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“How many times have we done this?”
Olruggio asks the question as Qifrey holds the memory loss spell in his trembling hands. It never gets easier. Even when Olruggio knows, it never gets easier.
“Four.” Qifrey’s voice shakes. “This… This is the fifth time.”
The look in Olruggio's eyes is enough to stem the growth of any living thing. The child-like horror in his adult eyes, like he only just discovered how awful the world can be. It's a truth he's rediscovered far too many times.
“Oh…” Olruggio's voice chokes. “So… You've had practice, then.”
Qifrey looks down, as hot tears blur his vision. The inky black lines of the spell bleed and overlap in his hands, as if vanishing from existence.
If only they really would.
“Hey.”
Qifrey looks up to find the fear melted in Olruggio's eyes. He even manages to smile softly.
“It's the only way, right?”
Qifrey's heart fractures all over again. Saltwater streams down his cheeks as he sinks to his knees in the long grass.
“Hey.”
Familiar hands take hold of his shoulders. Sharpness shoots through his ribs as the branches begin to grow.
“Olly–”
“It'll be okay.” Olruggio's hands are firm. “I'll be fine. That's how this goes, right?”
Qifrey’s breath staggers between sobs. “I… hate… doing this to you.”
A gentle tug is all it takes. Qifrey lets his face press into Olruggio's chest. The only time Qifrey isn't taller than him is when they're both on their knees.
“I know…” Qifrey feels the hum of his voice. “But you have a promise to keep, don't you?”
It's suffocating. All of it. The repetition. The pain. The way they can't think of anything else to stop it.
“Don't forget to use these.” Olruggio catches a tear on the pad of his thumb. “Hand me your ink pot.”
Qifrey shakes his head, mussing his hair against Olruggio's cotton shirt.
Olruggio sighs gently. “Always the same with you, huh?”
He reaches into the pocket of Qifrey's cloak, the seamless movements of someone who knows exactly where to find something. Qifrey keeps his eyes shut. The chink of Olruggio's link ring against the inkwell stirs the guilt in his heart. The glass chamber presses cold against his cheek, as Olruggio holds it carefully in place.
“You're a cry baby.” He sounds eerily calm. “That's more than enough for next time.”
Qifrey lets go of the spell in his hands, wrapping his arms around Olruggio's waist as tightly as his spreading roots will allow.
“I don't want to,” Qifrey gasps. “I don't want to do it.”
Olruggio's fingers comb through a raggy mix of white hair and silver leaves.
“Well…” Qifrey hears the sound of paper. “Don't, then.”
Qifrey's heart jolts at the sudden weight in his arms, as his best friend grows limp from the effects of the spell. Olruggio's work-worn hands fall by his sides, letting the used spell wither as it flutters to the ground.
It's a sickening sight.
Qifrey feels his veins retract. The fear makes him soak every branch into his skin. The leaves fall. The roots vanish.
And Olly sleeps.
Qifrey lays him gently on the grass. Old friend doesn't feel big enough for what Olruggio is. No word in the Tower of Tomes could describe him properly. What name do you give to the person who keeps you alive? Whose very existence is the reason you endeavour to be more?
Olruggio’s eyelashes are dark against his skin, like perfectly penned sigils. Qifrey winces as he lies down beside him, his body still sore from the carnage. He keeps his gaze fixed on Olruggio's sleeping features. He always looks so peaceful when he sleeps, even when it's the fault of a spell.
Qifrey's breath trembles as he lifts a finger to Olruggio's face. He traces a gentle line over his temple, brushing a lock of jet black hair to the side. Olly always lets it grow too long. He has ever since they were boys. Only when his vision is fully obscured does he reluctantly approach Qifrey with a pair of scissors and a begrudging request to help him cut his hair.
Qifrey runs his thumb over the cool black strands, fanning them against the pad of his index finger. Blacker than ink. The night sky come to life. Touching it quells the sickening guilt in Qifrey's chest.
This is what Olruggio wanted. Even if he can't remember, this is what his younger self wanted with all of his heart.
It makes Qifrey endlessly sad.
Movement makes Qifrey snatch his fingers away. Olruggio frowns, writhing his legs the way he does when he's waking up. His eyes open slowly, and only by half.
His blue irises are blurry and sleep-laden. Qifrey's chest tightens. He remembers the feeling of waking up without memories. It's like sea sickness without a boat. Standing without legs. Bedrock that’s no more than quicksand.
“Olly…” Qifrey swallows. “I'm–”
The words dry out. They always do when Qifrey dares to venture anywhere close to the truth.
Olruggio's eyes darken, the way the ocean turns grey when clouds gather over it. “...Why?”
Qifrey's throat constricts. Tears sting his eyes unkindly. Why is the one question he can never answer honestly.
“Olly–”
“Why do you look sad?”
Something grips Qifrey's heart. Something painful and strong. He never learned the difference between silverwood and regret. The two sensations feel exactly the same. They clutch at his heart and still his bones and make him wish he had never crossed paths with the sweet boy in front of him.
Olruggio lifts his fingers to brush at overgrown white hair, touching the part of Qifrey's face that no one is allowed to see. Qifrey flinches as he fears the truth all over again.
“I hate that someone did this to you.”
It ripples quietly in Qifrey's chest. The sensation of skin on skin. Fingers on scars. A touch, without the sound of sprouting leaves.
The silverwood is gone again.
“You haven't answered me.”
Olruggio's gaze is steadfast. Even freshly awake, without the memory of everything they've been through, his first thought is to ask…
“What's wrong, Qifrey?”
If only Qifrey could tell him. If only they could live the way they always wanted to. Lying to everyone but each other.
Qifrey’s hands shake as he clutches the grass between them.
“All I do is hurt you.”
It's the truth. Incomplete, but honest.
Olruggio frowns like it's unfathomable.
“That's not all you do.”
He closes his hand around Qifrey's trembling fingers, clasping tightly, the way he does whenever he makes a promise.
“Everything I am, I am because of you.”
Qifrey blinks at the words. Olruggio shifts closer in the grass.
“I wouldn't be a watchful eye without someone to watch.” His lips quirk. “I wouldn't live under the stars if you hadn't insisted we escaped that prison beneath the sea.”
Qifrey's thoughts linger in the warmth of Olruggio's palm, wondering if it's safe to dwell here for long.
“I wouldn't have invented half of my spells if it wasn't for you and the girls.”
Qifrey looks up. The blue is back in Olruggio's eyes. The clouds are gone, leaving his feelings clear to see.
Qifrey turns his words over like stones.
Everything I am…
A teacher. A liar. Alive.
… I am, because of you.
Qifrey feels the roughness of Olruggio's palm meet his cheek. His touch is as gentle as it is kind. Still, this is somewhat unusual. Aside from the occasional dig of his elbow, Olruggio tends to physically keep to himself. It's always been his eyes that lingered too long. His eyes, not his hands.
“What is this?” Qifrey's heart starts to ache. “What are you doing?”
Qifrey feels the pad of Olruggio's thumb drift over his cheekbone. It's not an answer to the question, yet it tells Qifrey everything. Olruggio's eyes are solemn and calm, the way they get when he knows better than to say something out loud.
Qifrey hears it nonetheless.
He lets his gaze fall to the shape of Olruggio's lips. The lips that smile and scold and shape the kindness of his heart into words. Qifrey would give anything. Anything that was his to give.
As if his thoughts were spelled out in the stars, Olruggio's fingers move to the back of his neck. Qifrey gasps as Olruggio's lips press to his own, the brush of his beard rough against his chin. An unknown fear leaps in his chest. He clutches the grass just to fight the call of his palm quire. He won't cast a spell. He won't make Olly stop.
If this is how I die, so be it.
Silverwoods thrive when their host is at peace. When their guard is down and their fears are cast aside. Kissing his closest friend is something Qifrey never thought to be afraid of. Yet he trembles beneath the firm press of Olruggio’s lips, as the fear mixes with something velvety and delicate. It feels like a promise. An unspoken truth that the two of them always knew.
It's more terrifying than anything.
Qifrey's fingers drift from grass to cape cloth, clutching tight as he puts his life in Olruggio's hands. It isn't fair to let Olruggio do something that he doesn't know the consequences of. It's just another lie.
A desperately needed lie.
Qifrey's heart races as he feels the warmth of Olruggio's breath on his lips, as he looks into hazy eyes that now seem bluer than the strongest flame.
“Are you– I mean–” Qifrey stutters. “Did I do this?”
Olruggio blinks slowly. “What are you talking about?”
“Is this my fault?” Qifrey takes hold of his face with both hands. “Are your thoughts all jumbled because of me?”
“Well, yeah.” Olruggio arches a brow. “It's a constant state, I'd say.”
Qifrey watches a set of familiar creases form at the corners of Olruggio's eyes.
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Qifrey's fingers tremble against Olruggio's face, fearing whatever he might be about to say.
“You always take what I start, and turn it into more.” Olruggio's eyes soften as he smiles. “Any contraption I make, you hold it in your hands. Call it words like kind and beautiful. When all I saw was the function behind it.”
Qifrey lets himself feel the shape of Olruggio's face. The premature lines drawn by endless thought and worry. His eyes are exactly the same as when they were boys. The same indigo blue that taught Qifrey the meaning of safe.
“Remember when we first came out here?” Olruggio's fingers drift into the hair at the base of Qifrey's neck. “I showed you ruins, and you dreamt up a house.”
Qifrey remembers the sight of passage stars and the cool wind on his face. All those years ago, standing on the hill where they now lie in secret.
“That's what you do,” Olruggio breathes. “What you always do.”
Qifrey watches Olruggio's features grow blurry, as he leans in to press their foreheads together.
“You're home to me,” he whispers. “You know that, don't you?”
Qifrey's heart thumps heavily. Home. The wilds of the countryside. The walls of the atelier.
The palm of his hand.
And then, it happens. A sharpness, like looking directly into the sun. Qifrey flinches as the pain fills his temple, and the sensation turns rigid like timbered limbs.
“Wait–” Olruggio grips his face firmly. “These are… silver leaves…?”
Adrenaline surges through Qifrey's veins.
“What is this?” Olruggio's eyes grow frightened. “It's inside you, isn't it?”
Promise me, Qifrey. Don't give up on yourself. Stay alive.
Qifrey reaches blindly to the back of his palm quire, tearing the last page free and lifting it to Olruggio's face.
“Don't try it.”
Qifrey gasps at the sudden grip on his wrist. Olruggio yanks his hand away, twisting it enough to look at the casting seal that was drawn in fear for a moment like this.
“What is this? A memory loss spell?”
The betrayal in Olruggio's eyes sends a violent twist through Qifrey's stomach. Maybe this will be enough. Maybe this will haunt him for eternity and banish the silver leaves for good.
“Let me guess…” Olruggio lifts up on all fours, pinning Qifrey’s wrists to the ground. “Keeping this from me is the only way to make you sick to your stomach. The only way to make it stop? Right?”
Qifrey can't answer, his voice lost to the exhilarating feeling of being pinned down by strong hands. A heady cocktail of fear, guilt, and devastating adoration for the man holding him down.
The man who still deserves the truth.
“I– Ah.” The pain of stems sticking through his skin cuts his words short.
Olruggio watches in nightmarish disbelief as silver stems claw into the earth at Qifrey's sides.
“Olly–” Qifrey chokes on the words. “I'm sorry.”
Olruggio lets go of his wrists, sinking back on his heels with a ghostly look in his eyes. “Fine. Do your worst.”
Defeatism. Qifrey's seen this reaction before. It happened the third time, when Olruggio seemed to blame Qifrey for making this choice. As if he were taking the easy way out. When nothing, nothing about this is easy.
The pieces of Qifrey's heart fracture once again. He closes his eyes, resigned to the pain in his limbs. Maybe it's better this way. To let himself sink into the ground knowing that all of this will finally end.
“Wait–” A warm hand meets his chest. “I didn't– I didn't mean it. I know this isn't what you want.”
Forgiveness is fatal. Qifrey knows that by now.
“Qifrey, no… It's okay.” Another hand meets his waist. “It’s the only way. I get it now.”
Qifrey shuts his eyes tighter. This is always the worst part.
“Qifrey, snap out of it!” Olruggio tugs at his collar with both hands. “Hurry up and use the damn spell!”
“I don't want to,” Qifrey cries. “I don't want you to forget anymore!”
“Who cares if it's the difference between being with you and being alone?”
Qifrey catches his breath. Olruggio leans over him, chest heaving from the fear of it all.
It should have been obvious.
This balance. This trade off of secrets and lies. This endless cycle of promises. It keeps Olruggio tethered to this world as much as it keeps Qifrey from turning into woodcruor. When all this began, Qifrey didn't promise to stay alive.
He promised to stay by Olruggio's side.
“Just make it worthwhile.” Olruggio tugs his collar again. “Find another way to stop it. Find it and let me help you. Promise?”
Qifrey nods, his voice barely able to form the word. “Promise.”
It strengthens the resolve in Olruggio's eyes. He picks up the spell that was cast aside in anguish, and holds it out for Qifrey to take.
Qifrey hesitates. He knows what happens next. He knows what the two of them will live through. He knows that Olly will always try to put the pieces back together.
Qifrey pulls against his growing roots. “Olly…”
Indigo blue. The colour of home. Qifrey watches it glisten with held-back tears as Olruggio gazes down at him.
Qifrey pulls with all his might, tearing his soft roots from the ground. He takes hold of Olruggio's face, pulling him close and kissing him hard. Olruggio's voice flickers, his face flushed hot beneath Qifrey's fingers.
Qifrey pulls back just enough to whisper against his lips.
“I'll never leave you.” He brushes another kiss to his mouth. “I promise.”
Olruggio's fingers sink into his hair, as he kisses back like it matters more than air to him. There has to be a way. There has to be a world where they can live the way they always wanted to.
Where kisses don't have lethal consequences.
Qifrey gasps against Olruggio's lips as the growing stems wrap around his waist, tearing space between their chests. He fights the pull, but it's no use.
It's always the same.
“Qifrey–” Olruggio's lips break away. “You have to.”
Qifrey feels paper meet the palm of his hand. Olruggio presses the spell into his grip, bowing his head so Qifrey won't have to reach as far.
It takes three seconds for Qifrey to muster the courage. To let all this go. To be alone in his secret again. To find the will to keep searching for answers, while living as if this precious moment in time never happened.
He lifts the spell, fighting the shake in his hands.
“Qifrey?”
He freezes, caught by the crack in Olruggio's voice. His best friend looks up, fearful clouds in indigo eyes.
“How many times have we done this?”