Chapter Text
Qifrey is a mess of buzzing anticipation from the moment he’s freed from the silverwood. It should be a wonderful feeling, and in many ways it is, but still something seems to nag at him. A bone-deep exhaustion no amount of sleep seems to cure, and not for lack of trying.
He has a splitting migraine for the first week it's gone. Every pulse of his eye socket brings with it an old dread he doesn't know how to explain, so he doesn't. He wants to vomit, and he's unsure if it's because of the pain or the emptiness he can't shake off.
The girls fuss over him, of course, the darlings they are. He thinks Coco must have a sixth sense for when his pain is at its worst, always seeming to appear at his side with a cup of tranquileaf tea just as he's about to make one himself. Richeh has been studying with very few complaints, often opting to do so curled up right next to him on the couch. Tetia has been practically hanging off of him, as though convinced it is her sworn duty to ensure he's comfortable at any given moment. Agott has been quietly joining everyone for meals and even study time despite her preference for solitude, and though she rarely voices it, he knows she's just as worried as the others.
Qifrey doesn't mind their clinginess one bit. They're only children, and it must have been so frightening for them to learn of his condition, let alone to see even a glimpse of the kind of suffering he's endured at the hands of the silverwood curse. He's happy to indulge their need for reassurance, for undeniable proof that their teacher is safe now.
And then, of course, there's Olly. The man has been nothing short of angelic in Qifrey's eyes. Despite his rather poor attempts to maintain some semblance of normalcy, it's impossible to ignore the way his casual touch lingers in ways it didn't before, the way he stands just a smidge closer, or the way he insists on helping with little tasks he might have otherwise left alone. It may have been a team effort, but at the end of the day, it’s Olruggio’s spell that finally freed him from this burden he's carried for so long. And it's Olruggio who will save him from himself in this instance, too.
The conversation, if you can call it that, comes after a particularly long day. One that leaves Qifrey struggling not to visibly wince in front of the girls. He makes sure they're all sound asleep before tentatively shuffling in the direction of Olly’s room. He's nervous, replaying in his mind the last several times Olruggio had requested to speak to him alone. There's no reason to fear this, he tries to reassure himself. Not anymore.
The hallway seems to stretch on forever. Has Olly’s room always been so far? The room sways, or perhaps it's him, stumbling into one of the walls as he nearly tips over entirely. He calls out weakly toward Olruggio’s quarters, but he doubts the other witch hears him in his efforts not to disturb the girls.
“Olly?”
He doesn't make it there. He barely even makes it to the toilet before he's violently throwing up, retching as quietly as he can manage. Damn it.
He has no idea when Olruggio appears. He's barely aware of himself, his whole world spinning as the pressure in his head reaches a breaking point. Tears streak down his face as he vomits up what little he managed to stomach today, the effort sapping every ounce of strength from his body. He coughs and sputters helplessly, but he barely notices how badly his throat burns, too distracted by the ringing in his ears. After what feels like hours but is probably barely a few minutes, he gains back enough awareness to feel a warm presence beside him on the floor. Olly is rubbing his back, he realizes. This beautiful, softhearted man is keeping him upright, offering him comfort, whispering softly to him while he leans over a toilet shivering and gagging.
It's almost too much. Before, this kind of comfort would have been a death sentence. But now, exhausted and in pain, Qifrey chokes out a sob and collapses into Olruggio’s open arms. This is so childish. You're making a fool of yourself.
His inner voice is overruled by a much kinder one.
“‘S alright, I've got ya.”
His head hurts so badly. This must be one of the worst migraines he's ever had. There's no seed, no roots crawling under his skin for him to blame this on. And yet, despite this, he feels the familiar tendrils of panic seize his heart with every gentle touch. Every act of love tainted by his inability to accept it. I could now. I could have this, if I knew how to bear it.
A part of him can't let go of that fear. What if it's back? What if it never left? How else would I feel it so vividly?
He doesn't notice how tight his grip is until he hears Olruggio’s strained voice in his ear.
“Oi, ease up, eh? I'm not going anywhere,” he assures him, lightly tapping the other’s trembling hands to get his attention. It takes several long, drawn out breaths, but Qifrey manages to force himself to relax just enough to stop clawing into Olly’s sides, his fingernails leaving indents. A pit of guilt begins to form in his stomach. He wraps his arms around himself instead, nails digging into his own skin.
“I'm sorry,” he croaks, the words heavy with the weight of things far beyond just this moment. Olly is shaking his head before he even fully gets them out.
“None of that. Come on, you need a doctor. Sinocia told you to tell her if anything got worse, and I know you haven't told her a damn thing,” he murmurs, still rubbing Qifrey's back but slowing his movements as he prepares to help him to his feet.
He doesn't even have the strength to be embarrassed of the pitiful whine that escapes him, and even the gentle care in Olruggio’s disapproval can't soften the discomfort of the thought of a doctor poking around his eye socket. He's in no state to protest further, though, and quite honestly he doesn't feel he deserves to after Olly has been so permissive of his medical avoidance all week. He shudders, his stomach lurching at every movement regardless of there being nothing left in him to throw up.
Qifrey feels terrible for being such dead weight, but his limbs feel leadened. He does what he can to assist, wrapping his arms around Olly's neck and all but clinging to him, but he can't fully stand on his own at the moment, so he's leaning heavily on the offered support. The frankly dramatic grunts coming from Olruggio are something Qifrey might tease him for under different circumstances. He manages a small, weak huff of amusement despite himself, which earns him a ruffle of his hair and a grumble that trails off into talking mostly to himself.
“Oi. I said I've got you, not that it’d be a smooth ride. Damn, I should get in better shape…”
-
Eventually, after quite the hassle, Olruggio manages to get Qifrey to the hospital. He wakes Agott before they leave, just to let someone know where they're going, to which she immediately insists on coming with. He's firm in his refusal, and she reluctantly relents when he asks her to look after the other girls. He does leave his call contraption with her, though, and the ability to contact them at a moment’s notice seems to put her enough at ease to concede.
Sinocia is lovely as always, though she does glare disapprovingly at them both just a little the moment Qifrey is stable.
“He's been like this all week? And you're just thinking to come in now!?”
“He hasn't been like this. I promise you I would have dragged him in sooner. He's always had migraines, even when we were kids… I thought… agh. It does seem to have been worse than usual the last few days, but he has had quite the week…”
Olly's halfhearted excuses leave Sinocia unmoved.
“He's staying at least until morning. He's overdoing it- you said he's teaching again already? He's worked himself into a fever, which is undoubtedly making the migraines worse. And I imagine he's trying to act fine for the girls’ sake, which is probably half of what got him into this state in the first place.”
Her voice is hushed but spirited, and Olly can't help feeling like he's back at the Great Hall being scolded by his Master for sneaking out with Qifrey. He rubs the back of his neck.
“...aye, fair enough. I'll make him get some proper rest,” he agrees.
“Yes you will. I'll send him home with something a bit stronger than tranquileaf for the pain. It might make him drowsy, but heaven knows he could use the sleep. He has been sleeping, yes?”
“Yes, as far as I'm aware.”
“Well, make certain of it. Stay with him until he falls asleep if you must, he clearly needs some convincing on the benefits of rest,” she chides, though it's more a lightheart tease than a lecture by this point.
“He can leave when he wakes as long as you're with him. Just make sure he takes it easy and drinks enough water. Some food wouldn't hurt either. Make him take a break from his responsibilities, a real one, and he'll be fine in no time,” she adds, giving Olruggio’s shoulder a light squeeze as she passes before taking her leave to tend to another patient.
Olly smiles and nods, thanking her. He looks over at a sleeping Qifrey, tempted to reach out to offer some sort of comfort. Despite the deep well of longing he's harbored for damn near as long as he can remember, he finds himself hesitant, unsure if it would only make things worse. A dozen memories surface of times Qifrey has flinched from his touch, and though he knows now why it happened, the knowledge does little to quiet his nerves. He settles for keeping his hand on the bed just beside Qifrey's for now, their pinkies touching but not overlapping.
A small voice sounds from Olruggio’s pocket. He pulls out the call contraption, swiped from Qifrey's desk before departing, and responds, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the restless sleeper beside him.
“Yes? Agott, was that you?”
“Is Master Qifrey okay?”
Poor girl. She's worried herself sick, her whispered voice uncharacteristically unsteady. It makes him feel a little guilty for waking her, as it's clear she hasn't gone back to sleep.
“He's alright, lass, no need to fret. He's just been working too hard, that's all. He’s resting now, but we'll come home in the morning. Are you doing alright? The others still asleep?”
He hears a quiet rustling that he takes to be a nod. He hums an acknowledgment.
“Good. Would you like me to call when he wakes?” He offers, hoping to quell her fears.
“No, it's fine,” she whispers.
“...are you sure?” He asks, unconvinced.
“...yes,” she replies, even less convincingly. He sighs, but doesn't press the matter.
“Alright. I'll tell you if something changes. Until then, try to get some rest, yeah?”
“...alright.”
Olly tucks the contraption back into his pocket, his eyes tracing over Qifrey's sleeping face. Even in sleep he doesn't know true rest, it seems, his brow slightly furrowed. He reaches out without thinking, stroking the space between Qifrey's eyebrows with his thumb, as if he can coax him into letting go of a lifetime of tension with nothing but a brief, affectionate touch. He stops when Qifrey stirs, instead carefully removing the man’s glasses from his nose and setting them aside for safekeeping.
After a moment of indecision he thinks better of his earlier timidity, resting a hand over Qifrey’s. Maybe he can't do much for him right now, but he can at least offer a warm presence. It's now that he realizes how long it's been since he's held hands with his old friend. They must have been children the last time, maybe teenagers at the oldest. It's not as though they never touch, just never so deliberately. Never for longer than a fleeting moment.
He wonders sometimes if Qifrey knows the extent of his feelings. It's not as though he's been particularly subtle, but it’s likely not something the man could have given much more than a passing thought before, given his circumstances. He wonders if things will be different now. A small, selfish part of him hopes they will be.