Archive of Our Own

Fairness is a value that Qifrey has come to understand—has pretty much understood from the moment he woke up buried alive—will never apply to him. It’s something that no one will get all of the time, but he will never even come close to grasping. It shouldn’t be so surprising when it happens. Something about this instance feels particularly silly to him, though. 

Unfair is being judged for his unforgivable sin of having his eye plucked from his socket and left with weaker vision for the rest of his life. Unfair is roots growing underneath his skin because two whole people deign to love him. Unfair is a spell to his best friend’s head and a smile that will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Unfair, put plainly, is life and death. A dance should not be so easily tossed into the same category.

But he sits outside, knees tucked to his chest as he tries to stave off the cold, alone and miserable and angry with Olruggio because the whole situation is just plain unfair. Well… perhaps not angry with Olruggio. After all, anyone with eyes can tell that Olruggio is only doing this because Qifrey so cruelly and recklessly pushed him to. Even Qifrey, as miserable as he feels, can admit to that. 

Witches love a party. It’s an excuse to show off magic their, to gossip over terrible punch, and, most importantly, to dance. The Great Hall hosts a few dances that are spread throughout the year, but the weekend of the harvest moon is the grandest of all. The fact that it lasts two days is probably its biggest draw. The first night is for anyone and everyone, apprentice and master alike, and hardly anyone can fend off the infectious excitement that courses through the dance hall. Even Qifrey has his fun… for the first hour or two anyway. The second day they hold a banquet for the masters that their apprentices are not to attend, though Olruggio once was allowed in the room to do a proper star of Ghodrey show. They didn’t invite him the next year, probably because he very poorly snuck Qifrey and Alaira in through the back, but they ate their weight in prism lemon pie that night so there wasn’t much regret. 

The second night was hardly important, though. It’s that first one that has become something of a tradition for Qifrey and Olruggio. They have their fun for about an hour, drinking the terrible punch and chatting with Alaira and whoever is on her arm for the night, and sometimes there is even a little dancing if Qifrey has not already gotten to the point where he wishes harm upon everyone in the room. He thinks there’s a difference between party loud and rude thoughtlessness, and half of the witches his age don’t seem to know the difference. Unfortunately half the witches Beldaruit’s age don’t seem to know either. Once Qifrey forgets how to smile and begins to speak in quick, clipped succession, Olly sneaks them off to the woefully guarded windowway and takes him to watch the stars. It’s a nice ritual that Qifrey cut off at the head this year. He had to.

Sometimes he wonders if it was the Brimmed Caps or the Tower of Tomes that took more from him. He knows it makes no sense, but the question burns at him anyway. The days of ignorant bliss feel like a lifetime away, when he knows it was just three months ago he could live without fear of comfort. The occasional pain of course, especially when Olruggio was involved, but it was like not knowing what was wrong with him dulled the Silverwood’s reaction. Now Qifrey must dull himself. 

There are still some kinks to work out. It’s not as if his personality completely changed overnight, but he’s certainly confused Olly with his actions in the past few months. Nothing big, nothing major, though every time Olruggio asks, “Qifrey, really, are you alright?” it sends a sickening surety to the pit of his stomach that Qifrey will have to take his memories again. It always makes him straighten up, panic that turns into kindness or good humor, and he manages to steer them away from the awful fact that Qifrey used to talk to Olruggio, used to confide in him everything, and he does not do that anymore. He cannot do that anymore. There will be no comfort, there will be no kindness, and so help him, there will be no reason for Olruggio to lose another piece of himself. Promise or no promise, Qifrey doesn’t know if he’ll be able to live with himself if it happens again.

Which brings him to the dance, and all of the many terrifying, dangerous reasons that it cannot, under any circumstances, happen. He knows how happy that night makes him. He knows how happy he is in Olruggio’s arms, dancing and laughing and drinking. And perhaps he could handle it considering he already knows exactly how the night will end, except this time he doesn’t. Because before towers and trees and memory sigils, there was a very obvious track the two of them were taking. They had not yet spoken on it, outside of the fact that both of their futures were planned with the other in mind, and the closest to acting on it were shy smiles when one caught the other staring; not mention the many, many nights Qifrey very blatantly pretended magic didn’t exist so that curling into Olruggio’s side was the only possible solution to the cold.

Despite this, or because of this, it was something they both knew was coming. A trajectory they were happy to let take its time because they would be at each other’s side regardless. Of course they both wanted it then, wanted it sooner, wanted it as soon as the words popped in either head, but Olruggio would wait for Qifrey and Qifrey was waiting for the day he didn’t feel suffocated at the idea of such happiness.

And now it will never come. He’s thankful for the fact they waited. Until he’s not. Sometimes he so bitterly wishes the two had just taken the plunge a year ago, two years ago, the day they met. They would be ruined for it, almost certainly, by tree roots and fading memories, but the peace they have now will slowly chip away to ruin regardless. Qifrey can see it in every door he must slam in Olly’s face. So what if he wishes he had gotten just one kiss before he knew? It is childish, he knows, and he sighs into the cold of the night, watching his breath rise above him. He can no longer afford to be childish.

One could say his fit in the Naakiwan Downs is childish, but he’s just trying to be sensible about all of this. It was sensible of him that when Olruggio mentioned the two of them going to the harvest dance together—mentioned, not asked, just spoke it into the world like it was a truth rather than a possibility—Qifrey said, “Oh, I wasn’t planning on going. I never have enough fun to outweigh the boredom.”

He knew, because he intended it to do so, that this hurt Olruggio’s feelings. Immediately he wanted to take it back, confess that yes, of course he would have fun, he always has fun with Olruggio, but if they go to this stupid thing together now of all times, Qifrey is almost certainly going to die. Three months in, it is already so exhausting to weigh whether or not having fun with his best friend that day will actually kill him. How is the rest of their lives supposed to go?

With this in mind, he did not take the words back. He let Olly hurt, and acted like his confusion was unwarranted. Olruggio badgered him about it for nearly ten minutes with things such as, “Qifrey, we can leave the second you want to” and “we had so much fun last year, what are you talking about?” until Qifrey couldn’t take it anymore and very candidly changed the subject to the spell Olly had been working on for nearly three weeks straight. That hurt him too, but he allowed Qifrey to break his heart.

It was made worse later in the day when a sweet girl came up to them and asked Olly if he would like to accompany her to the dance, and he turned her down kindly but surely. This would have been fine, but after the girl disappeared Qifrey poked at both of their miseries by suggesting, “Well, I’m not going, so you might as well take someone.” 

Olruggio looked at him like he’d lost his mind, then asked, “Have you lost your mind?” It turned into an unfortunately public argument, where Qifrey didn’t know why he kept pushing and Olruggio really didn’t know why he kept pushing. It ended with Qifrey spitting that he had something he needed to do for Beldaruit, and Olly knew it was a lie but allowed it because he clearly needed space as well. Qifrey replayed the hurt on Olruggio’s face for the rest of the night, knowing it would be quite some time before his own pain resurfaced.

The next day they saw each other again, and Olruggio tried to act like everything was fine, but Qifrey could tell he was wary. He was right to be. Qifrey did it all again. He didn’t start the interaction with a fight, but as soon as it was apparent that Olruggio had forgiven him for his abhorent behavior the day prior, as soon as the relief came that his best friend didn’t even require an apology to forgive him, Qifrey felt the slightest twinge behind his eye which sparked a vicious anger that he should have just swallowed.

Instead, he pushed.

He’s never known himself to be so annoying. Even at his worst, he’s a bit of a nag, but he only really gets like that when Olly is obsessing over a spell and hasn’t slept, or eaten, or bothered to talk to Qifrey for a week straight. So it certainly shocked his best friend when he would not let the whole thing go.

“You’re not going!” Olruggio declared with betrayed acceptance. “Why would that possibly mean I should take someone else? I’ve half a mind not to go myself.” This unfortunately just frustrated Qifrey further. How nice it was that Olruggio would rather his company than anyone else’s. How absolutely splendid that Qifrey couldn’t appreciate a second of it. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Qifrey said with his nails clawing into the cover of his book, a horrible sensation that only mirrored the nastiness of Qifrey himself. “Just go with that girl from yesterday, she seemed nice.”

“For the love of- I don’t even know her!”

“I don’t think it would kill you to make a new friend, Olly.” It was possibly the most hypocritical thing Qifrey of all people could ever say, and Olruggio’s unimpressed face showed this very clearly. 

“She did not want to be friends, Qifrey,” is all he said to that. As if Qifrey was stupid. As if he was not very aware of the many people who have tried and failed to be linked to the arm of the Star of Ghodrey.

The words, “What’s so wrong with that?” fell out and Olruggio stopped his stride so Qifrey did too. It was a stupid thing to say, certainly, but Qifrey did not expect the pure panic on Olly’s face. If he seemed hurt and confused before, it paled in comparison to what seemed like shame creeping in, and suddenly the bubble of Qifrey’s anger popped. What was wrong with him? This isn’t what he promised. It was important to push away Olly, but hurting him just to hurt him was selfish. Qifrey was no stranger to being selfish, but to be so cruel in it, to be so cruel to Olly, he was the only one who should feel ashamed. Qifrey unhooked his nails from the book and took a step forward with an outstretched hand. “Olly-”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” Olruggio said, his voice and face shut off from the hurt he so clearly felt just a moment ago. “What’s the harm?” For a second, Qifrey couldn’t even fathom what he was talking about. Surely the consequences to his actions could not catch up to him this quickly.

“You don’t need to-”

“I’m sure we’ll have a good time. I should go find her now, anyway, to accept. I’ll talk to you later.” Without another word, Olruggio was gone, and Qifrey, however unfairly, was once again angry. It was what he asked for, it was what he so plainly stated was what he wanted, and somehow he was so frustrated with Olly for giving into his cruel prodding so fast that he wanted to tackle him and demand an explanation. The explanation was clear, of course, that Qifrey had hurt him and Olly wanted him to feel the same.

They hardly spoke the days leading up to the dance, and if they did, Alaira was there as a buffer. She had a date to the dance already, a boy she was not particularly interested in but promised her a fun after-party, and she told them she was working on getting them in if she could just convince him that the last time Qifrey bit someone he was 14, but then Olruggio said, “Oh, don’t bother. Qifrey’s not going. And my date doesn’t drink.”

The way Alaira’s jaw dropped, you would have thought Olruggio declared he was giving up on being a witch and taking an extended vacation to the Aisle of Oblivion. Her eyes shot between them, and Qifrey tried very hard to pretend that he had no idea why she was so confused. The problem is that she knew. She never truly said she knew, the same way Olruggio and Qifrey have never said a word to each other, but if there is anyone in the world who knows exactly the kind of relationship the two were headed toward, it was her. And perhaps Beldaruit. But Beldaruit was annoying about it, and Alaira was generally quite pleasant when she wasn’t staring at the two of them like a child of divorce who’s just been told the puppy will be split in half too, so he would rather give her the props. 

She laughed, a forced thing, and punched Qifrey in the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “Fair enough! Guess I’ll catch you boys after, then.”

Later, Alaira tried to get more information out of Qifrey, namely, “Who in the world is Olruggio going with?” which Qifrey waved off because frankly he didn’t know the girl’s name nor did he care. When Alaira pressed with, “I just mean, you did this whole tassel swap and you mean to tell me-” Qifrey simply walked off after that because Alaira’s company was not worth the way he felt like sinking his fingers into his hair so he could pull until the pain makes him scream. He hoped Olruggio’s date saw the swapped tassels and felt like she didn’t belong there. Qifrey should probably be killed. 

So yes, it is very reasonable, and sensible, and not at all childish that Qifrey sits out in the country on the night of the harvest dance that Beldaruit had endlessly begged him to come to because, “Oh, you always end up having fun, and won’t Olruggio be sooo disappointed?” and Qifrey knew without a doubt he could not stay in this atelier because he would end up killing Beldaruit or himself or perhaps have a nasty murder-suicide that he would be completely absolved of the guilt for once everyone read the note detailing his master’s nosiness. 

Alright, fine, he’s being dramatic. Qifrey has been known, on occasion, to be somewhat dramatic. Tonight, he will allow himself to wallow.

That’s really what he’s here for. To sit in the cold and think about how much nicer it would be if Olruggio was here except Olruggio can’t be here so its not worth thinking about at all. But he will anyway. That’s his purpose now, isn’t it? To torture himself? To think about what a nice time Olly is having with this girl he hardly knows, dancing and laughing and drinking and realizing that there are much better ways to spend his time? Qifrey is so cold and Olruggio is always warm and Qifrey really should have asked Alaira about that after-party so he could at least snag something to warm himself up with after a night of misery. Maybe he could steal something from Beldaruit’s cellar. He’d probably find it cute compared to chasing after the Brimmed Caps. Or maybe he should just freeze to death. Trees can’t handle the cold, can they?

He does hope Olly’s having a nice time. He thinks, at least. There are so many feelings conflicting with each other that Qifrey could hardly tell what he wants from what he should. He knows that Olruggio would have a much nicer, much kinder life without him, and the idea of a life like that for his friend makes him happy beyond belief. But the idea of truly, honestly letting go so his friend can have that life makes Qifrey sick beyond belief. What is the point of his future, of this make-believe that Olruggio has posited of Qifrey being one of the greats, if his best friend can’t even be there too? Qifrey is no good alone.

With a sigh, he whacks his forehead against his knee. Sometimes he really does wish Olly had let the Silverwood take him. 

There is a crunch of leaves, and Qifrey straightens his back with a hand to the ground, ready to run at a moment’s notice. A lantern tries to take what’s left of his sight and he puts his face in his hands and hisses, “Will you turn that off?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get it right in your face,” Olruggio sets the lantern far enough away that Qifrey can open his eyes without trouble, but can still make out Olly’s curiously unbothered expression. Sounding rather smug, he continues, “Thought I’d find you out here.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Ah, I think I stood around the place about five minutes to make my impressions, then ran off the second your master tried to hunt me down for a chat.”

“And abandoned your date to his cruel mechanisms?” Qifrey picks at the wound, but Olly just sighs and flops down beside him. It’s the first bit of warmth Qifrey’s had in an hour.

“Honestly, Qifrey, do you even know me?” He sounds rather put out about it. “I never actually looked for that girl. It’d be cruel. You know that.”

That Qifrey does. He thought Olly may have even a bit of Qifrey’s own cruelty stored away for times like these. Should have known it’s just another sin that Qifrey bears alone.

“Plus,” Olruggio nudges Qifrey’s shoulder with his own. “I wouldn’t have needed to search for her. Got asked about ten more times. It’s a curse, really, to be this sought after.”

“I’m sure,” Qifrey answers mildly as he envisions pinching Olly in the ear. He just barely holds himself back from making it reality.

“But I always say no.” Compared to the good humor of his previous statement, this is rather subdued. Qifrey stays quiet. “You’ve been acting strange. I’ve put up with it, and I’ll keep putting up with it, Qifrey, ‘cause it’s you, but occasionally you push a damn button. Which I guess is the point, but really, this all seems just a bit…” Olruggio sighs, scratching at his neck. “Dunno. Felt like a conversation with my master, s’all.”

Qifrey blinks. “How… do you mean?”

Olly waves his hand. “Oh, Olruggio, it’s fine to act how you do when you’re young, but remember there’s a future to think of. Olruggio, it’s good to have a friend so close, but don’t forget to branch out before it’s too late. Olruggio, really, nearly 17 and you still haven’t even kissed a girl?” He slumps with a tsk. “It’s tiresome. The whole thing. Just another expectation I know I’ll never live up to. And it pisses me off especially, the way he makes to blame your friendship, when it wouldn’t change a thing. I’m just… not made for that. So when you’re asking the same shit, well. It’s worse, honestly. At least he doesn’t know me.”

Not made for that. It takes Qifrey a moment, but it all finally clicks in his head. It’s not something he thinks about much because he figured out a long time ago that Olruggio is it for him. It’s not that he likes men, or doesn’t like women, because he frankly just does not need to think about those aspects when the love of his life fell into his lap before he even knew what love was. 

Self-centeredly, he never considered it may be different for Olly. Considering how many years Olruggio actually remembers of his childhood, Qifrey feels unfathomably stupid. Qifrey is but a piece of the hurt, a piece of the shame, and he has failed Olly not only as the maybe they will eternally be, but as a friend. What's so wrong with that? How careless. “Olly, I-” 

“Hardly matters now, anyway,” Olruggio interrupts. Qifrey could kill him if his guilt weren’t weighing him down. “You pissed me off, I pissed you off, are we even, then?”

“Even?” Qifrey repeats in a cool tone. Olruggio throws his hands up.

“Look, I’m not doing this with you! Yes, even, I pissed you off, that’s why you’re out here sulking, and now we can get to the part where we make up, yes?”

Qifrey protests, “I’m not sulking.”

“Out alone on the coldest night this autumn has had so far, Qifrey, yes you damnwell know you’re sulking.” It would be far easier to argue this point if Qifrey was not currently leeched against Olruggio’s side to sap any bit of warmth he can gain. It’s just that Olly emits heat like the midday sun and Qifrey is only human. Or something like one, anyway. He would prove Olruggio’s point even further if he slinked away, though he probably should soon. Despite how little relief this moment holds, he knows how he gets when it comes to Olruggio. 

“I just wanted to see the stars,” Qifrey mutters pathetically.

“And of course, they outlawed warming spells just this morning.”

“You’re better at them than me.”

Olly raises his voice to say, “I could’ve been here sooner! If you weren’t acting like- like-” he struggles to find a word that, Qifrey assumes, isn’t an insult. Qifrey certainly has a few choice words for himself he could throw into the pile. Then Olly gets out, in a not quite quiet voice but certainly small compared to before, “Like you don’t want me around.”

It makes Qifrey jolt, for once in shock rather than pain, and he can’t even try to spin this as a way to push away Olly because he exclaims, “Olly, no, of course not, you know I want you around, I always want you around, I just-” Qifrey cuts himself off because he’s dangerously close to the truth, whether that be his feelings or the Silverwood, and both would end in unimaginable pain. He takes a deep, shaky breath and continues slower, more contained, “You’re my best friend, Olly. You know that. I just… sometimes I wonder if you shouldn’t want a little more for yourself.” It’s not a great line, especially considering Olruggio just made it clear that the little more he keeps getting pushed toward is not only uncomfortable but completely unwanted, but Qifrey thinks it properly comes across as self-deprecating rather than pushing Olly toward a future he could never make. Still, Olruggio meets his eyes with a glare.

“Qifrey, I have more friends than you.”

Qifrey does not quite scowl, though his eyes narrow to match Olruggio’s glare. “Yes, Olruggio, I am aware.”

“And I like them all well enough, else we wouldn’t be friends, but I don’t think I have to be the one to tell you that out of everyone, I like you best. And when I tell you things such as, I don’t want to do the stupid dance without you, you should believe that I say what I mean.” Qifrey almost expects a twinge in his eye, but nothing comes as he listens to Olruggio’s declaration. “You act like it’s nothing. You act like you’re this thing I’m burdening myself with instead of my best friend, and I won’t hear it. The best part of those nights is when we find ourselves here, you know. We have our fun and talk our shit at the party, we drink their terrible punch and watch their terrible dances, then we sneak out and have a good time, Qifrey. And I don’t appreciate you acting like it’s not a good time for you too. Because I know it is.”

Guilt practically consumes him, but so does the warmth of Olruggio’s words. He feels all sorts of things that will may feed the Silverwood if he’s not careful, or maybe they’re combined with too many nerves to do so. He doesn’t know. Sometimes he feels like he doesn’t know anything. After a moment of deliberation, he lays his head on Olly’s shoulder and hopes it’s enough to comfort his friend, but not enough for his roots to take comfort in as well.

“I had a plan for tonight, y’know,” Olruggio complains. Qifrey huffs a laugh because he knew, he just knew, and that’s why he’s lived the past week of his life in a panic, knowing he must not allow Olruggio to venture even a step closer, and inevitably, his love still followed Qifrey.

“Mm,” Qifrey responds. It would be unwise to encourage Olly, so he doesn’t, but he certainly doesn’t stop him in his tracks like he should. He should get up. He should lead them back to the Great Hall. Maybe they could see if Alaira is still willing to bring them to the afterparty. But there is no pressure behind his eye, so he pushes his luck by allowing Olruggio to take the lead.

Olruggio sighs. “But I’ve had this plan a hundred nights, so you’re not entirely to blame.”

“Olly-”

A small, circular box is positioned in front of Qifrey now, cutting off his half-hearted attempt at dissuading his friend. “I’ve had this for ages. Made it… who knows how long ago. I kept perfecting it, then telling myself it wasn’t ready, then overwriting the sigil, then pulling back, then perfecting it again, on and on and on.” Qifrey finally raises his hand to take the box with shaky hands. “I don’t regret it completely. It’s a little better than the first iteration but, ah, I’d still have had the time to make you another, wouldn’t I?” Qifrey continues to stare at the box until Olly lifts the shoulder he leans against. “Open it, will you?”

Slowly, like he’s delaying an inevitable, Qifrey raises his head from where it lays on Olruggio, sitting up with his legs crossed. The box in his hands feels like the beginning of an end. Maybe he shouldn’t open it. Maybe he should throw it halfway across the field and then find a cliff and jump off it before Olruggio can question him. But Olly has that look on his face, like he’s made something good, really good, and he doesn’t want to be quite so prideful yet but it’s inevitable when he is just so, so good with magic. Especially when it relates to making Qifrey happy. With a breath, Qifrey decides that whatever is in this box he will hate. He will smile politely and thank Olly for it, but he will not gaze upon it in awe, and he will not let it overtake his emotions, and when the rejection stings Olly and ruins this night, they will be all the better for it.

The box opens, and for a moment, nothing happens. It’s just an empty box with an interestingly complex sigil on the inside. Qifrey leans his head down to get a closer look, when suddenly the box is bursting with light. He squeezes his eye shut on instinct, but realizes there is no pain after a moment. In fact, the only difference he feels is that it is suddenly warm. He starts to slowly open his eye, then it goes wide all at once. 

The light he was so afraid of stands at about a foot and a half, the complex design of the Thin-veiled Dragon that Qifrey can’t remember bringing up recently, but used to go on and on about how he would probably never see it in his natural life because every record of the thing is nearly a hundred years apart from the last. It wasn’t necessarily his favorite dragon, but it was one of the most interesting ones just by virtue of the fact that there wasn’t much about it and what information there was puzzled even the experts. It had a horn that shaped like a ring across the top of its head, and a thin sheet of its own skin hung down to completely cover its eyes. It could not see, so it rarely ventured from its own home, and when it did, it left destruction in its wake as it did not seem fully aware of the fact that it shared a world with anything but its own kind. 

The amount of detail Olly got on something so small, and not to mention the fact that very few drawings of the dragon exist in the first place, is massively impressive. Qifrey is not doing a very good job at pretending not to be awed. It’s then he realizes that the box not only emits this beautiful light, nor this cozy warmth, but a song as well. It’s quiet compared to the blood rushing in Qifrey’s head, but it’s certainly there. How did he do this? How did-

Qifrey takes his eye off the box to look at Olly and finds his friend’s eyes already on him with an almost shy smile. He’s going to die tonight. There is no other way this night ends. But his head is clear, and his eye doesn’t hurt, and he wants this so badly. Can’t he just have this? This one thing?

When Qifrey doesn’t say anything, trapped in the torture that is Olruggio’s gaze combined with the proof of his kindness warming up his hands, his friend begins to wildly gesticulate as he rambles, “It took a bit of finesse ‘cause I certainly don’t work with music very often, but- and you can’t be mad at me for this, but I got a bit of advice from Master Beldaruit on the whole- the mesh of the music and the light and- and it’s basically that, when you push up the box, there’s a mechanism that causes the circle to close and- well, it’s actually quite simple when you look at it from the sigil’s perspective and… all.” He clearly wishes he could sew his own mouth shut, but just lets out a resigned huff. Qifrey could think of a better way to get Olruggio to stop talking, but quickly quashes the thought.

“The sigil’s perspective,” Qifrey echoes and Olruggio goes red.

“Well- you- will you say something, then?” The embarrassed exasperation makes Qifrey unbearably fond. Well, bearably for now. He’s certainly testing the limits of the tree tonight.

“It’s beautiful, Olly. It’s perfect. It’s- how do you always know just what to make?” The last sentence comes out hushed. Certainly more awed than intended. Olly still looks embarrassed, but his hands stop twitching and his shoulders lose their tension. His face stays just as red, though.

He answers, “I know you, I guess. And I wanted you to have something that showed you how much I knew and- and how much I-” he cuts off to scratch at the beard he’s let grow in the past couple of weeks, a grimace on his face. “I should’ve rehearsed this bit. I was too busy rehearsing the tellin’ you off bit.” Qifrey huffs a laugh, and takes his place back on Olruggio’s shoulder as he lowers the music box to his knee. They watch the dragon spin around the box as if it was dancing to the music.

“I recognize the song but I can’t place it,” Qifrey admits.

“Ah. That’s just- well, it makes sense you don’t remember, you haven’t heard it properly.”

“I haven’t?”

“Do you remember that first dance of the harvest we went to? We hardly lasted twenty minutes in the place, you watched everyone so miserably. Like you had somethin’ grave on the mind. So I took you here ‘cause I thought you weren’t enjoying yourself, but you told me you just wanted to know how to dance, and people-watching seemed like the best way to do it.”

Qifrey clicks his tongue. “I do remember. You said I have a… what as it? An awfully bitchy face when I’m focused?”

“Well, you do.” Qifrey doesn’t hesitate to pinch Olly’s ear this time, and earns a half-hearted swat to his hand for it. “It was fine anyway. Because then I taught you how to dance out here, even if you bruised my toes something awful.”

“I couldn’t see!” All they had was a lamp, smaller than the one with them now, that did not project the light far enough up for Qifrey who struggled with depth perception as it was. Nervous as they were, neither thought about the fact that they had magic that could certainly illuminate the area a little better.

“For all your grace, you really do have two left feet.”

“Oh, I dance fine, now, you’re being dramatic.”

“Regardless. This is the song I was humming.” Qifrey remembers now. He had pitched not quite a fit, but he was nervous enough and felt somewhat embarrassed to dance in complete silence. Olruggio kindly took on the embarrassment for himself by poorly humming some tune Qifrey had never heard before. Olly could not sing to save his life, but Qifrey thought it was sweet he did it for him anyway.

“You never told me what it was.”

“I couldn’t. I would’ve jumped off the hillside before I told you. Perhaps into a lake so you wouldn’t follow.”

Amused, Qifrey says, “I’d follow you anywhere, Olly. Will you tell me now, though? Sans lake?"

“I didn’t get an awful lot of time with my parents,” is the way Olruggio starts which was probably the last thing Qifrey expected out of his mouth. He grips the music box a little tighter. “I don’t know much about them, really, their likes and dislikes, what they would’ve thought of how I’ve- ah, that’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”

“I know, I know, but it’s got nothing to do with this,” he physically waves off the thought and pushes forward. “Point being, I don’t remember much about them. But I remember when this song used to play, be it festival or a beggar on the street, be it a band or a handflute, they’d jump to their feet and dance, no matter what they were doing before. They’d forget about everything for a moment, even forget about me, and just live in each other’s arms.”

“That’s lovely.” The soft-spoken words don’t feel like enough to explain just how lovely Olly’s story is, but Qifrey means it with everything he has.

“Yes. Yes, it was.” For a moment, Olruggio stays in his thoughts and Qifrey allows him the distance. It’s not very long before Olly shakes his head and starts, “Ah, but, that’s why when you asked, when I first taught you, for music while we danced, it was the only song I could think of. It’s the first thing that comes to mind for dancing and it’s the first thing that comes to mind for, ah,” he throws a hand carelessly between them. “Love, and all.” Dread trickles down Qifrey’s back into the base of his spine. It’s not painful, though. No roots follow the cold anticipation. 

Before Qifrey can decide how to proceed, how to run from this before he’s gone too far, Olruggio speaks quickly, “So I made the box with that in mind, but I could always change the song, if you’d like, and it’s not like I expect- I mean, sometimes I think I know with you, Qifrey, sometimes I’m so sure it hurts not to say anything, but you seem to have fun keeping me guessing, and I can appreciate that, but fuck, Qifrey, I would appreciate being put out of my misery a little more.” He stiffens at the end of his tirade, Qifrey can feel from where he lays against him, and his heart beats considerably faster at the same time his breathing goes a little funny. “Or maybe I wouldn’t, now that I’ve said it out loud. Maybe you can just listen to the pretty box and forget I said anything.” As if Qifrey is not the one cursed to remember.

Qifrey pries himself away from the warmth Olruggio provides, the warmth he has not needed since he opened the music box, and Olruggio’s hands curl into the grass beneath them. He’s so nervous, and Qifrey can’t imagine why when his feelings have always been so clear. Even as muddied as he’s tried to make them, he is so, so obvious in how dear he holds Olruggio. Maybe that’s just what love does. Makes you nervous. There could be an advantage to that.

Olruggio has given Qifrey a perfect out. They could listen to the pretty box and move on from this. They could forget what they’ve been hurtling toward all this time, for good, and Qifrey’s life expectancy would rise from the pain of having to give this up completely, with no more room for misinterpretation. But Qifrey has kept stock of his body this whole night, and not once has that damned Silverwood even twitched. So he does not use this perfect out, and instead says exactly what he wants to.

“Olly. How could you think I’d want to forget something as wonderful as this?”

“I don’t know!” Olruggio releases the grass he was clutching in an explosion of movement. “I don’t know, Qifrey, when you’ve been acting all-” perplexingly, he makes his hands into crab claws, pinching at the air. “and I’ve been all-” he claps his hands, then shrugs his shoulders to his ears. “It’s a little difficult to tell what you want!” Qifrey’s heart could burst from fondness, but his head doesn’t even ache. What had he been so worried for, all this time? Olly may cause him pains every so often, but just the act of loving and being loved isn’t enough to provide relief when he still has to lie to him, still has to hurt him in a way he can never take back. 

In a move that could be regarded as poor, but only causes Qifrey’s heart to thump rather than a branch to grow, he takes one of Olruggio’s hands. “And you, Olly? What do you want?” It’s cruel to ask when Olruggio has flayed himself alive for Qifrey tonight, has figured out the turn at every winding road Qifrey has run down, and managed to stay no more than a step behind. But Qifrey wants to hear him say it. If he gets this, if he really, truly gets to keep this despite the roots behind his eye, then he wants it for all it is. 

“You-” Olruggio hardly hesitates before he takes his other hand to sandwich Qifrey’s own in a shaky clasp. “I have made myself very clear, you know.” The words fester with irritation, but there is a desperation underneath that lets Qifrey know he will get exactly what he wants. Not to mention Olruggio’s already pathological need to give Qifrey what he wants. How lucky he is. What an absolute blessing it is to have found someone who could not stop loving him anymore than he could stop breathing to produce oxygen. Olly squeezes his hand and declares, “I have said a lot of words.” Before Qifrey can resign himself to actually having to say his piece, to come up with an explanation for his strange behavior in the last week and how it all amounts to the fact that he loves Olruggio more than he can literally ever express, Olruggio kindly takes the responsibility out of Qifrey’s hands and presses lips against lips so not another word can be said. 

The touch makes Qifrey freeze, still so unsure about the lines this damn tree draws, hardly able to feel the kiss because he’s so focused on the other sensations or lack thereof in his body. But after a few seconds it becomes clear he hasn’t crossed the tree’s arbitrary line. This isn’t going to kill him. What almost does is Olruggio pulling back, likely spooked by Qifrey’s lack of reception, and Qifrey forces himself into action with a raised hand curved against Olruggio’s cheek to gently pull him back. The hitch of breath that warms Qifrey’s mouth forces him to give way to reckless abandon and fall into Olruggio with all of the love he has to give. It is, as expected, quite a bit.

Kissing is a nice sensation. He figured it would be, but he’s had enough time to obsess over it that he wondered if it would maybe be somewhat disappointing. It was just skin against skin, after all. But he realizes now it was stupid to think anything with Olruggio could be labeled as disappointing. Skin against skin, in fact, is already rising up there as a top favorite sensation of Qifrey’s.

Like most things when it comes to Olly, it’s warm. Except the warmth has grown tenfold into something that could not be described as anything but heat. Like most things when it comes to Qifrey, it’s rough. He doesn’t mean to be, he tries to keep his touch gentle, but with Olruggio finally under his hands, he finds he wants to keep him there. He needs to keep him there. This heat is to be trapped, for Qifrey to keep however he likes, and he knows, with dizzying surety, that Olruggio will let him. The hand laid against Olruggio’s cheek turns into a grip on his jaw that borders on possessive. His mouth strains from the pressure he’s levying against Olruggio’s own. If questioned, Qifrey could not honestly say he wasn’t trying to consume him in some way. He just thinks they should be one. He just thinks he could use Olruggio’s heat in him as well.

Time passes, he’s sure, and he doesn’t know when, or why, but Olruggio’s lips leave his own, and the noise he makes is so disgruntled that his friend snickers into his neck.

“I do need to breathe, regrettably,” Olruggio pants. The warm breath against his neck is not making it any easier to follow Olruggio’s request for air.

“That is regrettable,” Qifrey agrees, and Olruggio laughs before raising his head slightly to plant a kiss on Qifrey’s jaw. Qifrey uses the opportunity to kiss the crown of his head. “I’m glad you finally enacted your plan. We really should’ve done that sooner.” Olruggio huffs and Qifrey smiles down at him.

“A little more than my plan entailed, actually,” Olruggio admits.

“How so?”

“Well, kiss wasn’t part of the plan. Sort of impulsive. Thought we’d just-” he shrugs helplessly. “Hold hands. Or- something, I don’t know, stop laughing at me!”

“You planned on confessing to me and didn’t think it might end in a kiss?”

“Well, I’m not stupid, Qifrey! I knew it was possible, I just didn’t want to assume. Or freak myself out overpreparing.”

“Overpreparing?” 

“Oh, you get on my nerves,” Olruggio takes his face away from Qifrey’s neck to hit his shoulder with the side of his fist while Qifrey continues to laugh at him. “I didn’t know what to expect! If you’ll recall, a week ago you were trying to set me up with some girl I’ve never met, forgive me for not taking a kiss into consideration!”

“A week ago, Olly, and you’ve had this plan how long?”

“Oh, will you shut-” Olruggio stops for a moment to think, and looks much less put out as he leans up to kiss Qifrey again. He gets a few more in before saying, “You’re right, I should’ve done this ages ago. Much easier to shut you up now.”

This sweet man. This stupidly sweet man who imagined this night for who knows how long and thought of nothing more than telling Qifrey that he loves him and taking his hand. The smile on his face has begun to hurt, but he couldn’t stop if he tried. He could stay out here forever. This could be the rest of his life. He’s so happy he should be dead, but for the first time, Qifrey is not afraid. The pain won’t come. What a relief it is.

I get to have this.

And it is with that lovely thought that Qifrey loses everything.

The anxiety of losing Olruggio, of not knowing when the pain would come, was like the world’s shoddiest dam. The spark of panic he felt at every moment, every word, every touch, was all that allowed him to just barely teeter on the edge of keeping Olly in his grasp. Accepting that he would not lose everything, allowing the tension to ease out of his muscles, deciding that he has nothing to fear; it shoots a pain so terrible through his head that for a moment he forgets at all what must be happening. He tears his hand away from Olly’s to grab at his empty eye-socket, clawing in desperate fear at whatever is inside him that hurts so much.

It’s only as Olly begs, “Qifrey, what’s going on, are you okay?” that Qifrey realizes he’s a fool. Not just a fool, but categorically stupid. He gets to have this? Wasn’t he just lamenting the fact that childish things aren’t for him anymore? Did he really think that getting the thing he wants most in the world wouldn’t kill him, just because the tree held off for a few minutes?

“I’m sorry,” he says in a whisper so pathetic it can hardly be called words at all. It’s nonsensical to Olruggio who is just trying to make heads or tails of the obvious pain Qifrey is suddenly in. He can feel wood pressing against his hand as he holds it to his eye. He won’t let Olly see. This won’t happen again. The best thing he can do now is break Olruggio’s heart into little bits and be done with all of this. It’s the only thing he can do.

“Qifrey, let me see,” Olly is panicked, but he is so clearly trying to soothe Qifry that he wants to scream at him. He doesn’t get to be soothed anymore, Olruggio, don’t you remember? You’re the one who ensured this future. Olly reaches out a hand and Qifrey slaps it away on instinct, a desperate hope that it will actually make Olruggio turn away from him, but it is just another stupid hope from a stupid child who still can’t lie to Olruggio. 

“Don’t,” Qifrey begs as Olruggio tries to gently pry his hand away from his eye. “Get away!”

“Just let me see,” Olly soothes again. Qifrey doesn’t know what to do. He’s frozen in fear and stuck on the thought that five seconds ago he wasn’t in any pain at all. Now all he knows is hurt. Is this love? Is this going to be what love is for the rest of his life? He hardly feels when his hand finally falls from his eye and is held in a gentle, firm embrace for one beautiful second before it is gripped in terror. “Qifrey, what is-”

“Please don’t ask me, Olly, please just leave.”

“What?” Olruggio seems more confounded by Qifrey trying to dismiss him than the tree growing out of his friend’s eye. “Qifrey, what is this? What’s going on?”

“I- I-”

“Talk to me,” Olruggio presses. “Tell me how to help.” 

Qifrey bursts into tears. He’s an idiot. He’s going to ruin their lives a hundred times over out of childish, selfish ignorance, isn’t he? The root begins to recede, at the very least, due to the misery he feels, but how long will that last? How long can he hold off from taking Olruggio’s memories? He never should have come to this place they both love so much. He never should have let Olruggio close enough to be shown the Naakiwan Downs in the first place. They should have left him suffocating and bleeding out in that damn coffin. 

“Qifrey, you have to talk to me,” he squeezes Qifrey’s hands, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know this must be horrible. I just- I’ll take you to the med spire,” Olruggio decides. “Can you walk? I can-”

“Olly,” Qifrey forces himself to speak through the tears and pain so they don’t end up causing a national emergency because of the stupid stick in his eye. “Olly, we can’t go to the med spire.”

“What in the world do you mean? Of course we’re going. I’ll be your crutch, if you’ll just listen to me. Lean on me, will you?”

“There’s nothing they can do,” it’s Qifrey’s turn to soothe now, though he knows there is absolutely nothing soothing about what he says. “The only person who can-” he chokes. He can’t do this. How could Olly force him to promise something like this? Qifrey had no choice, stuck in those roots and Olruggio so sure of himself. Now Qifrey is stuck between who he swore himself to all those months ago, and the friend in front of him who is none-the-wiser to their painful partnership. 

“Who? Who, Qifrey?” His voice takes on a desperate edge and Qifrey lets out a shuddering breath.

“Please don’t make me.” Amidst the horror and fear clear as day on Olruggio’s face, there is something curious in his eyes. Not just a friend in pain, but a puzzle he must solve. His eyes zero in on Qifrey’s not-so empty eye-socket.

“Silverwood,” he murmurs. “Is that what this is?” He goes to touch it as if mesmerized, and just barely stops when Qifrey flinches. Who knows if it would hurt, but even if it didn’t, it would. “I- sorry. What can I do?”

Qifrey lies, “Nothing. There’s nothing.”

“You’re lying.” Qifrey could hate him. Is it not believable that there’s nothing to be done about a tree growing out of someone’s head? Can Olruggio not take something at face value for once? Must everything make him think? Qifrey wishes he could shut his eye, turn his face away from this, but the branch makes it so he must face this all with his eye wide open. His fate is written in Olruggio’s pen, and he’s better off not trying to erase dried ink. 

“You found a spell,” Qifrey bites out. “In the Tower of Tomes.” Olruggio’s brow pinches but he doesn’t interrupt. “A memory spell. It will take this night away from you, and the guilt will keep the Silverwood at bay. You made me promise.” He tries to keep the bitterness of that last sentence to himself. Olly doesn’t deserve it.

A complicated series of emotions come over Olruggio, but to Qifrey’s frustration, not a single complaint falls from his lips. Just, “Alright, let me-” and then Olruggio pats at his robes looking for his palm quire. Qifrey pushes through the pain to sit up as straight as he can and pulls his own palm quire from his robes. The bottle of ink he has is practically full, and it irritates him that he’ll waste the whole pot on this single spell. It will be a single spell, won’t it? He won’t let something like this happen again. He can’t.

Olruggio watches, pained and fascinated as Qifrey lets a few of his tears drip into the bottle, until he finally blurts out, “How many times has it been?”

“This is the second,” Qifrey murmurs. “Hopelly the last. I wasn’t-” he dips his head in shame, eyes focused on his tears watering down the ink. Quietly, he says, “I should have been more careful, Olly, I’m so sorry.”

A comforting hand grips his arm, and Qifrey wants to tear it off for how wrong it feels that he should be comforted when he demands something so precious from Olruggio. This torture really is perfect. Olly was right. Always so damn smart, though Qifrey wishes he were just a little less. Olruggio snatches his hand back like he’s been scalded, and Qifrey looks up at him. His eyesight is worse now, he realizes. How silly. Even now, Olruggio’s comfort feeds this tree.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Olly smiles, though it is a poor imitation of joy. “I’m just glad I can help.” The ache in Qifrey’s head gets worse and he can’t help but laugh. What is wrong with him, that this comforts him? What’s wrong with both of them, in fact?

Qifrey finally puts pen to page but quickly realizes his hands shake too badly for it to matter. He should have practiced. He hoped so badly he would never have to do this, and now he can’t. What a silly way to break his promise. 

The pen is plucked from his hands and the palm quire from his knee, and Olruggio calmly, kindly draws the seal for him yet again. He draws it easily, without direction, that Qifrey wonders aloud, “How do you know it?”

Olruggio does not pause until all that is left is to finish the circle. He taps the back of Qifrey’s pen against his knee, brows furrowed. “Dunno,” he finally answers. “Guess my hands remember, at the very least.” He squeezes the pen and stares at the motion. With a rough swallow, he starts, “Qifrey, when you say it will take this night away from me…” he can’t even properly ask. He stares at Qifrey, something desperate, but there is no soft place for that desperation to land.

“I don’t know. The spell will- the spell takes away the memory behind the tears. I don’t know just how far back that will go. Maybe the last thing you’ll remember is kissing me.” 

“Or maybe I won’t remember it at all,” he counters miserably. He shakes his head with a sigh. “But that’s for the best, isn’t it? You can’t- we can’t-” he cuts himself off with a laugh. “It should make me happy, to know I make you so happy. Can’t help but wish I made you just a little miserable.”

His smile is so bitter Qifrey wishes he could swallow it. Maybe they wouldn’t need this horrible spell then. But strangely, disgustingly, Qifrey hoards this selfish admission like a comfort. Olly does have a bit of cruelty in him. Qifrey is just the only one who can inspire it. Roots begin to take to the ground around him, and Olly must know they can’t waste another second because he suddenly stands. He holds the spell in front of his forehead, ready to cast, and holds Qifrey’s gaze with an unsteady grin. “‘Til next time, I guess.”

Selfishly, as Olruggio falls, Qifrey wishes he had gotten one last kiss goodbye. One of those childish things he knows for certain now he must kill. 

The roots are swallowed by his empty socket, and he pants haggardly into the grass as the Silverwood completely recedes inside of him. He nearly vomits, but manages just barely to keep from tipping over the edge. He flops into the grass and tries to calm his breathing. It is at that moment he realizes the music box has been playing this whole time. Such a beautiful song Olruggio has given him to remind him of their own dance. Qifrey slams the box shut. He curls into himself and seethes as he tries to stop crying. It’s not fair, none of it, but he already knew that. This is nothing new. 

Just in time for him to calm down enough that fresh tears no longer streak his face, he hears Olruggio from a few paces away wake with a grumbly, “Wha’s it?”

“What?” Qifrey tries to push amusement into his voice but finds it doesn’t quite fit.

“Where did-” Olruggio pushes himself up slowly, squinting around the hill. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep, Olly,” Qifrey keeps his eye on the grass. “We were watching the stars, remember?”

“Oh, right, must’ve-” he coughs and cringes. “My- ugh, was I crying?” He sounds so confused. Qifrey is already so tired of enduring this.

“I don’t think so,” Qifrey says honestly. He didn’t notice any tears in Olruggio’s eyes at least.

“My throat is killing me,” he complains.

“You were snoring,” Qifrey lies.

“No I wasn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Never gotten that complaint a day in my life.”

“Wasn’t a complaint, Olly, just a fact.” Olly waves him off as he continues grumbling about throats and cold and exhaustion. Qifrey sits up to face him with a nice smile. “We should head back. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I guess I could go for some tea,” he agrees groggily. “Wait, wasn’t I… it feels like one second I was in the dance hall, the next I was here.”

“Really, Olly?” Qifrey tries for amusement again and just barely makes it believable to his own ears. So Olruggio did, in fact, forget everything. It should be a relief. Qifrey wants to tear up the ground where they sit until it reveals everything he has hidden. “You came to get me, and gave me my wonderful gift, and we decided to watch the stars.”

“Your gift,” Olly suddenly sounds far more awake. “I- right. And you… liked it?” He asks warily.

“Did you drink before coming out here?” Qifrey pokes cruelly. “Of course I did. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever been given.” Olruggio perks up. He looks so hopeful Qifrey has to force himself not to flinch away. With a deep breath, Qifrey puts the whole matter to rest. “Thank you again. You’re such a good friend.” Olruggio freezes in place, blinking at Qifrey in what looks more like confusion than devastation but Qifrey knows he must feel it somewhere beneath the mask. After a second, he nods, then puts a smile on his face.

“Remember that the next time you ignore me for a week.”

Both of their smiles are so fake, are so clearly lies, that Qifrey could suffocate. 

“I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

They don’t move quite yet. While Olruggio orients himself, Qifrey trains his eyes to the stars. He wonders what Olruggio thinks of as he tries to make sense of the night. He won’t remember, but his hands might, the way they did to draw the spell. He probably wonders if he got rejected or not, if he actually confessed his feelings or took the coward’s way out at the last second. Qifrey wishes he could confess to Olruggio just how brave he is. Explain to him every horrible thing he is willing to take on in Qifrey’s stead. Eventually, Olruggio pushes up from the ground completely. He holds out a hand to Qifrey, who hesitates for just a moment before taking it. As he stands, Olly stares at their joined hands, like a puzzle he needs to solve. Qifrey slips his hand out of Olruggio’s and fixes him with a smile.

“Tea?” He prompts. Olruggio shakes off whatever feeling vexes him and agrees with a tired smile. That one’s honest at least. “Master Beldaruit just replenished his supply, so you’ll have your pick.” Qifrey begins to weigh what would be best for the two of them. Fairy tea, maybe, to soothe his nerves and Olruggio’s confusion. Or beast-tail tea, to ease them both into what will inevitably be a shaky night’s sleep.

“Have you got wood sorrel?” Olruggio asks. Qifrey risks looking at his face. There is no writing on the wall, but Qifrey can read between the lines better than anyone. The face of a man who has just lost everything but does not know quite how much.

“Of course,” Qifrey answers softly. “Wood sorrel tea it is.”