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The first time Qifrey had taken Olruggio's cloak as he returned home to their atelier had been just after they moved in, before the whole structure was even restored: back when their home had been the sole watertight room that later became the living room, just a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor before the hearth to serve as a place for them to crash in between long days of spellwork and sweaty construction to make the rest of the building habitable.
They'd run out of food because they were both too absorbed in the reconstruction to pay attention to the more immediate needs of their own bodies— which was typical for Olruggio, when he was deep in a project, but Qifrey held it against himself that he'd let it slip his mind too. Olly had volunteered to fly to Kahln and grab some groceries for the next few days, only for the heavy clouds threatening rain to start pouring barely a clockmark after he left. When he returned, he was soaked to the skin, but the basket he held had a water-repelling seal inscribed on the top of it.
"You could have kept yourself dry too," Qifrey said, mildly horrified as he lifted the dripping cloak from Olruggio's shoulders and made a face.
"Eh, not worried about me," Olly said with a shrug. His white, loose shirt was translucent and plastered to his skin. "I can dry, the bread less so."
Qifrey swallowed and hung the wet, heavy fabric from one of the pegs they'd installed by the door, a problem to be handled later. "Let me help, at least."
"Aw, Qif, are you willin' to wear my rings?" Olruggio teased, handing over the basket. "They're on the mantel, I'll stay here and drip."
By the time Qifrey got back, scant moments later, with the link rings on both his thumbs, Olruggio had pushed his wet hair back from his face and folded his arms over his chest, trying to limit the splash radius. "Hold your arms out, it'll work faster," Qifrey said, and aimed the drying spell at his soaked best friend. He'd thought forever, or as close to forever as mattered, that Olly's magic was the kindest and warmest he'd ever felt, but didn't think often how infrequently that warmth and kindness was spent on Olruggio himself. Seeing the way Olly's face went soft and relaxed under the warmth of the spell made Qifrey ache deep in his chest. It wasn't fair that all the warmth went in the wrong direction; if anyone in the world deserved to feel good, it was Olly, who thought of himself almost never and spent all his time and effort making things to ease others' lives.
"I really gotta make more of those," Olruggio murmured, shaking his arms out as the clinging fabric of his sleeves dried and went flowy once again. "Kinda thing every house could use, huh?"
"Let's just worry about our house for now," Qifrey said, only a little bit disappointed when the translucent fabric went opaque again and the mouthwatering suggestion of Olly's pink nipples vanished. "Are you all dry?"
"Yup. Toss 'em here, I'll get my cloak."
"No, you go deal with our dinner, I can handle your cloak." Qifrey indulged himself by watching Olruggio walk away before he turned the rings on the sopping velvet cloak until it was as warm and inviting as its owner.
Something about the sight of their cloaks hung side by side, Olly's black-and-blue and heavy, Qifrey's smoke-grey and much lighter, still struck Qifrey as correct, the way things should always be, even though their home was more dream than reality yet, even though the creaking pain of the silverwood inside him retaliated against every thought he had about their home and their future and all the other things Qifrey wanted badly enough to risk his life to have.
Shaking his head, Qifrey slipped the rings into his pocket and went to see what Olruggio had brought home from the marketplace.
As the seasons and months went on, as their run-down shepherd's hut became a full house and then a home, as Olruggio went out to install commissions and came home days or weeks later, it became a recurring indulgence for Qifrey to divest him of his cloak upon his return. He couldn't kiss Olly to welcome him home, but he could take that heavy weight from his shoulders and hang it beside Qifrey's by the door, a reminder of their place in the world at each others' side and in this home they'd made together.
Usually the comfort of the little ritual was offset by the condition in which Olruggio returned— laden down with gifts but also with bags under his eyes deep enough to carry those offerings, scruffy with the self-neglect that typified his last days on an assignment spending as many of his waking hours as he could making improvements to commoners' areas instead of nobles', either too hungry to sleep or too tired to eat. Qifrey was getting good at telling which was which, whether to lead Olly into the kitchen for whatever Qifrey had prepared in anticipation of his return, or right to his workshop and into his bedroom, half the time having to pull the shoes off Olly's feet when he collapsed face-first into his bed.
After Qifrey's abrupt departure and equally abrupt return to the atelier, he didn't ask how Olruggio had gotten along without him— easy to see at a glance that not well was the answer. When Olruggio's hands went to the clasp of Qifrey's cloak, easing it off his shoulders and hanging it where it belonged besides Olly's on the wall, Qifrey knew that if he wasn't forgiven, he was at least accepted back into their home.
(When Olly wrapped his arms around Qifrey and didn't let go, wordlessly squeezing him as if to prove he was there, that was what made Qifrey sure that he was forgiven. Even though he didn't deserve to be.)
Life in the atelier changed after Qifrey took his first apprentice; Olruggio kept himself in his workshop more often than not, seemingly wary of the tiny girl Qifrey had taken in, while Qifrey was hardly seen without her, always teaching something— if not the art of magic, then out in the garden or in the kitchen, or wandering the Downs to show her a landscape entirely different from the one she'd known growing up as a librarian's daughter.
Agott was quiet and solemn for her age, fiercely determined to learn as much as she could as soon as possible. "She reminds me of how you used to be when we met— prickly as a chasenut, proud and stubborn," Olruggio teased Qifrey after he'd put the girl to bed one night. "I half expect her to bite any time I come near— remember how you used to snap your teeth at me when I caught you by surprise?"
"That's not fair to her," Qifrey said, laughing at the memory. "I was feral, she's just intense." Olly laughed along, pulling his sleeve back to display the crescent scar that still remained from the one time Qifrey had actually sunk teeth into him— not the only scar he'd collected because of Qifrey, but the only one made with his teeth, at least. The sight of that mark always sent a mixed feeling through Qifrey, equal parts shame and shamefully strong possessiveness.
The second and third apprentices came not long after, because as difficult as Agott could be, she didn't make Qifrey nearly worried enough to offset the domestic comfort of the atelier. Tetia was trying in a completely different way, so full of bubbly energy that she exhausted Qifrey long before the day's end. Richeh was so withdrawn at first that Qifrey wondered if she'd let herself be taught, or if she had only asked to apprentice him because he was the first adult that had recognized the terrible plight she'd been in under her former master, thawing slowly as the safety of Qifrey's atelier became clear: not only the patient and gentle nature of her new master, but the warm and gruff presence of the Watchful Eye, a promise that no malfeasance would be tolerated here.
Still, the homecoming ritual that Qifrey had established was maintained: Olruggio would come home after a long assignment, tired and laden down with trinkets; the girls would take the packages and parcels to tear through them looking for gifts they could claim, and Qifrey would ease the cloak from Olly's shoulders and murmur welcome in his ear. The home they'd made was filled with life and laughter, enough love to keep them all afloat in it even despite squabbles and arguments. Qifrey walked his careful line between deliberate, profound discomfort and how much he loved his life as it was now: brilliant children to teach, beautiful home made better every year with Olruggio's constant tinkering, best friend not always present but always glad to return to the safe haven they'd so deliberately constructed.
Then Qifrey met Coco, and that careful balance was upended. The quest for the Brimhats that he'd relinquished at the Tower of Tomes was resurrected in full, the negotiated household that he and Olruggio had both consented to suddenly and unilaterally altered. Qifrey played dirty against Olly's dismay when he found Coco on his return, making threats he knew his best friend would fold under; Olruggio kept his cloak wrapped around himself for that conversation full of subtext the girl couldn't understand, a clear signal of how pissed off he was by Qifrey's manipulation, even as he conceded to Qifrey's demand to harbor the girl from the Knights Moralis.
That Olruggio found himself defending Coco not even a day after that awkward conversation solidified her place in the atelier without Qifrey having to press the issue— though his focus was fully on the new lead on the Brimhats held in Coco's seemingly-innocent ink bottle.
Life seemed to pass at a pegasus' clip after that— illness, examination, injury, the change of seasons, the delight of Silver Eve festivities and the terror of the Valence Leech that ended them— one thing after another that made the days race by, Harvest into Snowfall, until the cloak Qifrey helped off Olruggio's shoulders was fur-lined against the snow, soft under his fingers and warm where it lay against Olly's neck.
This time, it was Qifrey who was leaving, bringing the girls and the dragon eggs they'd found to warmer climes, and Olruggio who stayed behind to do his dutiful work for the towns around their home. Some small, greedy part of Qifrey hoped that Olly would be home when they returned, a rare chance to receive the affection of the homecoming ritual himself, but that desire was quickly forgotten in the excitement and wonder to be found where dragons were all around him.
As it turned out, Olruggio was able to join them in the Dragonpass Isles after pushing himself to his limits yet again to get all of his charitable work done, which gave him plenty of opportunities to tease Qifrey about his lifelong obsession with dragons in front of the girls. That also meant they returned home together, somewhat worse for wear after their adventures despite escaping the cold of Snowfall, Qifrey in the roughest shape of all of them.
"Girls," Qifrey said, and found himself at a loss for words when four pairs of bright eyes turned to him. They were so smart, so eager to learn and to try new things, and growing up so fast. "Can I trust you to put yourselves to bed tonight?"
"No problem, Master!" Tetia chirped, snapping off a dragonrider's salute she'd become overly enamored with in their brief time in the Isles.
"Bed," Richeh said longingly, clearly exhausted enough to go there directly.
"We'll be all right," Coco said, looking at Qifrey with concern in her gaze. "You need rest as much as we do, Master."
"Don't worry about us," Agott added, and turned a stern glare on Olruggio, to the surprise of both adults. "Will you make sure he goes to bed too?"
"I'm on it," Olruggio agreed gravely. He turned to Qifrey with the hint of a smile, his hands going to the clasp of Qifrey's cloak. "What's the world coming to when I'm the one makin' sure you rest?"
"Unprecedented," Qifrey murmured, swallowing against the writhe of roots inside him as Olly gently lifted away his cloak to hang it where it belonged. "My apologies for making it necessary."
"None of that, now." Before Qifrey could attempt to return the favor, Olly shrugged his own cloak off and hung it up. "Will you go willingly or do I need to herd you to bed?" He didn't wait for an answer before putting one hand at the small of Qifrey's back and steering him through the atelier to his bedroom.
Qifrey expected to be left at the door, but Olruggio apparently took his orders seriously, following Qifrey in and nudging the door closed behind them. "Are you going to tuck me in?" Qifrey asked lightly.
"I'm going to make sure you're not worse off than you're lettin' on," Olruggio said, the amusement gone out of his face. "I saw how hard that dragon's tail hit you yesterday, don't think I don't see you tryin' to accommodate your pain."
"…I can't get anything by you, can I," Qifrey sighed. At least this display of Olruggio's discernment wouldn't require a use of the memory seal.
"Don't know why you even try," Olly said. "Now, are you gonna be stubborn, or will you let me help?" His hands came up to Qifrey's neck, thumbs stroking the braided collar.
On the one hand, Qifrey really did need Olruggio's help tonight, the ache where the dragon's tail lashed against his arm and back making it painful to raise his left hand higher than his waist. On the other hand, it was dangerous to let Olly do something that had started so many of the dreams that Qifrey could hardly let himself think about after waking, something he wanted so intensely— and so self-destructively. He breathed in slowly and tilted his head back, allowing the help without verbally accepting it.
"Wonder of wonders," Olruggio teased quietly, peeling Qifrey's collar open one lace at a time, his gaze focused on where his fingers worked the shirt open. "Not gonna bite me for the temerity, are you?"
"Don't rule it out completely," Qifrey murmured, resolutely not watching as Olly undid him.
"I'll accept the risk. Lean forw— ah, wait, this shirt's got those stupid straps, don't it." Olly clicked his tongue and went for Qifrey's belt instead. "Never understood your fashion sense, or lack thereof."
"Hey," Qifrey protested weakly. The last thing he wanted was to explain his complicated daily wear as one more constant irritation to keep the silverwood in check.
"Don't know who you think you gotta protect your virtue from," the teasing grew more relentless, and Qifrey's cheeks went red. "Only me here, hardly a threat to you."
"You have no idea," Qifrey said, and felt Olruggio's hands still on the straps of his white robe.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hurt in his voice, enough to make Qifrey look down and meet his gaze. "You think I'd ever try anythin' against your will?"
"It's my willpower at question, not yours."
Mouth half-open in confusion, Olruggio searched Qifrey's face. "Qifrey, if you don't know by now that I'm yours for the asking…"
"Olly, please, can we get this over with?" Qifrey begged. "I really am tired."
Olruggio's lips pressed into a thin line, but his hands were no less gentle as he eased Qifrey's robe over his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He went to one knee to work on the straps around Qifrey's thighs. "You know, when I inevitably lose my mind, it's gonna be your fault," he said, voice strained in an attempt at levity. "It's so hard to know where I stand with you any more. Used to be we were close as could be, but now you don't trust me, haven't in years…" He pressed his forehead against Qifrey's hip and said, "You have no idea what I'd give for you to let me back in."
Qifrey bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, not because he needed the additional pain but because anything he said would be the wrong thing. I do trust you was a demonstrable lie to add to the lies he already told, I want you closer was the truth that would doom him, do you think I'm going to be sane by the time you strip me was foolishly provocative in multiple ways he couldn't afford.
After the silence dragged on, Olruggio scoffed and pulled back. "Yeah. Well. I'm too stupid to stop tryin', so you'll just have to put up with me until you're sick of me, I'm afraid." He undid the other strap quickly and pulled the shirt up as he stood again. "Lean forward."
Qifrey did as he was bidden, letting Olly pull the shirt over his head and off without jarring his bad arm, and folded both arms around his middle. "I'll never be sick of you," he said, voice raw with all the things he couldn't speak. "I'm sorry. You deserve— better."
"Better," Olruggio repeated, thick with irony. "I deserve better, but you won't give it to me." Suddenly, he reached up, hand curling around the back of Qifrey's neck, and pulled him close, forehead to forehead. "What did I do wrong, Qifrey? What are you punishin' me for that I don't know I've done?"
"You're not at fault, Olly."
"Then what did you do that I'm bein' punished for?"
That struck home, forcing a gasp from Qifrey's lips he couldn't hide. "I'd tell you if I could, please believe me."
"Huh," Olruggio said. "I know when you're lyin' to me, you know, I can always tell. But that wasn't a lie." He pulled back, his face flushed and his eyes wounded. "How stupid am I, when you lie to my face every day and all I want is for you to trust me with the truth again?"
"What can I give you besides the truth that will make it worth staying beside me?" Qifrey asked in desperation.
Olruggio's flushed face went pale, and he turned away. "You're an idiot if you think I need to be enticed to stay, after all these years at your side. Or you're cruel, if you think I could be… bought, like that." He swallowed against the tears roughening his throat. "D'you need my help further tonight? Or can you manage without me?"
Qifrey was in tears himself, glad that Olruggio had turned before they started to fall. "You can go," he whispered. "Thank you for always helping me."
Another scoff, and Olly paused with his hand on the doorknob, not looking back. "You know, there's nothin' I'd hold back from you, never has been. And I am an idiot, lettin' you lie to me like this. But I'd rather be your idiot than not yours at all." He shrugged one shoulder. "Good night, Qifrey. Sleep in tomorrow, I'll make sure the girls get fed." Olruggio slipped through the door, pulling it silently closed behind him.
"Good night, Olly," Qifrey said, too late, and fell into his bed with no care for his injured side. Between the hurt of his body and the agony of being the weapon wielded against the heart of the person he loved best, it was almost as much pain as he deserved, enough to silence the seed within him for another lonely night.