and a vehement thumbs down. Then he points into the distance, towards a small copse of trees near the shore of a lake. "There!” Olly shouts against the wind. “Shade!”
He zooms forward with a burst of speed and Qifrey follows, both alighting near the bank. After landing, Olruggio immediately falls backwards into the shade with a dramatic fwump, breath huffing out of him, hat tumbling off his head.
“Urghhh…” he groans. “S’pose we picked a rotten day for it, ey? S’too hot, even for flyin’.”
Qifrey just hums back tiredly, flumping down beside him, equally gracelessly.
They’re quiet for a while, just catching their breath. The clover is a soft cushion beneath him, the breeze off the lake cool against his sticky skin. Eventually, Qifrey finds the energy to sit up, shedding his hat and cloak, leaning back against the trunk of a maple tree. His gaze wanders, drifting over the landscape, breathing in luxuriously fresh air without the slightest hint of brine.
Qifrey so dearly loves it out here. With the cozy warmth of the day soaking into his bones, and Olruggio a steady presence beside him, he’s so relaxed he could almost fall asleep. Perhaps the other is already asleep himself, given his uncharacteristic stillness.
If only there weren’t so much to see. Captivating novelties lie in every direction, a rich vista so very different from the endless gray stone of the Great Hall. He can hardly bear to look away.
Breathtaking mountains tower in the distance, set against a cerulean sky. The wind rushes over the boulder-studded hills, intermingling with birdsong, bright and loud in the foliage above; with the rustle of insects swarming in the long grass; with a faraway herd of frillrams bleating as they graze upon lush, green fields dotted with white and yellow flowers.
The layers of sound create a beautiful symphony, everything teeming and stirring, flush with life. Even the lake is beautiful; the tiny windmade waves lapping at the bank, the sun sparkling off the water, hypnotic. Every now and again, fish leap up in schools at the far side of the lake, while quadryphons skim over the surface in attempts to snap them up.
All of a sudden Olruggio shoots up from his recline, evidently not asleep. There is grass stuck in his hair. “M’gonna swim!” he declares brightly, grinning at Qifrey.
Qifrey nods back in slight surprise. Well. It makes sense, for Olly at least. He stares at the lake, still shimmering peaceably, making soft rhythmic susurrations. He frowns. It’s not the least bit tempting.
He tenses, holding his breath. But Olruggio doesn’t say anything else, just affectionately slaps his back as he passes. Qifrey exhales in a puff, grateful that he won’t have to justify why he won’t be joining.
It’s what a normal boy would do, though, something poisonous within him whispers. Take a swim on a hot day.
The thought rankles, twisting his lip. Often, something will resonate in Qifrey’s brain—some word or image or place—a particular familiarity tolling like a bell... Then, right on its heels, nausea lances through his stomach. He can sense the edges of what he's missing, but whenever he attempts to trace along its sharp outline, he finds nothing but a crackling hollow where the memory should be. It is not fair that he should so viscerally feel the absence of something. Each and every time, the jolt of recognition is like a maddening itch that cannot be scratched, souring an otherwise pleasant impression.
It’s happening again, now, that discordant niggling, and he grits his teeth. Unwelcome in this idyllic setting, this happy occasion. He cannot say what has even triggered it.
Qifrey shakes off the dark thoughts, refusing to let them ruin this day. He focuses back on Olly, who has stripped down to his braies in record time, clothes discarded in a rumpled pile on the bank. Qifrey kicks off his own boots and scoots forward to perch on a rocky outcrop beside the shore of the lake, still blessedly beneath the shade of the trees.
Olruggio tests the water with his toes, then turns back to flash Qifrey a lopsided grin before vaulting into the lake. A gathering of minnows and tadpoles flee from the sudden disturbance in the water.
There is a moment of tension, drawn like a bowstring, where Qifrey cannot quite breathe. Then, Olly's head emerges once more, breaking the surface with a splash and a rowdy cry. His usual mess of dark hair is flattened down over his eyes before he pushes it away, still grinning madly. “Ahhhh, s’perfect!”
Something pierces through Qifrey at the sight, both tender and agonizing: a fierce joy blending with the primal fear of seeing his best friend surrounded by the water. But there is nothing to fear, not with Qifrey nearby. After all, he has swiftly become an adept water witch. If something were to go wrong, he could easily pull Olly back—to him, to safety—using his magic. A benefit of having Qifrey sit back on shore, then, despite how he is beginning to bake beneath his many layers like a loaf of bread.
Qifrey loosens his collar at least, unbraiding the straps from his throat. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Olly is floating on his back in the water, doing a lazy backstroke around and around, eyes closed in relaxation. This is enough. Just the two of them and the open sky. He could watch Olruggio swim all day, content to simply let his friend enjoy himself.
Olruggio pops an eye open, catching Qifrey at his staring. Another grin stretches across his face like taffy in the sun. “Qifrey, watch this!” He suddenly dives forward into the shallows, flipping until only his feet and legs poke straight up out of the water. Qifrey blinks rapidly. Oh, he’s doing a handstand.
“Did y’see?” Olruggio asks once he re-emerges, breathing heavily.
Qifrey keeps his face neutral. “Hm, doesn’t all the blood rush to your head like that? As if you need it to swell any larger.”
“Oi!” Olly makes a rude gesture in his direction. Qifrey only snickers in reply.
As always, Olruggio effortlessly draws him into his joy, shouting commentary from the water as he continues to show off different little tricks and swimming techniques. Then, his eyes go large and excited, the usual signal that he’s just stumbled upon some harebrained idea. “Ohhh, think you could draw a whirlpool spell?”
“Are you crazy?” Qifrey’s face scrunches in horror. “I’m not about to drown you.”
Olruggio rolls his eyes. “I’d hardly drown. I’ll have you know I’m an amazin’ swimmer.” He swims another lap around the lake to demonstrate. It’s impressively fast by Qifrey’s assessment, though he doesn’t really have another point of reference.
“I am not doing that, but…” Qifrey dutifully fetches his palm quire. “How about…” he mutters, penning something else he’s been working on.
Closing the circle, a small, gleaming dragon erupts from the lake’s surface, swooping up and around Olruggio with a flourish. A fully biddable figure, its movement is able to be articulated after casting. The spell construction is almost identical to Master Beldaruit’s sculptures, only this one is comprised of water instead of smoke.
“Qifrey!” Olruggio's eyes are lit with awe.
Qifrey focuses on directing the sculpture instead of looking at him. “You like it?” he asks, suddenly shy.
“It’s brilliant! Been practicin’ when I’m not lookin’, huh?”
Qifrey risks a glance over to find Olruggio grinning hugely, his cheeks all scrunched up, flushed pink from the heat. He’s watching the dragon with unabashed wonder. Qifrey’s chest squeezes like a fist pulping fruit.
Olly reaches up to try to skim a hand over the sculpture and Qifrey flicks his pen to the side. The dragon deftly dodges away, dipping and rolling midair.
“A’right!” Olruggio crows in delight. “C’mon then, what else y’got?”
Qifrey bends over his quire in intense concentration, loathe to disappoint. He casts sculpture after sculpture. For added flair, he iterates on each one, giving them different wing shapes and crests and tails. The ink flows smoothly, his lines coming as easily as breathing, until an entire glistening flight of water dragons wheel lazily over Olruggio’s head.
It draws a huge gasp from his rapt audience. “Stars, Qifrey, you’ve outdone y’rself!”
A glowing feeling settles over him like a warm blanket, pride unfurling in golden swaths. He doesn’t dare look up again. Instead, he focuses on making the dragons swoop and dive in dizzying patterns, beckoning Olruggio to catch one.
Olly laughs and takes up the challenge, swimming after the sculptures with quick strokes. They play keep-away for a while, a stretch of infinite, wondrous time where Qifrey no longer feels the oppressive heat of the day nor the cramp in his hand, unburdened of the melancholy from before in favor of easy games between friends.
Olruggio is finally closing in on catching one of the dragons, having cracked their flight pattern. A crooked grin steals across Qifrey’s mouth. With a purposeful swipe of his pen, he crashes the water dragon right onto Olly’s already-soaked head.
Olruggio sputters something unintelligible that might be a swear. “Oh, so thas’ how it is, ey?”
He's worried Olruggio will find some clever way to retaliate that he'll surely regret… Instead, a gleam in his eye, he swivels, hopping out of the water to catch the next dragon with his mouth.
“Olruggio!” Qifrey squawks in disbelief. “You shouldn't drink lake water!”
“Bahhh, what’re you, my dad?”
“Keep that up and you're gonna get a mouthful of minnows!” Qifrey warns, holding a hand over his mouth to try to contain the fit of giggles.
Olruggio just tilts his head back, cheekily spitting a stream of water into the air.
Qifrey can barely curb the helpless laughter, escaping him in loud, squeaky bursts. However, the next few dragons he casts are pulled from their vapor bubble, instead, so as not to risk accidentally afflicting his friend with some water-born infection.
Olruggio has switched to pretending to be some manner of big-mouthed sea monster, stomping around in the shallows and raising his hands up like claws. He dives beneath the surface for long moments before suddenly emerging again somewhere else, chomping the water dragons out of the air with a mighty roar.
Qifrey is laughing too hard to even draw, now. Pen laid in the grass, he clutches himself, snorting and wheezing until his chest aches from lack of air, tears streaming from his eye. The laughter pushes up from his stomach and out of his mouth in fits and starts, wracking his entire frame with mirth, the sound creaky as an ungreased hinge. As if his body doesn't know quite how to handle being this happy, as rarely as it happens, as if the release of joy is its own labor. Only with Olruggio does he ever laugh like this.
After long moments spent catching his breath, Qifrey finally peers back up. He finds Olruggio’s gaze waiting, steady upon him. His expression is as rascally as ever, mischievous eyes shining the deepest midnight blue beneath his sodden mop of hair. He looks quite smug. Then, a wayward dragon that Qifrey had lost control of smacks right into his head and he cracks, dissolving into his own bout of laughter.
Qifrey's heart stops at the tableau laid before him. Head thrown back, the sunlight glimmers over Olly's wet skin, as if sea sapphires were somehow caught up in his corporeal form. He wishes he could draw a circle big enough to encompass this moment. A counterclock spell with repetition signs to capture it in perpetuity.
Dazedly, the thought occurs, not for the first time, that Olruggio is an altar one could worship at.
Qifrey flushes and looks back down at his quire paper. He gets that squeezing sensation in his chest often, watching Olruggio, this fidgeting feverish embarrassment, as if he shouldn't be staring so long. But at the same time also… like staring isn't nearly enough to express the overwhelming feeling that swamps him. Just like the vast beauties of the Downs, it's so hard to look away. Nervously, he twirls his pen and considers what next to cast for the other’s amusement.
"Bet y’could come up with an air bubble spell so I could stay under longer," Olly pipes up, his voice suddenly closer. Treading water at the bank, now. He eyes the paper thoughtfully.
Qifrey shudders. "Why would you want to?"
"To get a proper gander at the fish, a’course!”
“What?” Qifrey makes a face at him. “You're kidding.”
Olly’s grin is undimmed. “All kinds a’critters down there. A’ve heard there's even dragonscale fish.”
“What?! Truly?!” Qifrey’s excitement bubbles over like an unwatched pot. Had those been the fish he’d caught a glimpse of earlier, perhaps?
“Aye.” Triumph gleams in Olruggio's eye. “And they come in every color of t’rainbow.”
Qifrey squints harder at the water now, as if he could summon the fish to appear with sheer force of will. Then looks down at his paper again. “Hm…” Where to begin an air bubble seal? A lull of companionable quiet settles over them as Qifrey draws the water sigil first. Air next? Perhaps an air spell wrapped around one similar to his water sculpture?
He glances over to ask for input only to find Olruggio watching him again. This time with an unreadable look in his eye. "Say Qifrey…” He rests his crossed arms on the bank. “You don't know how to swim, right?”
Qifrey jolts in place as if struck, pen falling from his grasp. Olruggio surely knows he doesn’t, having saved Qifrey from drowning the first time they met. He also knows how much he loathes water; loathes the sensation of being wet so much he must be coaxed like a feral animal to the baths each week—bribed with the promise of baked goods and adventures—just to keep him from roaming the Great Hall looking like an unkempt vagabond. With Olruggio taking over the task of washing his hair for him as he shudders through it.
Qifrey frowns deeply, not meeting his eye. “...No.”
“Yeah. Figured.” Another pause. Olruggio pillows his head on his arms. The sun dappled through the tree above them paints him in soft swaths of light. He is gazing up at Qifrey very intently.
Qifrey chews his bottom lip, fighting against the urge to look away again.
Olly sighs. “I know you hate it, but..."
"What?" he says, too quickly, breathless. Fear seizes him just at the implication.
“Well…” Olruggio idly dips and swirls a hand at the surface of the water for a moment, then looks back up with that same fiercely determined expression. He releases a sharp huff of breath. "What if you fall in and m’not there t’pull you back out? Y’can’t cast once you’re in.”
Olruggio has that haunted look in his eyes that he gets sometimes. Put there by nebulous awful things that he doesn’t talk about, the same way that Qifrey doesn’t talk about the coffin.
Qifrey interlocks his fingers, twisting them together in his lap. “I…”
"Y’know I'll always be here!” Olruggio rushes to say, face flushing red from more than just sun. “But, maybe… y’should know how... Just in case?"
“Olly…” he says weakly.
“C’mon, Qifrey, just once? I won’t let anythin’ happen, I promise! I can hold you up! Or… we can stay where your feet touch!” The implicit vow in his intense expression, serious as life or death: I won’t let you sink. I would never let you drown.
The thought from earlier rises up like seafoam: of how assured Qifrey had been that nothing bad could possibly happen to Olly in the water, that he would never be allowed to come to harm as long as Qifrey kept watch upon the shore, his pen and palm quire in easy reach. Now, Olruggio promises the same, to keep Qifrey safe with his own arms.
“I don’t… I didn’t bring any bathing clothes,” Qifrey mutters, tightly clutching at the fabric of his tunic.
“What’s that matter? Y’see I’m just in my underthings. There’s no one around but us anyhow.”
Something else twists in Qifrey’s gut at that. One that has nothing to do with fear of the water. Yes, he had noticed. The smattering of freckles on Olly’s shoulders put there by the sun, the burn scars on his forearms, the deep blush of the skin on his chest, the way the water beads and travels along the wiry lines of him. The ways in which they are both changing as they grow. Qifrey flushes and tries to stop noticing.
He still does not know why the other boy decided to take him under his wing. Why Olruggio deemed it worth the effort of forcing himself into the cold, empty corridors that make up Qifrey's life. To see closed doors as a challenge, as possibilities, and seeking past them again and again to what lay underneath. Olly’s warmth is as constant as his stubbornness, radiating kindness and indomitable force of will all at once.
Qifrey doesn’t understand him at all, sometimes. The turns of his brilliant mind becoming a labyrinthian puzzle that confounds any attempt at a path forged by logic or sense. Qifrey knows exactly what wealth has been bestowed upon him alongside the title of Olruggio's friend. He has no clue what Olly gains in return.
What could he possibly have to offer? Even if Qifrey were whole, there is no repayment that could be enough. But at the same time, he is so desperately grateful for the gift that at times it makes him weak. Makes his bones creak and ache, his head throbbing with a terrifying kind of agony. Until, dizzy and short of breath, he must draw away or else risk scorching them both. Ruining the ease of them due to his strange reactions.
A nothing boy, the voice from before slithers through him. Full of holes and sawtooth snares.
It aches like a gaping wound, because it is the truth. What does he even have within him besides this bitter rage that infects every moment? He has no home, no foundations, no richly woven tapestry of history, no family. Each day he wakes and must quash his encroaching despair in order to simply move forward, burying the stark truth that he is as insubstantial as the creeping fog and baleful moonlight beneath which he was birthed.
The opposite of Olruggio in every way: a prodigy, a rising star, bursting with potential. So tangible, so magnificently real, with palms wide open and reaching, molding the world around him. A force of substance that affects everything he touches, gentle hands limned by kindness and warmth.
Maybe Qifrey had once been a boy who could have matched Olruggio in this, who was carefree and funny and confident and warm. Instead of riddled with fear and uncertainty, prickly, gloomy, suspicious of everything. Maybe that version could have been enough. He thinks he would like to be that boy, for Olly.
“Qifrey?” He gazes back over to find Olruggio still leveling him with a hopeful expression, cheeks pink, furiously rubbing the back of his neck.
In the end, it takes precious little convincing, despite the fear choking his heart. Olruggio so infrequently asks anything of Qifrey that he finds it nigh impossible to deny him when he does.
"All right,” Qifrey says quietly. He offers up a shaky smile, trying his best to seem excited, both for that ghost of the boy he once was, and for the shining one in front of him now. “We can try.”
The first hurdle is making himself get into the water at all. He doesn’t quite strip to his braies the way Olruggio had, opting to leave on his leggings and black undershirt. The less bare skin the water touches, the better.
He sits on the bank next to Olruggio, the other watchful and quiet, and dips his foot with great hesitance. He shudders violently as his leg is submerged a centimeter at a time, shoulders bunched up near his ears. If he had hackles, they would be raised.
“That’s it, Qifrey. Just a bit at a time, yeah?” Olruggio sets a reassuring hand on his ankle, not pulling, just holding. His skin is so unbelievably warm.
Summoning up an iron core of determination to match his friend, Qifrey sucks in a deep breath and shoves both feet and legs in. The slow approach is clearly not working.
“Whoa!” Olly quickly moves back to give him space, the water sloshing sickeningly around them at the sudden movement.
Qifrey freezes as the water creeps up past his waist, to his shoulders, air hissing through his teeth. He’ll sink, he’s going to drown, he’s going right to the bottom, the water has finally reclaimed him, he’s—
But no, Olruggio is right there, grasping him by the waist as he keeps them afloat, radiating heat that Qifrey can feel through his undershirt. “Shh, shh, just— Hold on to me, it'll be reyt.” Olly’s ever-deepening voice is sure and steady. Even when it occasionally cracks, the timbre is a lodestone that Qifrey can always orient to.
Qifrey latches onto him, close as a clinger mussel, arms thrown around him. He tucks his face into Olruggio’s neck, his skin damp and warm against his face. He grits his teeth against the nightmare sensation, the way the small waves lap at his body sending a nauseating shudder down his spine. He lets out another rasping hiss.
“Y’sound like a whiskercat.” Olruggio chortles. Qifrey can feel it vibrate through his whole body. “Hmm, makes sense, that. No wonder you’re s’keen on seafood.”
Qifrey pulls back in order to glare with intent to murder. Pierce him through with his single eye like an icicle. “Not funny, Olly. Not right now.” He grips Olruggio’s shoulders harder in retaliation.
“A’right, a’right! I got ya, just—” Olruggio keeps one arm wrapped around Qifrey’s waist, using the other to maneuver them awkwardly over to the shallower area, until their feet scrape the bottom. “We can touch here, see?” Qifrey’s toes curl gratefully into the mud, finding purchase in the lakebed.
“Right, first thing’s first, treadin’ water. Y’need to use both arms and legs to keep y’rself afloat.” Olly is using his Instructing Voice, the one he adopts when showing Qifrey new magic or recipes or ways to duck the attention of adults. The one that used to irritate the absolute shit out of Qifrey before he realized the other boy wasn’t mocking him for not knowing things.
“You’ll wanna make your hands into little… scoops and—” Olruggio demonstrates, cupping both palms and holding them up so that Qifrey can see. “Qifrey?”
“Mmhm. I’m listening. Keep talking.” Qifrey takes a few cautious steps, edging towards the bank for a more solid handhold. Moving through the water is disorienting, his body both lighter and more weightsome than he is expecting. The sunlight shifts over the water and a wave of dizziness hits him. Then his foot dips into a sudden slope, skidding over a patch of clay. Crying out in startled terror, he wobbles dangerously, arms flailing.
Olruggio is there instantly, lurching forward to meet him halfway. Immediately, Qifrey seizes upon the other boy, wrapping himself around him again. Heart jumping sickeningly into his throat, he bands his arms around Olruggio’s neck very tightly. He buries his face against Olruggio’s skin as if he could flee inside his body, away from all of this.
“You’re a’right. It’s fine,” Olruggio murmurs. “C’mon, match my breath. In, out, yeah?”
Qifrey nods jerkily and tries to calm down over long, tense moments, following the rhythm of Olruggio’s steady breaths. He clutches at him tighter and tighter even as he tries to breathe, huffing huge exhales against his neck and shoulder.
“Ease up a bit there, Qifrey,” Olly says with a stuttered laugh. “Now I’m havin’ trouble breathing.”
Qifrey pulls back to check if Olruggio is taking the piss again. His cheeks are scarlet, breath choppy. He’s not smirking. In fact, he’s not looking at Qifrey at all, focused on resituating them near the bank the way Qifrey had attempted a moment before.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, loosening his grip somewhat.
“None’a that.” His arms squeeze tight around Qifrey once, twice, like a pulse.
The sun glaring off the water is hurting Qifrey’s eye so he closes it. He clings to Olly, trusting him to keep them from falling over. Though… he can touch the bottom here, and he’s near enough the bank now that he can hold onto it. If he wants to actually learn anything, he will probably have to release his hold on Olruggio first. He makes no move to do so.
“Wanna practice treadin’ water now?” Olruggio suggests, as if reading his mind.
“Okay…” Qifrey unwinds from his position of personal stranglevine, stumbling backwards. He grasps at the earth and rocks of the bank with one hand and holds Olruggio’s shoulder with the other. He’s gripping tightly enough that it must hurt, but Olly doesn’t complain. At least the water is less cold than he’d imagined it might be. In another context, for another person, it might even be refreshing.
“Jus’ practice pushin’ the water with your scoops,” Olruggio says. “Hands together, and then sweep ‘em out. Like you’re… skimmin’ the top of a pot of soup.” He deftly executes the stroke, parting the water in practiced circular motions. Bobbing there, Olly looks completely confident and relaxed, despite being in the clutches of the lake.
Qifrey nods curtly. He will get the hang of this. With grim resolve, he puts his back to the bank, letting go of Olly’s shoulder. Though reluctant to surrender his support, he needs both his arms free. In clumsy, halting motions he tries to copy Olruggio’s example. Every stroke of his arms through the water is something like torture. He is unable to focus on anything but the amplified sensation of the water moving around his body. Heavy, cloying, and utterly detestable even through his clothing. It’s akin to rotting slime sliding over him.
Qifrey huffs an angry, impatient breath, at the water, at himself. He grits his teeth and practices the strokes again, pushing water in sweeping motions. Every ripple and swish only makes Qifrey jumpier, the sound reminding him of rain pouring steadily into the coffin.
“I hate this,” Qifrey spits out. “I hate the… cold, slimy sloshiness of it.” A violent shudder overtakes him. “Hateful, Olly,” he says again for good measure.
He expects Olruggio to laugh at him again. He doesn’t. “Yeah, I’m gettin’ that…” he mumbles. His face is set in a pensive frown, brow furrowing as if trying to puzzle out a complex spell. He drifts closer to Qifrey in the water, continuing to stare in that intense way he has. An unwavering fixation that makes Qifrey feel flayed open, studied.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he suddenly drops down into the water with a huge splash that makes Qifrey startle. Before he can open his mouth to yell, to ask what’s wrong, Olruggio begins blowing furious bubbles in the water, comically loud gurgling sounds erupting through the peaceful day. His face is scrunched up with focus, eyes still large and unblinking on Qifrey.
“Olly? What—??” Qifrey sputters, clutching his chest. “You’re gonna get sick if you keep putting lake water in your mouth!!”
Olruggio just raises an eyebrow and continues making a fool of himself, demonstrating impressive lung capacity while making increasingly gross squelching noises until, despite his fright, Qifrey cannot hold back the laughter that rips up from his stomach out of his mouth.
“You–!” Qifrey wheezes around squeaky laughter, his hand over his mouth. “Absolute idiot…! You’re… so gross!”
“Yeah, well, you eat with your hands and then lick your fingers, I’ve seen ya,” Olruggio says chirpily, finally emerging from the water. He hocks and spits off to the side. “Look, I didn’t even swallow any this time.”
“So gross!!” Qifrey squeals, still trying to stifle the giggles.
Hands propped behind his head, Olruggio just grins back, unrepentant. “I decided y’basically got the hang of the arms,” he says breezily. “Gotta learn the legs bit now. Wanna give it a go?”
He feels lighter, the bout of laughter having broken the tension. He offers Olly a small smile, giggles still bubbling in his chest. Without having to ask, it’s as if the other boy always knows exactly what to do to buoy Qifrey forward.
“M’kay, so. Y’gotta drop down into the water further, and bend your knees like you're sittin’ on a chair.”
The next part includes adding simple alternating kicking motions that Olruggio demonstrates as before. It does indeed look like he’s sitting in the water, legs and arms moving in concert to keep him afloat.
It’s awful. Crouching like this brings all of Qifrey’s body in contact with the lake now, chin dipping horrendously close to touching the surface. He kicks inelegantly for a few moments while continuing the circular strokes that he learned before. It’s surprisingly difficult, lungs burning from exertion and face burning from humiliation, ashamed that he cannot master something so simple.
Olruggio offers boisterous encouragement next to him, watching closely. “That’s it, Qifrey! Y’also gotta breathe though. Steady and even, jus’ like before.”
Qifrey sets his mouth in a firm line and rededicates his efforts, trying to regulate his breathing. He despises every moment of the water touching him, but he would hate even more to disappoint Olruggio.
Just as he feels like he’s starting to get the hang of it somewhat, his hand brushes against something tickling and fast-moving in the water. Qifrey yelps, jerking away, and the motion disrupts his rhythm. Unbalanced, his head slides down beneath the surface before he can get his feet back under him.
Completely submerged, he flails, water rushing into his ears, blocking out all sound, muffling his senses. He opens his mouth to shriek and water rushes in there as well as up his nose; it tastes like algae and mildew.
He finally manages to plant his feet, shooting up out of the water. He coughs hoarsely as panic spikes through his whole body, roaring static building between his ears. It blocks out the birdsong, the rams, the halcyon day. Tears run unbidden down Qifrey’s cheek, mingling, indistinguishable, with the lake water. It’s so heavy, coating everything, his hair now sodden and dripping down his neck. Suddenly he is once more helpless, and small, closed into that dark, waterlogged hole and left to rot. Trapped, trapped, trapped, trapped—
“Hey, Qifrey, look at me.” Warm, roughened hands on his shoulders. Large earnest blue eyes, deep as the night sky. Olruggio. “You're okay, I got you.”
“Olly, please, I c-can't— I– I n-need to get out,” Qifrey chokes out, trembling violently.
“Hey, listen to me. I know you can do this, Qifrey.” Olruggio holds him firmly by the upper arms. His voice is like a light in the dark of his mind. “You’re not gonna let some stupid lake beat you, right?” Then, he tilts forward and knocks his head soundly against Qifrey’s, the way they’ve seen liongoat kids do.
It’s something Olruggio started doing before Qifrey had even known they were friends, this brand of brusque physical affection. Hands always grabbing, pulling, squeezing, holding him steady. His blazing, steadfast presence tethering Qifrey to the moment whenever he began to drift away into cold spirals of despair. As if to say, Knock, knock. I’m here. Are you?
Qifrey takes a deep, shaking breath and nudges his head right back. Call and response. Yes, I’m here.
“One more time, a’right? Show me y’know how to tread proper. So y’can keep safe.” He’s looking at him now in a way… pried open soft and tender. It’s almost like looking in a mirror, the same kin as the squeezing sensation in Qifrey’s chest. He’s always looking at Qifrey like that. Like he’s worth all this effort.
And though he scarcely believes it, scarcely feels he deserves Olruggio’s unending kindness, he is grateful nonetheless. Even if Qifrey cannot muster the right words to thank him, he can follow his direction.
“One more time,” he breathes out.
Then he releases Olruggio, moving back into his place near the bank. With gritted teeth and sheer spiteful determination, he forces himself through the motions, regulating his breathing by counting inhales and exhales. He sculls along the surface and flutter-kicks his legs. It’s more of a vigorous flailing than anything, but it gets the job done. The motions splash a bit of water on his face, but he doesn’t panic. He hardly gets any in his mouth this time. He manages to stay afloat on his own efforts for several minutes.
It’s exhausting, trying to tread and regulate his breathing at the same time, so he stops, standing up again in the shallows to catch his breath. Then there’s Olly, close and beaming, slapping him enthusiastically on the back. Qifrey sinks against him again, collapsing his body onto Olruggio’s like it’s all he knows how to do.
“A’right there?” Olly asks with a huff of laughter. He slings an arm around his shoulder. “That wasn’t half bad.” His grin is huge, brighter than the sun. “Proud of ya.”
An almost unbearable warmth crackles in Qifrey’s chest, as if a miniature hearth has taken up residence there. He thinks he could probably do anything, conquer any obstacle, as long as Olly were watching him with that proud look on his face.
“Thanks.” He offers a wobbly smirk. “Though, I liked it better on shore where I could dunk the dragons on you.”
“No fairrrrr, Qifreyyyyy, I can hardly get y’back for that right now!” Olly whines, as if he’s five instead of fourteen.
“Too chicken to try to dunk me?” Qifrey taunts. “Psht. As if you could.” He is absolutely bluffing. For all their play, the mere thought of his head submerged underwater again sends an icy tendril of fear through him.
Olruggio sees through him as easily as glass. “I would never dunk you,” he says fiercely, knocking their heads together again. “Even though y’are a right smart-arse.”
“Says you of all people?” Qifrey squawks, highpitched with affront.
“Says me,” Olruggio confirms, thumb to his chest. A mad grin overtakes his entire face; his eyes almost too bright to look into. “You should know by now, m’always right. And once we’re back on land, you can bet m’gonna tickle you ‘til you beg for mercy.”
“Well, get ready to be disappointed then,” Qifrey says flatly. “I’ll never give.”
“Y’will. M’gonna sit on you ‘til you do.”
It soon devolves into sticking their tongues out at each other and thwacking heads together a little harder than is pleasant. Before he knows it, Olruggio has guided them both out of the water. They climb back up the bank, easy and natural, Qifrey so thoroughly distracted by their banter that all the distress that came before seems inconsequential, swept away on the wind.
Then he’s back on solid ground, shaking water off with sounds of disgust. Olruggio scoffs at him. “Like thas’ gonna work.” He draws a quick drying spell with an eyeroll.
Heated air sweeps over Qifrey in comforting waves. He closes his eye and just basks beneath the spell, soaking in the warmth.
“Now y’look like a right moody dandelion.” Olruggio ruffles his hair with a snicker. It is poofing uncontrollably the way it always does, thick and unruly waves frizzing every which way.
“Well, you look like…” Qifrey frowns mightily, thinking hard. “You have that stupid look on your face.”
“Oi, callin’ me stupid now? Great vocabulary y'got there, mate."
Qifrey decides to kick at him in lieu of retorting, because he cannot come up with a suitable insult. In truth, Olruggio looks as soft and welcoming as ever. Now also dry, his skin is warm, hair falling across his forehead like black silk… But he can hardly say that outloud.
Stomachs growling with hunger, they finally unpack their lunch: simple cold cut sandwiches, a few mountain apples, some slightly stale breakfast pastries, and a carafe of prism lemonade. They’d scavenged the makeshift feast from the dining hall. Or rather, Olruggio had charmingly smiled his way into procuring it from his favorite cafeteria attendant.
They work together on the nascent air bubble spell, heads bent over Qifrey’s spellbook, sandwiches in one hand, pens in the other.
“Hmmm… what about the signs? Orb? Dispersion?”
“I was thinkin’ Convergence.”
"Maybe it could go on a necklace? Oh, or a headband!"
“Hidden in the lining, yeah.”
They are so preoccupied with eating and brainstorming that they don't notice how dark the sky has gotten. Foreboding clouds rolling in fast and thick, swallowing up the sun. The sky rumbles threateningly and then all at once the heavy air splits, opening up into a sudden downpour.
They scramble beneath the trees for cover. Olly grabs their cloaks, hustling them both to sit at the base of the tree. He huddles close, flinging the cloaks overtop their heads. It’s no matter, the rain is relentless. It falls in heavy sheets, soaking them through.
“M-my quire. S-spell–” Qifrey gets out, squashing down the terrible panic gripping him. This is different than when he was in the lake. There was some amount of control, he’d chosen to swim. He’d chosen every step. A summer storm cares not for his delicately maintained balance of fear and joy.
Olruggio flips rapidly through the pages of his palm quire. He locates the water-repelling spell that Qifrey's been working on, and closes the circle on it. The drumming of rain on their heads ceases in an instant, though they are already sopping. Jagged lightning rips across the sky, a crack of thunder following right after.
Qifrey shivers, despite the earlier heat of the day, the air has cooled rapidly. His teeth chatter together uncontrollably. He clamps his eye shut and tries not to focus on the water sliding down his neck in rivulets. All that's left is to wait it out.
Olly gathers him even closer with a worried, "C'mere, you're freezin'!" He scrambles underneath the lifted arm, gangly limbs jostling and knees bumping as they resituate. He doesn’t quite fit the way he used to. They are both growing steadily, and Qifrey has surpassed Olruggio in height by a smidge.
“There’s no room t’draw another drying spell,” Olly says, aggrieved. “M’sorry, Qifrey.”
He shakes his head. Tries to say Not your fault, but it comes out in a wisp.
Qifrey allows himself to collapse against Olruggio, face nestled in its customary spot between his chin and shoulder. Even damp and half-clothed, the other still radiates heat, forming a haven with the warm press of his body.
It feels unbelievably good to be so close to him like this, even with them both dripping water. It's like coming in from the cold, and he sinks into the sensation. A deep, abiding solace spreads golden tendrils through his limbs, fingers, and toes as Olly rubs slow, soothing circles into his back.
There are worse ways to weather a storm, Qifrey decides.
Olruggio always smells slightly like a bonfire, the scent of woodsmoke deeply ingrained into the fibers of his cloak. (Though right now he also smells a little bit like mud.) It settles Qifrey into his own bones a little more. He regains a sense of wholeness in these moments; as if he's only a real boy when Olruggio is touching him, slotting into his jagged empty places as if he were made to fit there. He knows Olly doesn't think of him like that, as missing pieces. Perhaps the best, most precious gift of all is how he doesn't notice the ways in which Qifrey is deficient.
Olruggio is scowling at the rain from the gap in their cloaks. He’d never gotten redressed, and Qifrey notices new freckles scattered over his chest and shoulders. His cheeks are shining red, lightly blistered from the sun. Qifrey's own cheeks smart in an echo of pain. He presses his fingers to them to feel the heat. There is a nervous fluttering in his stomach. He cannot tell if his skin burns from sun exposure or something else entirely. He forces himself to stop staring.
“M’sorry,” Olruggio says suddenly. “That was too much, wasn’t it?”
Qifrey can feel how tense the other boy is beside him. “N-no, I— I enjoyed it!” he rushes to reassure.
That earns him a scoff. “Really?” Olruggio mutters, “Shouldn’t’ve pushed you.” That deep frown still mars his usually jovial face. It looks wrong.
“It wasn’t so bad,” Qifrey says softly. “You made it… okay.” You made it safe, somehow. I couldn’t have done it without you.
It’s the truth. The lake was easier to stomach than the rain, especially with Olruggio there to catch him at every turn. And he had learned to tread, after all. He probably wouldn’t even drown next time. Another skill he can attribute to Olly’s instruction.
Qifrey has had to learn everything about being a person from scratch, without even knowing half the time all the things he doesn’t know. It feels as if the world is dark and full of snares that he bumbles around just waiting to fall into. But, since the day they met, Olruggio has always been there, offering his hand, so kindly and dedicatedly showing him the way. Lifting up his pen to draw long, golden lines that illuminate a path forward.
The best things Qifrey has reclaimed of himself are all because of Olly. In every margin of the blank journal that was once a formless boy is scrawled Olruggio’s name in big, bold lettering.
“It was fun.” Qifrey smiles as brightly as he can. “Thank you for teaching me, Olly.”
“Oh, erm, well, I—” Olruggio falters, cheeks stained even redder. “If y’say so, Qifrey.”
“Can we come again sometime?”
Olruggio’s gaze snaps to him. They are very close. He stares at his face hard, in an urgent sort of way. Like there's more at stake than Qifrey can comprehend, like he needs to confirm something. Qifrey quavers under the scrutiny, but doesn't look away.
Olruggio seems to find what he's looking for, because a smile breaks out over his face again. “Hafta, yeah,” he says with a chuckle. “Gotta test out that air bubble spell.”
“And find some dragonscale fish,” Qifrey chirps back.
He's rewarded with a full grin and a head knocking against his own. “Aye.”
In the companionable quiet, Qifrey takes stock of himself: sand crusted in his nail beds, mud caked around his ankles, fingertips wrinkled, limbs heavy with exhaustion, the sun and water having sapped his energy, the bottoms of his feet abraded from the silt of the lakebed. All the little remnants of the day, the bits and pieces that will form this memory, evidence of a day well spent.
Slowly, Olruggio’s fingers seek upwards, almost shy, to card through Qifrey's wet hair. His breath hitches but he doesn’t say anything. He would not dream of protesting. Combing the sodden fringe away from forehead, Olly's fingertips paint whorls of burning heat along his scalp. The warm, perfect caresses fill him up with molten gold, and Qifrey too feels as if he is melting. Or as if he has become water himself, a tide that orients to the gravity of the indefatigable star that is Olruggio.
Closing his eye, he exhales, boneless and relaxed, as Olly continues to stroke his hair. The irritating sounds of rain mix with the precious and calming cadence of Olly's breaths. He could almost fall asleep like this…
A sudden sharp pain lances through his skull, throbbing behind his missing eye. Qifrey flinches, hard, crying out, “Ah!” He clutches at the socket, pressing his palm down against the writhing ache.
“Qifrey?” Olruggio asks, tense with worry, hands hovering over him. “S’wrong? You hurt?”
Qifrey groans miserably. “J-just– Eye pain. Probably from the rain.” Master Beldaruit had previously explained that old injuries could be affected by barometric pressure when the weather changes. “It will go away eventually.”
“Oh… A’right,” Olly says softly. Unsure. “Can I– uh– Can I do anythin’?”
Qifrey keeps his left eye closed while his palm massages the aching right socket. “Just. Talk to me?” he mumbles, suddenly so weary.
Olruggio takes a deep breath. “Y’know I was thinkin’... it would be even better to expand the air bubble spell so it encases our whole bodies. That way y’wouldn’t have to get wet at all.”
Qifrey hums in acknowledgement, head lolling on Olly's shoulder. He is the perfect, most cozy resting spot.
“We could stay under as long as we wanted. We'll see everythin’, learn all the different critters that live down there.”
“Sounds nice,” Qifrey murmurs.
“You'll love it.” Olruggio's arm tightens around him. Qifrey hears him swallow heavily. “And when I get y’back to the Hall safe and sound, I’mma talk some more pastries out of Steffen to replace these ones that got ruined, y’hear? I'll be sure t’get dewberry ones. I promise.” The last part comes out quiet and fierce, right next to Qifrey's ear.
“My favorite,” Qifrey sighs out. He’s so, so tired. The pain behind his right socket pulses in waves, but Olruggio's voice is so soothing, his embrace so comforting. He listens drowsily to the rumbling cadence of his words as Olly continues to ramble about everything and nothing.
Qifrey drifts in a place somewhere between solace and pain, felicity and fear. Suspended in that bittersweet tension, body heavy with fatigue, he gives himself over to both sides of the feeling with a resigned acceptance. Within their temporary shelter, he burrows closer into Olly’s side, clenching his jaw against an oncoming headache as the rain continues to pour.