Work Text:
The atelier still smells like fresh wood when Qifrey drags Olruggio over the threshold, his fingers locked around his and his head full of ideas.
"Just picture it, Olly. Kitchen there, and this—" Qifrey pauses, his free hand pressed flat against a closed door. He's achingly hopeful, already braced for a rejection Olruggio could never fully inflict on him. "—This would be your room."
Sunlight spills through the large window, curling branches reflected across the floor.
"Mine?" Olruggio pulls Qifrey with him as they step inside, before he hugs Qifrey close, trying to imprint what he can't say. Not yet.