Chapter Text
Olruggio was crying.
Olruggio was crying. Large droplets of tears were falling from his eyes right in front of Qifrey, and his scent, usually so comforting, so soft, so much like home, turned sour, and Qifrey didn't have the slightest idea of what to do.
He could count on one finger the times he saw the other cry (sad tears once when they were very little and he had to go through his first birthday alone, angry tears when some kid from the Grand Hall said he should stop pursuing magic because he was an omega, sorrowful tears on that accursed day that followed Qifrey like a shadow), but those occasions were enough for him to never want to see such a sight again.
To see someone as bright and earnest as his dear friend shed tears felt wrong somehow; the tears did not look at all like they belonged there. It was unrealistic to want someone to never know sorrow, he knew that much, but if he could, he just wanted to see the witch happy instead.
"Olly," he started, unsure of what to say, already feeling the familiar sensation of self-hate for being so inept at this filling him like a cup getting full to the brim. Better people could be here, comforting the brightest soul on the planet, but all he got was Qifrey instead. "Olly, listen to me. Everything is going to be alright."
"Qifrey," Olruggio uttered, with so much suffering in his voice, and oh, if that alone wasn't enough to almost make him fall to his knees. He always loved to hear his name in Olruggio's voice, appreciated the way the vowels rolled out of his tongue almost as if he was singing it, but stars above, he never wanted to hear him say it with such apparent pain in it. "It's not alright," he gasped, taking a mouthful of air, "It's—It's my fault, I should've done something. Figured it out sooner or, or—I don't know. You are in so much pain and I—"
Almost as if he summoned it with his words alone, Qifrey suddenly felt mind-numbing pain coursing through his body. He never felt anything like it before, or, better yet, he lived with it his entire life, just not in this intensity, cursing through his veins like scalding fire.
He didn't immediately cry out, but it was a close thing. His mind went fuzzy for a moment, until he opened his eye and looked down, to see, with horror, leaves sprouting from under his nails.
Honestly, now that he noticed it, the pain was all he could think about — so much so that he wondered how he barely noticed it before. Between a gasp and another, he felt a warmth surround his hand, softly if not tentatively, and saw Olruggio holding it with his own.
Sluggishly, he gazed from their hands to Olruggio's red-rimmed and puffy face, which was concentrated on their hands as well, and he understood why the pain was secondary until now. Olruggio was crying, had been crying for a long time now, so naturally, nothing could possibly be more important than making sure he was okay.
"It's not your fault, Olly," he said, softly.
Olruggio, however, didn't seem to hear him, attention completely directed to their entwined hands, biting his own lip so hard it seemed as if it hurt him.
Despite the pain coursing through his body, and the familiar disgusting sensation of leaves and twigs erupting from his flesh, Qifrey could not help but smile, because Olruggio's was so warm. He could feel precisely where the coarse patches on the man's digits lay from where he gripped his pen throughout the years, as well as the burn marks there.
Qifrey, sadly, wished he had time to hold them more. To have the liberty to interlock their fingers, stroke Olruggio's upper palm with his thumb and plant kisses there.
"Hey," he started softly, as if talking any louder would scare the man away. He might not have the time he lost anymore, but he could very well use this little eternity they have left to squeeze his hand tightly. "Look at me."
Slowly, Olruggio looked up at him, glassy blue eyes meeting Qifrey's solitary, sad one. It struck him as absurd, because even after the years they knew each other, millions and millions of glances exchanged, the pain and adrenaline and absolute despair filling Qifrey right now, he still felt his breath be stolen away.
Olruggio's eyes, as always, were so impossibly blue. They were blue, and kind and tired and Qifrey felt he never adored a color more in his life. He would die a happy man, he decided, if this hue was the last thing he saw before his eye fell shut and he drew his final, last breath.
He did not believe in heaven, at least, not in the way the priests and the churches and the ordinary folk of Kalhn did. But as he stared into Olruggio's eyes, he thought he might understand the idea, just a little.
"It's not your fault," he repeated, squeezing Olruggio’s hand once more, if only to prove his point. "You did everything you could to help me, and for that, I could not repay you even if I laid out my entire life to you."
He meant it with his whole heart, too. Were it not for Olruggio — his dearest friend, a piece of his very soul, the only one to whom he would ever offer his heart without a moment's hesitation — he would never have known life could be so wonderful. Would never have stayed this long.
That, however, did not seem to be what the other wished to hear, if the way his face crumbled, stricken with what could only be called utter and complete devastation, was any indication.
"But it wasn't enough," Olruggio completed, sadly. "I'm sorry Qifrey. I should've done better or realized sooner. But I didn't and now…"
And now you are dying, he did not finish, choosing, rather, to avert his eyes.
"Olly," he whispered his name once more, gaze softening. The pain was ever-present on his body now, but he paid it no mind. He had suffered from it his entire life, surely he could suffer for a little while longer now. "Olly, Olly, Olly," he repeated, time and time again, letting his dearest's name fall from his lips like honey. Not yet content, he freed his hands from Olruggio's and brought them to the man's face, gently, tenderly, as if holding something precious, holding him there, keeping his gaze. "You are a walking bleeding heart, and for that, I adore you."
Olruggio's eyes widened, as if not expecting such words to ever come out of Qifrey's mouth. A perfectly expected reaction, considering the distance Qifrey had needed to create between them over the years. However, now, as his time was running out, Qifrey realized he did not pay it any mind anymore, relinquishing on being able to finally, finally, bask in Olruggio's light as he had always wanted, all these years.
With Olruggio's skin beneath his fingertips, Olruggio's warmth beside him, Olruggio's eyes fixed upon him, Olruggio so impossibly close, he found he hardly cared for anything else at the moment.
And here was the thing: Qifrey knew this was the end. He knew Olruggio knew it too. It loomed over them now, breathing down their necks, held at bay only by Qifrey's sheer willpower, like a hound halting its hunt only because it was on a leash.
And he knew, too, that he could not possibly look at Olruggio, who was gentle and warm and everything good this world had to offer, who would, hopefully, live far longer than this, until his hair greyed and his knees no longer quite worked, and tell him that he loved him.
Qifrey was a terribly selfish, greedy man. Even now, he should not be basking in a warmth that was never his to have, not after all the pain and the sins he had brought upon such a good soul. He knew he was not meant for loving. Or, ironically enough, perhaps he was meant for exactly that, except that he loved too much. He knew he should simply let the shiniest, prettiest star in the universe go and emit its light for others to see. Should tell Olruggio to forget about him when the sun came up, and live a nice life.
But stars above, in the end, even after everything pointing otherwise, he was just human too. He was human, and therefore, deeply flawed. Deeply tired, in pain.
Deeply afraid.
I love you, he did not say, but he uttered the closest words he could ever let himself say.
"Olly, can you hug me?"
The request came unsure, almost as if he was a child all over again. He didn't mean for his voice to waver like that, but it did anyway.
They sat in silence in the space between one heartbeat and the next, staring at each other. Qifrey, quietly breaking, as he had done all his life. And Olruggio, crying for him, as he too had done all his life.
Then Olruggio's arms were around him, holding him so tightly he almost couldn't breathe, though that could be either from the pain it spiked up or the simple fact he couldn't possibly breathe properly so close to Olruggio and his impossibly comforting scent.
It had been such a long time since they hugged each other. In fact, it was a long time since Qifrey let himself be embraced by anyone, Olruggio or not.
He took a shuddering breath, savoring how close they were pressed together. His head rested against Olruggio's neck, close enough that his scent enveloped him completely. Chest to chest. Heartbeat above heartbeat. Olruggio's beard faintly tickling the back of his neck, and—
Qifrey took another deep breath, letting himself be enveloped by Olruggio's warmth and Olruggio's scent and Olruggio's arms and it had been so long since the last time he had allowed himself this. His hands gripped the back of Olruggio's cloak as though he expected someone to appear at any moment and dare to pry them apart, as though he were ready to hold on close and never let go.
He squeezed him tighter, trying to convey everything he couldn't possibly say, finding himself basking in the realization that Olruggio was doing the same, as if he too, wouldn't be able to deal with them being apart either.
If only because they were so close now, as close as two people could be without fusing into one, he felt the tiny tremors running through Olruggio's body and into his own. Olruggio was trying to be quiet about it, the way he always tried to be quiet about the things that hurt him most. But Qifrey knew him too well for that.
"Olly," he started to say, regrettably starting to lean away, desperate to see his face. Except, when he did, he found himself alone.
His arms still were positioned awkwardly, as if he was holding air instead of someone. Qifrey looked uncomprehendingly at the empty space in front of him where once it held everything, and noticed, with no small amount of terror, the branches growing and growing and growing from his hands.
Something, tiny but stubborn inside of him, broke.
With a sharp gasp, he clutched both hands to his empty eye socket, where that familiar, dreadful sensation of something that should not exist came crawling forth. He screamed.
Qifrey dropped to his knees, both hands curling into fists, and struck the ground as he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
If one would dare to dissect it, under the rage and the pain and the helplessness, they would find the real reason beneath it all: utter and complete despair.
"What else do you want from me?" He screamed at no one, voice cracking. "You already took everything I could possibly have, what else could you possibly want?!"
Must he face such an amount of pain? Must he go through this again? Must his tiny hope already break? Must Olruggio be taken away from him even in his final moments? Why does he, of all the people, suffer such fate? Why? Why? Why?
In his heart of hearts, in the darkest corners of his mind, where he dared not to look too closely, too afraid he would find hope in there, he promised himself he would see this through to the end. If not for himself, if not for the girls, if not for the life he struggled so hard against and now loved, then for Olruggio.
Because Olruggio, Olruggio, Olruggio, his dearest friend, the kindest star in all the sky, was waiting for him at the end of this.
"I won't die here," he gritted out, biting his lip until it bled, summoning every ounce of strength he had left, willing the branches away. "I won't. I refuse to."
Once upon a time, when he knew no other feelings except loneliness and despair, when he was nothing but young and afraid, he would have welcomed such an ending. But that was before Olruggio. That was before knowing his warmth, his laughter, his love. The way his eyes shone with wonder.
That was before he had a home to go back to.
Even though he was a child who should have died years ago, nothing but a sprout that ought to have rotted beneath the sun, he refused to accept such a fate.
After all, Olruggio saved his life. How could he possibly throw it away?
"And you—," he screamed, the words tearing out of him as if they were knives, ready to cut him open, "You don't get to take him! The one good thing—"
His fists struck the ground again and again and again. It was a futile effort, for the ground did not crack, but his hands did. They split open and began to bleed, and still he did not care.
"You don't get to take anything else from me! I won't let you! I won't—"
—he was no longer lying down, screaming in pain, but confined in a place so small and so, so dark he couldn't see anything—
—and then—
—he was drowning, water filling his lungs where air should be and he hated it, hated it, hated it—
—but after that—
—oh, he knew what was happening now—
—he saw Olruggio's face obscured by the hat he had placed atop his head with his own trembling fingers, and it was sad, it was so sad, he never wanted to feel anything like this again—
—and it was empty—
—it occurred to him that it would've been better if he and Olruggio never met at all, but then, he would be alone—
—alone, alone, alone—
Qifrey woke up with a gasp.
It took him a moment, lying there on his bed with his clothes sticking to his skin and his heart thudding frantically in his chest, fangs bared enough to make his lips bleed slightly, to realize he had been dreaming.
Still, the realization brought him no comfort. He felt sick to his stomach, and even when he forced himself to sit upright, breathing proved to be a difficult task. Each breath coming out of him felt more painful than the one before, as if they were clawing their way out of his throat.
Trying to focus on anything other than his heart, which was beating so hard it was all he could hear, he dragged his eye around the room, only to find all his blankets thrown to the floor. He must have thrashed quite a lot in his sleep, if they were in such a state.
With trembling fingers, he brought his hands near his eye, to find, somehow, his vision worse than before. Everything was more blurry than he was used to (the light coming from the window certainly was not helping), until he remembered, with clarity, what was going on.
Right, he thought more calmly, trying to regain his bearings, it's been a year since we removed the Silverwood Tree.
Before he realized, an entire year passed and it was autumn once again. It still seemed hard to believe, so much that, sometimes, he would wake up like this and think he was still dreaming.
Now taking more elaborated breaths, he moved to rise from the bed, picking up his cloak that was resting nearby on a chair to wear it, gathering it close to his body.
A year, he thought again, in disbelief, as he wandered toward the door of his room, ready to go to the kitchen. He didn't know what time it was exactly, but he doubted he would be able to go back to sleep anyway. He could very well use the time to get a headstart on breakfast preparations.
Or that was his plan, until he saw a familiar head of messy black hair sticking out from the couch in the main living area.
Almost as if enchanted, he began to make his way toward the man lazily sprawled there, without thinking too much about it. Qifrey could see his dear friend turning to look at him, with what he assumed must be confusion. Unfortunately for him, from such a distance his face was too blurry for him to discern anything except the general place where his eyes, mouth, and nose should be.
He frowned at the uneasy feeling that rose deep inside his stomach.
Qifrey was, of course, terribly grateful for even being alive at this very moment. Not only that, but for reasons he couldn't even begin to understand, Olruggio still chose to stay right by his side even after everything he did came to light. However, he still found himself having to come to terms with the fact his eyesight not only would never improve, but soon might be nonexistent.
As it stood, he could only see things from very close, and even at that, it was blurry enough that he needed to ask for help sometimes, as much as it frustrated him.
The remembrance that soon he would no longer be able to see Olruggio's face properly sat bitterly in his stomach. He did not think there would ever come a day when he could accept that.
Despite everything, Olruggio still seemed to glow, the honeyed light from the windows falling upon his silhouette just so. But then, he always did, in Qifrey's eye. He always had. He always would.
Whether his displeasure was plain on his face, or his scent had turned sour, he could not say, but Olruggio straightened from where he lay, looking at him with what he assumed was worry, if the subtle shift in his vanilla scent was any indication.
"You alright?" Olruggio asked, "It’s unusual for you to wake up so early."
He sighed, tentatively rounding the couch until he reached the far end and sat down. Not quite touching Olruggio's feet, where they rested atop the furniture, but close enough that he could breathe in the man's scent. It was enough, embarrassingly so, to put him at least a little less on edge.
"I'm quite alright. I just had a nightmare, that's all."
That was another thing that had changed over the last year. He was trying to be more honest with his feelings, even though it was less about wanting to and more because he felt he owed everyone, and especially Olruggio, who had borne the brunt of his ugly lies, that much.
It was still a work in progress, the same way all the other things were, but he could say he was improving, little by little.
"Wanna talk about it?" his friend asked, and from where Qifrey sat, he could now see that the other man had some kind of dark fabric draped over him. A blanket, he guessed, one he often saw in the man's nest, if he wasn't mistaken. It had been a gift from the girls for his last birthday, stitched with fire sigils to keep the fabric always warm.
That alone made him smile. He doubted Olruggio even noticed, but it was almost as though he dragged a piece of his nest everywhere he went, always carrying a pillow or a blanket with him. It was impossibly endearing, but then again, Olruggio always was.
He leaned back into the couch, letting his gaze drift toward the ceiling, feeling slightly fidgety under Olruggio's undivided attention.
"I don't think so," he said, trying to erase the vision of Olruggio crying from his mind. He never wanted to see the man sunk so deep in despair ever again, if he could help it. "What about you? It's rare to see you outside your room before lunch."
Qifrey saw some movement from the corner of his eye, turning around to see his friend waving a pile of papers with his hands, pointedly ignoring the light jab.
"I've been feeling a little stuck on the latest contraption I'm working on, so I decided to come outside for a change of pace. I thought I might read and answer some of my client's letters while I'm at it, but urgh." He groaned, throwing his head back to emphasize the point. "I swear to you, some of these nobles don't have brains inside their heads. It's hollow in there, I tell you. Hollow."
Despite everything, that got a tiny laugh out of Qifrey. It was magic in its own right, how simply being near Olruggio could put him at ease.
"How so?" He asked, more than ready to indulge him.
"Listen to this," Olruggio moved toward the letters, picking up one of them at the back of the pile, before he cleared his throat and deepened his voice, mimicking the owner of the letter, "—I would like to know if an esteemed witch as yourself knows of a method by which a dwelling might be repositioned. Rotated, as it were. Turned upon its axis like a weathervane, so that one's chambers no longer suffer the indignity of facing the morning sun."
Finished, Olruggio stared at him, and said, with his voice as flat as it could be, "This duke here, which I worked with once and never again mind you, wants me to move his entire estate because the light of the sun wakes him up too early in the morning."
Qifrey found himself struggling more and more to contain his laughter. "Doesn't he use curtains?"
"He doesn't like them. Says they make his room feel smaller," he answered, dryly, "Qifrey, you are graceful in a way I can only dream to be. How the hell do I tell him, politely, to go screw himself?"
"I think this is a question for Tetia," he offered genuinely. If there was anyone who would be able to refuse a noble politely and still sound nice, it was her.
"...You might be right about that. I'll be sure to ask her about it later," Olruggio agreed easily, "but now you understand the sort of people I have to answer. And see, I just wrote back to two out of," he began to count the letters, which seemed infinite, and concluded with, "a lot."
Qifrey hummed. "Do you think you'll be able to finish before afternoon? The girls are running out of ink, so I was planning to take them to Kalhn to buy more. I would appreciate it if you could come with us."
Olruggio locked eyes with him, and Qifrey could see the man mentally analyzing whether all of this was a ploy to get him out of his room and, more importantly, out of the atelier. While it was partly for that reason, yes, the deeper reason was far more indulgent on Qifrey's part. He simply missed spending time like this with his best friend.
Whatever Olruggio had been weighing in his mind must have worked itself out, because he said, "I think so. I'll do my best." And then, so quietly Qifrey wasn't even sure it was meant for him to hear, "It's been a while since we last went out together."
"Wonderful! With that being said, I suppose I should leave you to it, then," he smiled at him, mood positively improving by the second. If it was because the invitation worked out or for simply being near Olruggio, he wouldn't know. Maybe a little bit of both.
He intended to get up and start working on breakfast, however, he stopped thinking all together when Olruggio's legs fell on top of his thighs.
"Do you need to leave now?" The man asked, looking at him with a faint red painting his cheeks. "It's way too early, surely you can stay here and distract me for a little bit longer."
Almost instinctively, his hands reached out to lay on top of the man's legs, as if now that the contact was initiated, he wouldn't be able to contain himself any longer. Nonetheless, he still looked at Olruggio with his eye slightly widening in surprise.
Blue eyes locked onto blue, and in the lowest depths of Olruggio's gaze, he saw the plea clear as day.
Stay.
"I can," he yielded quickly, as though there were anything in this world he would not give Olruggio when looked at with such warm eyes. "Anything for you," he added, more quietly and with far more sincerity than he had intended.
He felt more than he heard Olruggio's breath hitch.
"W-Well," Olruggio cleared his throat, turning his attention back to the letters in his hands. Qifrey took quiet satisfaction in the fact that he had yet to pull his legs from his grasp. "Sit down and relax, then. Stars know you need it."
"I will," he answered easily enough, leaning more completely into the couch and turning his attention to the warm contact Olruggio's legs provided.
The skin beneath Qifrey's palm was warm, solid, and utterly captivating.
With that in mind, Qifrey decided to test the waters.
His fingers, which were initially resting flat and nervously on top of one them, curled ever so slightly. When no protest came except for a quiet, measured exhale from his companion, he let his hand slide a fraction of an inch higher. Then lower, until it became a slow, tentative stroke along the outside of Olruggio's thigh, going underneath the soft nightwear he was wearing.
Qifrey looked toward Olruggio's direction, to see if this was surpassing some kind of boundary, but except for the slight tensing of his leg beneath his touch, he didn't look up.
Taking this as permission, he let his thumb trace a small circle over the crest of Olruggio's knee, then swept it down the slope of his calf as tenderly as he could, as though this were part of the body of some deity and deserved all the reverence he could muster. When his fingers reached high enough he could feel the beginning of his thighs, he paused, then slid back up with more pressure, his palm pressing into the muscle.
Again, except for the leg beneath his palm tensing, Olruggio didn't say anything indicating him to stop. Feeling more and more empowered with this knowledge, while his heart hammered against his ribs, so loud he couldn't possibly hear anything else, he began to knead gently, letting his thumb work in slow arcs, fingers curling to massage the meat of Olruggio's calf through the thin cloth.
He didn't know how much time they spent like this, with Olruggio going through his letters and Qifrey massaging his legs, but he knew he was going into dangerous territory as his mouth started to grow dry.
Suddenly, the distance between them was too much. There was a strange kind of energy buzzing right beneath his skin, itching, wanting, desperately so, urging him to close the few inches between them and press himself to the other's body, if only so they might never part again.
Qifrey wondered, momentarily, if this bottomless longing was plain as day on his face, there for the world to see.
"Olruggio," he whispered, feeling the back of his neck growing hot. Hesitantly, he started to let go completely of the legs on top of his lap, if only to stop himself from doing anything stupid.
The man in question hummed to show he was listening, eyes leaving whatever type of atrocious request he was reading to meet his once more.
Qifrey spent a few seconds simply looking at him, bathed in the sunlight, dressed in his comfortable silks, wearing the tired expression of one too many sleepless nights. He wished he could be near. Near enough to count his eyelashes. To study his face completely and brand it on his memory, where he could never lose it.
Except, he had spent an entire lifetime doing exactly that already. Even if his vision was failing him now, he knew Olruggio. Knew his face, his skin, his warmth. He knew the straight line of his nose, the faint rosy tone of his cheeks, the line of his jaw, the way his eyes grew lighter or darker depending on the light.
He knew, the way he knew how to write his own name with his eye closed and how to breathe to live, that he would always remember Olruggio's features, so familiar and impossibly dear to him, no matter what became of his vision.
For a moment, while Olruggio grew more and more restless due to his silence, he considered not asking what he had meant to ask, if only to keep this moment unbroken. A moment he knew, even before it had passed, that he would hold tenderly in his heart.
Yet he must.
Ask him, his mind whispered.
He took a deep breath.
"Do you not resent me for what I did to you?" Qifrey said at last.
Olruggio stiffened.
"What you did to me?"
"Yes, I…" He sighed, leaning further into the couch, as if a little distance might make him physically unable to continue his line of thought. Unfortunately, it was a conversation he needed to start sooner or later, if only to quiet his bleeding heart. "I mean what I did to you, all those years. Not only the memory erasure spell, but all the lies I told to you and all the suffering I made you go through." Qifrey's expression turned cold. Not at Olruggio, never at Olruggio, but at himself and his own actions. "I can't understand how you even stand to look at me, after everything I did. Why you stay."
He had always been a coward, in his own way, so it was no surprise that, when he felt the searching gaze from beside him, he fixed his attention on his lap, refusing to meet Olruggio's eyes and see whatever was swimming beneath those currents.
"I don't resent you."
Olruggio answered easily, with such certainty, that it made Qifrey turn to look at him, surprised. And oh, if the sight of Olruggio's small smile was not enough to drive him to his knees.
"Maybe I should," he added, shrugging. "But I don't."
"Not even a little?" Qifrey asked, shocked.
"Not even a little."
It sounded too good to be true. Perhaps Olruggio was too good to be true. Too good for this world. Too good for him.
"How can you not?" he pressed on, disbelief bleeding into his voice, making it crack slightly at the end of the sentence.
Olruggio set the letters down and shifted on the couch, lifting his legs from where they lay on Qifrey's lap, turning so he could sit beside him, leaving only the blanket draped over him as the last shield between them.
There was something in his expression that made Qifrey's chest ache. It wasn’t pity, because pity required arrogance, and Olruggio was the least arrogant person he knew. It was something softer, more stubborn.
"Because when I look at you, I don't see the parts of yourself you seem to dislike so fervently. Or your mistakes," Olruggio said slowly. "I only see my best friend."
He turned a shy, embarrassed smile toward him. It was small, barely there, but the fact that even now he was choosing to look at him like that flooded Qifrey with relief beyond words.
For so long, trapped in his own little hell on earth, he had fantasized about what the future might bring once he rid himself of the curse. Rarely had his imagination been kind to him. In fact, none of the outcomes he created alone in his room came close to this: still living in their atelier, with apprentices he loved so much it sometimes hurt, and Olruggio at his side, despite everything.
But maybe, he was beginning to realize, he had been foolish to imagine such unkind futures. After all, Olruggio could be many things, but he was not cruel. He would never do any of the things Qifrey had once feared he would.
"Rather than those bad memories you hold so close to your heart," Olruggio continued, "I only remember how we used to run away from the Grand Hall together when we were children, or the months we spent restructuring the atelier. The birthdays you spent with me. All the spells we created together."
Olruggio's smile grew bigger, fonder, as he let himself get lost in the memories they shared together.
"You remember my birthday and that I dislike spicy food. You've helped me when I was lonely, and you've made me feel, time and time again, like someone far beyond my secondary gender, despite what everyone says." He continued softly, "This might sound awful coming from me, but while the time we had together was painful, and caused you a great deal of sorrow, it was also very dear to me. So dear that the bad parts don't matter to me in the slightest."
He didn't know what kind of expression he was making, but perhaps there was something in it, because Olruggio finished softly, "I doubt you believe me. But if you don't, let me make one thing clear." He turned to lock eyes with Qifrey. "If I had the chance to go back in time, I would do it all over again, if it means having you right next to me like this, at the end of everything."
Qifrey opened his mouth, but try as he might, nothing came out. For a man who had spent decades choosing his words, carefully hiding every part of himself he could not possibly show, he found himself utterly stripped of them now.
"You're a fool," Qifrey said at last, breathless, but there was no bite to it. If anything, it came out fond.
Olruggio huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. "So I've been told. By you. Many times, in fact."
An early morning breeze drifted through, carrying Olruggio's scent with it. Safe, safe, safe, his body seemed to say, and the shredded remains of Qifrey's anguish went with it. The heartbreak was still there, and the constant undercurrent of fear as well, but underneath it all, the exhaustion began to settle in.
"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he admitted, in the end.
"Eh, I would say we deserve each other," Olruggio replied, his hand coming to rest on the back of his neck, a nervous gesture Qifrey had seen many times and never failed to find incredibly endearing. "In fact, I was the one who thought you resented me until now."
The idea was so absurd, so absolutely backwards, that it took him longer than he cared to admit to even understand it, let alone answer.
"What?" was all he managed to say, almost shouting it in his shock.
"Why do you look so surprised?" Olruggio said, looking at him as if he were the strange one. "No matter how you see it, the only reason you ended up suffering for so long was because of me." He drew the hand from his neck and folded both into his lap, interlacing his fingers. "I wouldn't blame you if you hated me."
"Never," Qifrey said, so quickly he could not even think about it. Not that he needed to. The mere notion of holding anything close to hate for Olruggio was laughable. "Olly, I could never hate you. If I have one thing to offer you, it's my deepest gratitude."
Olruggio looked at him, deeply confused. "Now I'm afraid I'm the one not following."
He laughed softly at his friend's astonished expression. As the conversation flowed on, relief began to settle over him, making him feel giddy with joy. A part of him wondered felt stupid for not initiating this earlier. It would’ve made his life easier.
"While I do see why you would think that, I'm afraid you have some things unclear on your end. Because the only reason I wanted to be alive in the first place was because of you."
From the moment he was first saved from drowning, brought back by the warmest embrace he had ever known, it had been impossible for him to unlearn Olruggio's warmth. Living on seemed worth doing, if only to see him smiling so beautifully, so brightly, that it outshone everything else, even the parts of himself he desperately despised.
He continued, not minding Olruggio's stunned silence, "From the moment we met, I remember thinking, ah, if the world has people like him in it, I wouldn't mind struggling a little longer."
Olruggio, never one to react well to compliments, flushed a deep, unmistakable red that started at his cheeks and spread all the way to the tips of his ears. Such a sight was impossible to ignore, and so, shamelessly, Qifrey let himself watch, fascinated and achingly enamored, as Olruggio's gaze darted away.
"You can't just say things like that," Olruggio muttered, but there was no real complaint behind it. He sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair, finally turning to look at him again. "Guess we're both idiots, huh."
Qifrey hummed, considering. "I guess so."
In answer, the black-haired witch groaned, unmistakably feeling as light as Qifrey felt, because he let himself lay down on the couch again, clearly letting the tension flow out of him.
As Qifrey watched him with a smile on his face, Olruggio seemed to turn an idea over in his mind, biting the inside of his cheek.
"Hey, Qifrey," he started, lifting the blanket. "What do you think about joining me for a quick nap? This day has already been too much for me, and the sun barely rose yet."
"Join you?" he repeated, unsure if he had heard right.
"Yeah. I'm cold."
Qifrey, who had run from such situations his entire life, who always expected the familiar sting of pain when offered things like this, who still flinched when someone touched him without warning, said, not caring to hide how eager he sounded at the idea of sleeping next to Olruggio, "Yes."
Not needing any further prompting, Olruggio lifted the blanket a little higher, as if to say, what are you waiting for? and Qifrey took the invitation greedily, closing the distance between them at once and settling on top of Olruggio with a gracelessness that would have embarrassed him in any other moment but this one.
When his weight settled against Olruggio's chest, something in him simply gave. His body went limp almost immediately, and he had to keep himself from rumbling in contentment when Olruggio's arms came up to wrap around him, in the exact same way he had seen him do with the girls many, many times.
Satisfied with their position, Olrugio proceeded to pull the blanket over them both, tucking it carefully, allowing Qifrey to be enveloped on all sides by nothing but warmth and Olruggio's heavenly scent. It was home, if home were a person. It was safe, if safe had a heartbeat that Qifrey could feel thrumming steadily beneath his ear.
Stars above, he thought, eyelids already growing heavier with each passing second. He had not realized how tired and tense he was until he was embraced by Olruggio.
"You are not cold at all," Qifrey mumbled, voice muffled against Olruggio's chest, the words already coming out slurred.
Olruggio's chest shook with a quiet laugh. "I know. But you were, right?"
His tired mind took a while to notice what the answer implied, but when it did, the realization settled over him like another blanket, warm and soft.
Because Olruggio was always like that, wasn't he? Noticing the small things about people that anyone else would let slip by, tucking them away in some corner of his heart until the moment they were needed rose again.
Oh, Qifrey thought, the word seemingly too small for the enormity of what he was feeling. Oh, I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me.
It struck him then, as it had a thousand times before, in a thousand different moments, just how much he loved this man. It filled him to the brim, overflowing, spilling into every corner of his being until there was no part of him left untouched. It was in his lungs, in his blood, in the marrow of his bones, to the point that it surprised and terrified him in equal measure how much of it occupied him.
The sun rose, and with it, their little living room was bathed in honeyed gold. There, tucked beneath the blanket, drifting off to sleep while he listened to Olruggio grumble under his breath as he returned his attention to his letters, Qifrey let himself finally relax properly, enveloped by the warmest embrace he had ever known and the sound of his girls upstairs getting ready reaching his ears.
Just before he closed his eyes for the last time, Qifrey was overcome by the sudden need to show Olruggio how much he loved him. It was instinctive, desperate, until it filled him completely.
With a newfound courage that had nothing to do with reason and everything to do with love, Qifrey decided, right there, with Olruggio's heartbeat steady beneath his ear, that perhaps it was time. Time to court Olruggio the way he had dreamed of since he was ten years old, falling hopelessly in love with the brightest star in all the universe.