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Sometimes, it was easy to forget how fragile the mind can be. There is no linear path hidden in its winding corridors that would lead someone to a perfect conclusion, some revelation, that the fight was over; that they’d beaten whatever monster threatened their meticulously crafted sense of safety.
Least of all was Qifrey an exception to this rule.
He woke with a start, launching himself upright from the bed and scrambling to the edge with heaving breaths, clutching his chest. He swore he felt the phantom twinge of the Silverwood throbbing in the socket of his lost eye, but no, that couldn’t be, could it? He’d been rid of the curse for a number of weeks, yet rest had become rarer than ever before.
With a ragged breath, Qifrey rolled up the sleeves of his tunic— no, Olruggio’s tunic— and crossed his arms, hugging himself tightly. Although his nails were rather blunt, they were the perfect length to dig into flesh if he pressed hard enough. There had always been something grounding about the discomfort, how it would distract from the searing pain in his skull whenever the Silverwood awoke, that Qifrey became too reliant upon even now. He bit the inside of his cheek for good measure, doubling over to suppress a cry.
He and Olruggio had such a lovely evening mere hours ago. His dearest friend, his partner, took great care to unravel him tenderly with lips and tongue and teeth. Olruggio would hollow himself out with his bare hands to make space for Qifrey if he thought it would bring him an ounce of comfort, and in all other ways he had, so why couldn’t Qifrey bring himself to reach out to him?
The fabric of the tunic was hardly a barrier to prevent him from inflicting the damage he longed to in that moment. It was naturally sliding off of his too-narrow shoulders to expose his willowy limbs. Everything about him looked and felt wrong, somehow. What did Olruggio, or anyone for that matter, see in him? He hardly registered the tears running down his cheeks, but he feared what he may do to his face if he dared to touch it. He had to break out of this cage, somehow, but—
“Qifrey?”
Useless useless useless.
Qifrey went stock-still on the edge of the bed, rigid as a stone wall upon hearing Olruggio’s sleep-worn voice question him. He swallowed thickly, not daring to answer for fear of a pathetic sob escaping his throat.
Olruggio sat up in an instant before tempering his approach to a manner less alarming. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and scooted as close to Qifrey as he could without touching. He sat in his blind side but Qifrey was glad that he couldn’t see the pity that was surely on his face.
“Bad dream? Was it the Silverwood?” Olruggio asked, placing a warm palm between Qifrey’s aching shoulder blades. His shoulders were hiked high in his hunched position, but then relaxed ever so slightly.
“Y’don’t have to talk if it’s too much right now, but it’s a bit cold in here and you’re shivering somethin’ fierce.”
Qifrey was shivering; though, not for the reason that Olruggio thought. Surely he knew that but didn’t want to force Qifrey to confront a situation that he wasn’t ready to. Sometimes, it helped to make light of it at first and allow Qifrey to come to him in his own time. It was a delicate dance they’d been choreographing ever since Qifrey could finally be honest about how he felt while the torrent of emotions were simply too overwhelming.
“Olly, I, I don’t think— I can’t—“ Qifrey stifled a cry. He couldn’t do this. He wanted so badly to disappear so that he wouldn’t have to look Olruggio in the eyes ever again and see his disappointment. If he disappeared right then, he’d never have to misinterpret the girls’ sigils on accident due to his ailing vision. He wouldn’t have to lie about being in pain and still too weak to properly manage his responsibilities.
The parasite inside of his body was gone, and now the only parasite left in their home was him.
“Shhh, love, it’s all right. You don’t have to speak; just missin’ you already, is all.”
Qifrey opened his eyes. When had Olly gotten down on the floor? He knelt before Qifrey and placed his hands atop his. They’d still been firmly grasping his upper arms, but were now gently extricated from them. Once freed, Olruggio placed them on his shoulders to keep them from inflicting any more damage. Qifrey could already feel the little bruises blooming upon his flesh but at least he hadn’t drawn blood.
When he finally gathered the courage to meet Olruggio’s gaze, he was surprised by how they possessed none of the pity, nor the disappointment, that he’d been so sure to see there. Instead, a soft smile graced his lips, and his eyes were still tired, yet warm. Qifrey squeezed Olruggio’s shoulders ever so softly as a grounding measure, reaffirming that he was actually there and that they wouldn’t be consumed by coiling vines and branches. There was no pain behind his missing eye, nor throbbing in his skull. Just them.
“You’ll come back to bed, won’t you, sweetheart? Just for a little while?” Olruggio asked in a tone that was hardly more than a whisper in the silence of the room.
“Would that… make you happy?” Qifrey smiled crookedly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Olruggio didn’t mind one bit.
“You’d only be makin’ me the happiest man alive. Now, come.”
Once they were both settled back under the covers with Qifrey tucked against Olruggio’s chest, he carded his fingers absentmindedly through Qifrey’s starlight locks. It was a soothing gesture, and the heat radiating from Olruggio’s bare skin was a balm to his nerves.
“You look good in my shirt,” Olruggio teased, pressing a kiss to the exposed nook between Qifrey’s neck and shoulder that made him shudder. “I’ll always prefer you in nothing at all, but this is a new favorite.”
Qifrey snorted, burrowing further into Olruggio’s chest, if it were even possible. “I’m practically swimming in it. I just like it because it smells like you, and…”
“‘And’”?
“And I wanted to surprise you this morning when you woke up. I thought that maybe we’d be doing other things by now; things that aren’t this.”
“What’s wrong with this? We’re right where I’d like us to be. You’re right where I’d like you to be.” Olruggio punctuated his response by tilting Qifrey’s head to chastely kiss the corner of his mouth. He could hardly believe that he finally had Qifrey in his arms like this. It pained him that Qifrey believed himself to be unworthy of his love after all this time, but he understood the reason why. “The Silverwood’s removal was only ever going to be the start of a very long recovery for you, dear. Healing from all you’ve endured will take time, but—“
“I can’t stand myself like this. How can you stand me? The Silverwood is gone, but I hardly feel any different. Why am I still so afraid? I— I wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Hot tears stung at Qifrey’s eyes, threatening to fall and embarrass him yet again. Before he had a chance to linger on those thoughts, Olruggio was readjusting him in his arms. He felt more than heard the sobs wrack his slighter frame, and it broke his own still-mending heart. Seeing Qifrey lie asleep and unmoving in a hospital bed, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, took an unimaginable toll on his conscience for many weeks. He and the girls were terrified that he’d never awaken.
Olruggio trailed a palm up and down Qifrey’s side before sliding it beneath the hem of his tunic. He sought the delicate dip of his spine, mapping out the rest of his back in circles that he hoped was soothing. Eventually, Qifrey’s breaths evened out. He looped an arm around Olruggio’s torso in a half-hug that mirrored his.
“Qifrey, I’m not waitin’ around holding out hope that you’ll become whatever idealized version of yourself that only exists in your mind. I love you now, exactly as you are, and you don’t need to do anything to earn that love. You’ve always had it.” Olruggio murmured. The conviction in his voice was enough to break through the barrage of self-loathing in Qifrey’s mind. Olruggio had waited so many years for moments just like this one; moments when he could hold Qifrey without him pulling away prematurely from pain inflicted by the Silverwood, or simply from guilt. Though their relationship was far from transactional, Qifrey felt that he owed Olruggio an honest effort to heed his words.
“What if there are things I don’t overcome? For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt compelled to harm myself in times of stress. Mostly to stave away the Silverwood, but now I have no reason to. Now, it’s just… shameful.” Qifrey flexed his free hand anxiously between their chests. He could feel the weight of Olruggio’s eyes on him even without looking.
Olruggio pulled back enough to take both of Qifrey’s hands in his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Even if that part of you never heals, I’ll still be here. Some wounds are too deep to change, but they can be managed with time. You’ve never had the privilege of entertaining any alternatives until now, but I think we can find a way.”
If there was one thing that Qifrey knew for certain, it’s that he always found a way forward. Though he were once petrified at the mere presence water, with the help of Beldaruit teachings, he tamed that fear. It was not quick nor easy, but in time it made him into a formidable witch. There was hardly a single soul in all of the Great Hall that believed him capable of becoming a master, yet he stood on his own as master to not one, but four marvelous young witches-in-training. His entire life was an amalgamation of overcoming impossible odds and proving others wrong about him.
Qifrey drew a steadying breath, focusing intently on the warmth of Olruggio’s body against his. The sun had just begun to rise, bathing the room in a warm glow that illuminated some of the scars on his hands. He’d wondered for so long about how they’d feel against his skin, and now he knew. The hands that had spent years crafting marvels to represent all of witchkind were now his to hold. How could he not think this a mere dream?
“Thank you, Olly. Though I have a ways to go, there’s no one else on Earth I’d rather spend the rest of my days with. If you would have me, that is.”
Olruggio smiled down at him, achingly fond, and brushed aside the fringe that concealed his scarred eyelid. Qifrey tilted his head, nuzzling his palm like a contented cat at the way his thumb stroked his cheek so tenderly. Olruggio could hardly suppress a chuckle at how far Qifrey was from being the hissing, spitting kitten he’d known in their youth. For all his generosity in life, Qifrey would remain the one thing he would be greedy about. Covetous.
Kisses peppered every inch of flesh Olruggio could reach, eliciting a shudder in his sensitive lover. A lifetime of deprivation had left Qifrey impatient, often to Olruggio’s chagrin, and as he attempted to remove the tunic, Olruggio caught his wrist. With a laugh, bright and true, Qifrey allowed himself to be turned onto his stomach with Olruggio settling overtop him.
“I think I’d prefer you leave it on, love.”