Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

Olruggio wakes to a tingling on his lips. Something sticky, like glowsugar and starspace, wispy and magical and a bit too warm.

His mouth is dry, and he coughs as he sits up in bed. The splitting headache is a pitiful reminder of how much liquor he consumed last night, which is a perfectly reasonable explanation for the aftertaste of rum, and this peculiar tickle on his skin.

The clock reads a quarter past noon. Branches rustle against his open window, stirred by a crisp spring breeze. Olruggio takes a deep breath and catches the smell of something cooking in the hearth. 

The promise of a warm meal is the only siren that pulls Olruggio out of bed. That, and one other thing.

“Sooo full,” Richeh sighs, sprawled out on the carpet.

“Don’t get too comfortable. You promised to complete your lesson if I made kettlegourd soup.”

As Olruggio peeks into the kitchen, his eyes go to one place only. Qifrey’s silhouette hovers over the sink, his sleeves rolled up and his arms elbow deep in dishes. Coco is dutifully drying the ceramic bowls with her (less effective, but still functioning) drying spell, as the three other apprentices still poke around at the remains of their food, drowsy and well fed.

“Richeh likes the way you make kettlegourd soup,” Richeh says simply.

“I’m very glad,” Qifrey replies. “Pass your plate, if you please.”

Spring is a beautiful time of year. Not only for the blooming flowers and the promise of warmer weather, but for the position of the sun itself, the way it beams through all the suncatchers dangling outside the kitchen window, casting rainbow shards of light throughout the atelier – and most importantly, across Qifrey’s soft, perfect skin. It catches on his snowy hair, makes his eyes glow behind his frameless glasses. 

He is the opposite of Olruggio in every way. Even without his heavy witch's cloak, Olruggio is a shadow in his dark skirts, his scruffy face and his shaggy black hair. 

Silver leaves scrape the rooftop, tapping ominously against the thatching. It is a permanent reminder of how close Olruggio came to losing all this. Thick intertwining branches extend past the chimney and down the exterior walls, most of the atelier now embraced by Qifrey’s Silverwood tree.

Richeh lets out a performative yawn.

Tetia is a sweet girl, but she’s also a sucker for Richeh’s puppy eyes, so she bravely turns to her professor and asks, “A nap wouldn’t hurt, right Master Qifrey? You always say rest is important.”

Qifrey turns with a raised eyebrow, equally entertained and miffed to have his own words thrown at him by his apprentice. Before Qifrey can even begin to parent the conversation, Olruggio steps in.

“A deal is a deal. If you make a promise to your dear professor, then you must keep it.”

Tetia’s shoulders hunch under his admonishment, and Richeh sits up with a puff of air in her cheeks. Olruggio pats them both as he passes the dining table.

Qifrey is relieved to see him. He speaks, but only looks at Olruggio. “Yes. Integrity is an important making of a witch.”

Olruggio is aware of how hypocritical those words sound when coming out of that mouth, but he still smiles, charmed by Qifrey’s patience. 

Agott stands abruptly, with gravity in her dark gaze. “I’ll grab the tomes.”

“Yes, please,” Qifrey nods. “Today’s lesson is on the – ”

“Third volume of Hypocles’ Transmutation Glyphs!” Coco makes eye-contact with Agott, and abandons her drying station. “I’ll help!”

“Oh, me too! C’mon Richeh!”

“Fine,” Richeh sighs, but is quick to follow her friends up the staircase. All at once, the four girls are gone. Qifrey looks a little lost, glancing at the dishes still left on the table.

“Girls –”

“Let ‘em go.” Olruggio bends over to gather the last of the bowls. “They’re not young forever.”

Qifrey gives him a knowing look. He wipes his hands on a towel, and faces him fully, his back up against the counter.

“I didn’t think I’d see your face today. I began to worry when the smell of a cooking fire didn’t rouse you.”

“I think mixing Beast-Tail tea and hard spirits could be legally classified as an anesthetic.”

Qifrey barks a laugh, hiding it behind his hand. “Oops. I’ll adjust the mixture next time.”

“Next time?” Olruggio pretends to be scandalized. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want me to ever wake up.”

Loud thumping comes from upstairs. Olruggio sets down what’s left of the chunky gourd, and peeks inside. Empty. That’s a darn shame.

“Not true,” Qifrey replies. He reaches behind a jar of sugar and pulls out a bowl hovering over a warming spell. “Or I wouldn’t have fought so hard to save your lunch.”

Olruggio’s eyes light up. “Oh cheers. You’re amazing, Qifrey.”

He grins, plucking a spoon from the drawer before passing Olruggio the bowl. Warmth seeps into his hands, a gift from its creator.

“You’re welcome. I had to fight off the girls.”

Olruggio takes one big spoonful, and groans happily. Cheesy, meaty soup in a hot stock broth. He swallows before asking, “Did you get some?”

“Mmhmm.”

Qifrey heaves the gourd into the sink, then washes it out with a spell. The water swishes inside, cleans all the innards, and promptly slips into the dirty wash bucket. He’ll set it out to dry, and when it rots enough to get soft, the girls will carve it for ‘spell practice’. Always thinking of those little apprentices and their enjoyment of life.

The breeze blows again, ringing the windchimes and rustling the Silverwood leaves against the rooftop. Olruggio chews his next bite slower, watching the way Qifrey’s shoulders tense. His one seeing eye stares out the open window, watching the grass ripple in the wind.

“Are you okay?” Olruggio asks.

Qifrey turns around sharply. His gaze snaps up to the staircase (the echoes of chatter and giggling), before turning back to Olruggio. “Yes. Yes – I'm fine.”

It’s been months since Qifrey was discharged from the infirmary, but there is no cure for the pit in Olruggio’s stomach. That sinking feeling has become permanent since he learned of the Silverwood seed, and it will remain until the day he’s no longer on this earth. After seeing him so close to death, saved only by the efforts of those apprentices he holds most dear – Olruggio can’t help but worry for him.

There is an awkwardness between them that never really went away. It’s a distance that Olruggio wants to cross so badly, but Qifrey is still learning how to be happy, and he knows he must be patient.

He wants to ask questions. He wants to pull him close, hold him in his arms and tell him that it’s okay. And yet every day Qifrey looks at the world around him as if he can’t believe it’s real.

Olruggio bites his tongue.

“You’ll tell me, right?” He clears his throat. Seeks Qifrey’s eye. “If you’re not fine?”

Qifrey’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Of course.” He clenches his fingers, then forces them to relax. Olruggio doesn’t like the guilt on his face, nor the sadness to his tone. “A witch must keep their word.”

“You must promise me!” Olruggio had begged, Qifrey’s limp, pale body in his arms. Covered in vines, and a thorny rose wilting from his eye. Olruggio sobbed with his whole heart. “Promise me, no more bloody secrets!”

Qifrey smiled at him with wonder in his eyes, a thin, shaky hand coming up to rest at his cheek.

“I promise.”

Olruggio shudders through the memory. Qifrey looks out at the garden again.

“Master Qifrey!”

They both stiffen when small footsteps putter halfway down the stairs. Coco’s hands cling to the rail as she hangs halfway over, blinking owlishly. “Oh! Sorry…”

Qifrey puts on a handsome smile. “Ready?”

“Um – yes! With pens and paper!”

“Good. I’ll be right up.”

“Don’t worry about the mess,” Olruggio says, slurping off his spoon. “I got it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Always.”

Qifrey stares a moment too long. Looks him up, down, and then turns on his heel and makes his way up the stairs.

A long list of commissions currently sits on Olruggio’s workdesk, but he finds the petty demands of a lord to be significantly less important than Qifrey’s happiness.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

At a quarter past eight, Qifrey visits his study with a steaming cup of thornbark tea, and Olruggio nearly moans out loud.

“Oh fuckin’ ta.”

“Watch it,” Qifrey scolds, quickly shutting the door. He walks up the stairs to his workbench, his robes floating around him, and Olruggio sighs longingly.

“You’re an angel.” He takes the tea, pulls it to his nose and inhales the fragrance. “Just what I needed.”

“You’ve been cooped up all day.” Qifrey looks around at the scattered metal plating on his workbench. “And it smells like a kiln in here. Still working on that glyph armor?”

“Nah.” Olruggio takes the first sip, savoring the flavor. “Just doodling. I needed a break.”

Qifrey peeks over his shoulder. “I see.”

Some of his spells are messy and unfinished, and others are clean and also unfinished. He has the workings of an idea, but is still mulling around with how to fix it.

“How very interesting,” Qifrey says, picking up one of the glyphs. “Distorting the air sigil to mimic sound…that’s quite clever. I would very much like to see this completed.”

His casual praise rolls down Olruggio’s back in a hot wave. Olruggio sets down the tea and clears his throat.

“If I can get the damn thing to work, sure.”

“Is this for Silver Eve?”

“Perhaps.” Olruggio scribbles at the end of the circle, completing the ring and causing the spell to rise right off the parchment, spinning round and round before fizzling out into a tuft of air. “Or perhaps, for fun.”

Qifrey’s smile is small and sad. “As is the point of magic, is it not?”

“You tell me, professor.”

Qifrey nods, as if trying to convince himself. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yes, yes.”

“I’m taking the girls to Kalhn tomorrow for a fresh set of clothes. You ought to come and get some air.”

Olruggio can’t imagine why they need to go shopping already, when Qifrey bought them new robes six months ago – but then he remembers Agott and her little trousers that barely meet the top of her ankle, and he nods.

“Right. Can barely keep up with these damn growth spurts. We might be seeing eye-to-eye by the end of the year.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Qifrey ponders thoughtfully. “Might be sooner than that.”

“Get out – and take your smart little mouth with you.”

Qifrey begins to descend down the stairs, hiding a cheeky smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Olruggio waves him off with the tip of his pen.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

Olruggio dreams that he is a little boy again, chasing a smoke-colored cloak across the vast peninsula, sleeping in tents made from earth and roasting chasenuts over a floating pyreball spell.

He can still feel the chasenut’s gentle sweetness on his lips – the soft, smooth texture, taken like a kiss.

Olly.

Wait, what?

“Olly – ! Time – wa—up!”

His eyes snap open, and immediately sees Qifrey’s blurry form standing before him, hands on his hips and his chin held tall. In his curly posh accent, he says,

“There you are.”

Olruggio immediately squints against the sun, glaring around to see where he dozed off. His rear is numb from the flat brick wall, and his back aches where it was hunched against a skinny tree. A row of buildings lines down an alley, and the sun peaks over the westernmost spire, proving afternoon.

Right, Kalhn.

“Ugh,” says Olruggio.

Qifrey shakes his head in a laugh. “The tedious part is over. Come get carapace buns with the girls.”

Olruggio stifles a yawn, rubbing a hand over his stubble. “Is today the riverbank market?”

“Look at this poor state of a witch. Can’t even remember the days of the week.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

The market is bustling by the time Olruggio makes it to the riverbank, and by then the girls already have their arms full of treats, spoiled by Qifrey’s pocketbook. Olruggio doesn’t feel hungry until the very moment he smells the grilled cordfish, and then he’s suddenly ravenous. Qifrey makes a line for the girls, and Olruggio disappears into the crowd.

The cordfish are braided on skewers, all lined up at the front of the stall. Olruggio points at the closest, and asks,

“How many pieces?”

The woman at the stall wipes her hands on her apron, and says, “Two each! But if you buy three, the fourth is free.”

“One’ll do fine.” He’s spent three months trying to lose weight after Qifrey tightened his belt with all his cooking. His knees only just stopped hurting. He digs for his coin purse, and the woman finally raises her head to get a good look at him.

“Oh my! You’re one of the witches that helped recover my cart from the bog!”

Olruggio hands her the coins with a polite smile. “Is that so? Apologies, I didn’t recognize you. I’m glad to see you well.”

“Please, take another one on me. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly…”

She’s already plucking a second fish and wrapping it up. “You witches are such good people – always so handsome, too! You know my daughter is unmarried?”

A younger girl suddenly bolts up from the back of the stand, pink faced and scandalized.

“Mom!!”

“What? He is handsome!”

Olruggio tries not to flinch. He offers a polite smile, and nods his gratitude as she hands him the skewers. “Thank you, madam. But I think your daughter deserves a far better man than I.”

The woman laughs good-heartedly. “And he’s humble! Go on, introduce yourself to the fine witch.”

Great. Olruggio prepares to turn this poor girl down, as she twists her hands in her dress and looks up through her hopeful brown lashes. “Um, sorry about that. My name is…”

Suddenly, both the girl and the vendor stiffen with shock. Their faces go blank, as if spooked by a ghost. Olruggio turns quickly on his heel, his free hand slapping to the inside of his robes where he keeps his palm quire full of spells – but there is no ghost there; only Qifrey standing with his cap under his arm and a pleasant smile on his face.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Qifrey bows. “I must steal my dear friend here. Our girls are getting restless.” He sets his cap proudly on his head, and the ribbon bellows around him.  

“Oh,” says the vendor. She seems a little shaken. “Oh! My apologies!”

“Thank you,” Olruggio nods, gesturing with the fish. He manages a half wave before Qifrey grabs him by the wrist and pulls him through the crowd. They squirm their way through the alley, then out to the courtyard. Qifrey lets go of his arm.  

 “Quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Thanks for the save,” Olruggio sighs. As they cross the courtyard, he spots the four girls waiting against the brick wall. Oh, right, Olruggio has the portal. He takes the second skewer and holds it out to Qifrey as a peace offering. “Hold this?”

Qifrey doesn’t look impressed, but when he catches a whiff of the seasoning, his tune changes. Olruggio pulls the sheet out from under his cloak and shakes it out, subtly completing the circle so their atelier appears through the window.

“Alright everybody, your ride’s here.”

Agott makes a puzzled expression, looking Olruggio up and down.

“Uh, where did you put that?”

“That’s a trade secret.” Olruggio holds up the paper. “Hop in, kids.”

Each girl steps through the portal with a varying amount of food in their hands. He can smell the garden of the atelier through the portal window. When he looks to Qifrey, the top half of the braided cordfish is missing, and his patient, professorly mask is back on.

“Thanks, Olly.” 

“After you.”

Qifrey looks hesitant. “You’ll fly back home?”

“Yup.”

“Right home?”

Olruggio doesn’t like the neediness in his tone, because it gives him butterflies.

“Straight away,” he nods.

Qifrey takes his fish and his hat and his boots that are too big for his feet, and climbs himself through the window, elegant and effortless, with his cloak curling behind him. Olruggio breaks the spell with a quick flick of his thumb, then rolls up the scroll, clicks his heels together, and takes to the sky.

It’s only once he’s floating high above the town that he realizes his speedy liftoff has effectively cooled down his cordfish into a cold rock.

Ah, well. 

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

Even with Qifrey’s long lost eye returned to its rightful owner, it still refuses to see properly. Qifrey describes it as mostly blind, and prefers to hide it behind his hair out of habit. When the night breeze rolls up the hill, Olruggio is granted the pleasure of seeing his hair fly wildly off his face, exposing his forehead, his ears, and that squinty blue eye.

The eyes don’t match, one having lived with the Silverwood much longer than the other, but Olruggio finds them both beautiful – especially with a lukewarm drink in his hand.

“I thought we were going to turn a new leaf,” Qifrey teases, hypocritically holding a glass of wine.

Olruggio sprawls on the grass, watching the clouds float over the night sky. Their dark puffy shapes distort the sparkling constellations. The air is cool but the ground is still tepid from the day’s sun, and Olruggio shifts to get comfortable, propping his hands under his head.

“I finished thirty-six protection spells on Lord Drummond’s armor. That’s worth celebrating.”

Qifrey hums neutrally. The lights of the atelier glow not-so-distantly behind them, far enough to be out of earshot, but close so they can see the girls’ shadows moving around in the windows. Not asleep, as they should be. In an hour or so, Qifrey will return to gently scold them, but for now, he sits at his side and gazes over the downs.

That black ribbon has become an extension of him. Flowing from the tip of his cap, snaking around his slender body until it inevitably ends between his fingers. He plays with that ribbon often, and the way his deft hands fiddle with it is…indecent. Olruggio doesn’t understand why Qifrey was so adamant about swapping their cap ornaments as children, but by now, he’s worn it longer than Olruggio ever did.

He quickly catches Olruggio staring. And so what? It’s hard not to admire someone so beautiful. Qifrey smiles, and pats his leg.

“Come, lie here. Or your neck will hurt again in the morning.”

Olruggio rips his eyes away to stare back up at the sky. He swallows the spit in his mouth, still tasting that wine.

“I can’t.”

“And why not?”

Olruggio laughs under his breath. “You have great faith in my self-control.”

Qifrey straightens, clearly startled. Olruggio pets the grass under his fingers, splaying out his arms with a sigh. The wine makes his tongue stupid.

“You’re not ready for me to love you.”

A quick inhale of breath. Qifrey folds his fingers together, trapping the ribbon.

“That’s…not true.”

“Sure it is, but that’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Qifrey snaps sharply. He clenches his jaw, frustration flashing in his eyes. It’s rare for Olruggio to see this Qifrey anymore. Usually replaced by the comforting, easygoing professor – a cloak that covers the wild and hungry soul of his youth. Qifrey exhales. “I have committed serious crimes against you. You know that I took your memories, yet you forgive me each time.”

“And I’ll forgive you again,” Olruggio says. “But that’s not what you want to hear.”

Qifrey has broken his heart over and over again. He will break it tonight and he will break it tomorrow and it will make no difference to Olruggio, because it is Qifrey’s to break. He gave it to him long ago, and it’s not a present he intends to take back.

Qifrey pulls the edge of his sleeve over his palm, and uses it to wipe at his eyes. “I wish you’d be angry with me.”

It is tempting, that hand of his, braced in the grass. Olruggio wants to take it, hold it and kiss it.

“You keep waiting for me to up n’ leave, but that’s not going to happen, so you’ll just have to get over it.” He sets his jaw, pressing his sincerity into his tone. “This is our home, and I’m not so easily frightened by your little outbursts, or I would’ve left long ago.”

Crickets sing in the brush. Olruggio’s eyes feel heavy, so he closes them. His other senses grow stronger; the scent of grass, of fresh laundry hanging on the line, of the lavender perfume Qifrey dabs on the back of his neck every morning.  

“I’ve realized I don’t know how to be happy,” Qifrey says quietly. “How to let myself be…yes. Just be.”

“Then maybe the professor can take a lesson from his students.” 

Qifrey laughs shallowly, shaking his head. His laughter is sweet and soft, like a woolpuff.

“Maybe so.” After a short silence, Qifrey whispers, “Thank you.”

Olruggio nods off under the stars. It’s a small taste of freedom before he’ll climb into bed, alone, and think of all the work awaiting him tomorrow; but for now, he succumbs to his drunkenness, and falls asleep.

He dreams of nothing. And when he wakes again, it’s to a gentle tickle at the crest of his lips.

He licks over them first, then peeks open an eye. Qifrey is on his feet, offering a hand.

“Time to go, my dear.”

Olruggio is too tired to hide the yearning on his face – but Qifrey does not flinch away from it. He is aware of Olruggio’s feelings, and that will have to be enough. He pulls him to his feet, gathers the empty bottles, and walks half a step ahead. Olruggio runs his thumb along his lower lip, and hums an old folk song.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

Olruggio is mostly certain that Qifrey is up to something.

After dinner, it’s typical for Qifrey to hang around the central room, savoring his tea and reading books by the hearth. But for the last seven days he has quickly cleaned the kitchen, said goodnight, and locked himself in his room. No late-night wine, no midnight snacks, not even a spoonful of pudding (criminal).

If Qifrey is sick, then he hides it well, because he’s full of energy when he teaches the girls in the garden – using their magic to water, tend and pick the healthy tomatoes growing on the bushes. No sign of fever, no dizziness; just a patient smile when he ends up covered in dirt by a novice spell gone awry.

Eventually, Olruggio decides: it’s not his business. Maybe Qifrey is catching up on sleep. That would be nice.

But then, there is the taste of beeswax.

It’s the crack of dawn when Olruggio feels an unfamiliar softness against his lips. He’s still groggy and half in a dream, and the slightest brush against his skin makes his eyes snap wide open. He sits upright in bed, panting a breath.

The window creaks back and forth. Silver branches beat against the stained glass. His room is empty. Hushed, foggy darkness, a mess of clothes across the floor, shelves stacked with various jars of herbs, and the silhouette of hanging tapestries. Sweat runs down the back of his neck. 

Olruggio flicks his tongue across his bottom lip, and finally puts a finger on the familiar taste. It is beeswax. The slightest stick of honey, an aftertaste that is sweet and tacky and foreign, because Olruggio never uses the stuff (unlike Qifrey who uses it for chapped lips and rough elbows).

His hypothesis is unfounded and ridiculous and Olruggio cannot get the thought out of his mind. And so he must conduct an experiment.

A storm passes through the downs for a few days. The teary weather makes it easier to put his head down and focus on work – but when the rain passes, and the sky dries up nicely, the temptation of a warm afternoon becomes inevitable. Olruggio can hear the ruckus outside his window. The smell of a fire, the sound of giggling.

Olruggio stares at the conjuring spells sprawled across his desk. A single lamp glows in the corner, working harder to illuminate the room as the sunset turns yellow, pink, and then black.

He can smell something sweet roasting on the fire. It’s Coco who loudly asks, “Do you think Master Olly would like some?”

And Olruggio knows his opportunity has come when Qifrey’s soft spoken voice says, “I’ll fetch him.”

Olruggio immediately executes his plan. He folds up his arms, drops his head to his desk, and closes his eyes, feigning sleep. 

He waits a long, excruciating, quiet minute. Footsteps approach the door. Silence, and more silence – and then a slow, low creak of the door. No knock.

Olruggio forces himself to take steady breaths. Qifrey’s footsteps are nearly soundless as they creep up the stairs. He knows it’s him. He doesn’t know how, but he does. There is an air about Qifrey, as if the way he breathes is enough for Olruggio to recognize him. 

The footsteps stop at his side. 

In, and out. For a moment, Qifrey does nothing but stare. Then, a whisper.

“Olly?”

Olruggio doesn’t rouse. He listens closely for the sound of Qifrey’s cloak brushing against his chair, and then soft breathing as Qifrey leans in, mere inches from his ‘sleeping’ face.

This is it, he thinks.

Qifrey hovers above his mouth, his breath ghosting across his cheek.

He’s going to –

Qifrey stands up, and pokes him hard in the temple.

“Wake up, dear friend!”

“Huh!?” Olruggio jumps, shocked from the sudden sting. “What’s – what??”

Qifrey snickers to himself as his fluffy white brushbug jumps off his shoulder, climbs up Olruggio’s sleeve and purrs against his ear. Olruggio cringes from the tickle, and his attempts to pluck him off are in vain. It goes squeeeeak squeak-squeak. Fast little bugger.

“Come outside,” Qifrey says casually, as if he didn’t just spend thirty seconds hovering above Olruggio’s mouth. “We’re making smores. The girls created a bonfire with their own magic.”

Olruggio wipes a hand down his face. Well that was a bust.

“Issat so?”

“Mmm.” Qifrey peeps over his shoulder, and Olruggio quickly realizes he’s trying to read his doodles. Olruggio quickly slaps a hand over it.

“Hey, no peeking.”

“Seems like a good time to share with the class, don’t you think? Captive audience, and all that.”

Olruggio opens his mouth, preparing a rebuttal, but eventually ends in a sigh. “I’ll be right out.”

Qifrey claps his hands together happily. “Great! Brushbuddy, please see that he keeps his word.”

The little brushbug squeaks in confirmation. Because Qifrey apparently speaks brushbug.

He gets himself sorted, plucks a few glyphs off his desk, and makes his way outside. The glow of the bonfire casts shadows against the walls of the atelier, making the Silverwood tree glow ominously in the distance. The girls’ happy laughter feels more magical than their crackling fire. And when Olruggio approaches, his heart lurches into his throat.

There are three great logs around the firepit, but on the other side is a spot of grass that has been cleared of debris.

Qifrey has one of Tetia’s hands in his, and is counting aloud, leading her footsteps with his own. All heads perk up as Olruggio approaches.

“Master Olly!” Coco turns excitedly. “We have smores! And professor Qifrey has been teaching us how to dance!”

It is so damn cute, it takes him a moment to gather his words. “And what dance is that?”

“The witch’s ballroom!” Tetia exclaims. “He says all witches must know it one day.”

Olruggio cracks a smile, stepping over one log to plop himself next to Agott. There is more than enough space on the log, but she’s crowded next to Coco, her violet eyes fixated on the fire. 

“A bit formal, innit?”

Qifrey makes a weary expression.

“They overheard Atwert and Galga planning for their first dance at their wedding.”

Agott takes a modest bite out of her smore. She sounds bored, but is pink in the ears, “If it’s important to being a witch, then we ought to know it, shouldn’t we?”

“It’s left, right back,” Qifrey explains, after being stepped on again.

“Oops!”

Olruggio rubs the back of his neck. “Um, I suppose there are necessities to being a witch, and then there are traditions of upholding our culture. The latter is entirely optional.” Olruggio perks as Richeh wordlessly hands him a cooked smore. “Thanks! How did you know I liked mine burnt?”

“Richeh is good at burning smores.”

“I see.”

“Twirl me again!” Tetia demands. “Please! It’s so much fun!”

“The spin is meant for the crescendo,” Qifrey explains. He makes a face, “Though a little hard without music.”

He is such a little shit. 

Tetia deflates. “Oh, okay….”

Olruggio sighs, digging into his cloak. “I suppose that’s my cue.”

Coco immediately sniffs out the promise of a new spell. “What is that?”

Olruggio puts on a smile, and shows off the paper spell with some dramatic flare. “Why, little apprentice, this is my newest invention.”

He takes his pen, flicks his wrist across the ring, and releases the magic. The glyphs rise off the page, spinning in a smooth circle, round and round until the art begins to produce music.

All the girls gasp; even Tetia, stomping over Qifrey’s foot.

“Ouch.”

“What?! It can sing?” Coco gasps, her eyes full of sparkles. “I can hear fiddles! And cellos! That’s amazing!”

He has Agott’s complete attention, her violet eyes glued to the spinning spell. “How is this possible?”

“A little wind trickery, and some help from the traveling musicians. I found that if I activate the spell in the presence of sound, it will repeat that sound when reversing the rotation. It only allows me to record a few minutes before looping again, but I’m still playing with it.” Olruggio looks up and across the fire, to Qifrey standing in its orange light. His eyes are shining bright with a pride that hollows out inside of him.

“Incredible,” Qifrey whispers. Olruggio scratches his scruff.

“Hmph.”

“This is perfect!” Tetia tugs on Qifrey’s hands, urging him to resume their lesson. “Now we have music!”

The sound is still a little off. The recording wobbles in some places, but it’s enough to give them something to practice with. Coco’s eyes won’t leave the spell. Olruggio is just about to turn it into a teaching moment, when Richeh looks up at him and asks, “Do you know how to dance too, Master Olly?”

He freezes.

“Ummm.”

“Oh, great idea!” Tetia steps away, allowing Qifrey a sigh of relief. “I always learn better by demonstration.”

Olruggio, unfortunately, locks his gaze with Qifrey. He doesn’t look opposed to the idea. His eyebrows creep upwards in question.

“Master Olly?”

Fuck.

“This is…that is to say, this kind of thing is usually…” Olruggio struggles to keep the heat out of his face. Professor Qifrey comes to his rescue.

“Typically, this dance is for formal occasions between people who care about each other deeply.”

“But you two care about each other, don’t you?”

Damn those not-so innocent eyes. Olruggio can see Qifrey struggling to cook up an explanation that will get him out of this – but there’s only one way out.

“Fine.” Olruggio stands. “But you all owe me one smore each.”

“Deal!!”

Qifrey’s face is genuinely amazed, his eyes wide as Olruggio approaches him on this makeshift dancefloor.

“Is this really alright?”

Four hopeful faces gaze back at him.

“It’s just a dance,” Olruggio shrugs. Qifrey soundlessly mouths the word ‘pushover’. It does something feral to him. Olruggio quickly snatches him by the waist, pulls this tall, gangly professor into his arms, and earns a surprised gasp from his pretty mouth. Olruggio raises his voice above the music. “Actually, I’ll have you all know I’m a fantastic dancer.”

Qifrey sputters out a laugh, then their hands are clasped together, and their feet are moving as one.

It is effortless. Qifrey yields to him immediately, so Olruggio takes the lead. His hand is carven and strong and fits perfectly in his own, the callouses of their penmanship rubbing against each other. His skin is cool to the touch, like a fresh balm on his burning skin. When Olruggio moves, Qifrey is there with him, unflinching, his eyes stuck to the side of his face. Forwards, sideways, backwards, they part so Qifrey can spin, the folds of his cloak fanning out like a bird, and the girls gasp in delight.

The music dances with them. It’s upbeat and happy and Olruggio hopes it’s loud enough to cover his racing heart. He hopes his palm isn’t too sweaty. He hopes he smells good. Qifrey lets out a joyful laugh.

“You dance fast.”

“So keep up!”

Olruggio holds one hand securely on Qifrey’s waist, and the other clutched in his palm. They rock, step and bounce, moving as one. He never thought he would get the chance to dance like this (had accepted the opportunity would never come), and now their faces are mere inches apart, their gazes meeting as their palms flatten against the other.

They brace their right forearms together, and spin for the chorus. It earns them a hearty cheer.

When they reunited, Qifrey’s left hand migrates from his shoulder, to the crook of his neck. The gesture feels much more intimate.

Coco and Tetia are clapping along. Faster, they turn and spin and dance, and when Qifrey clutches hard to the back of his neck, Olruggio knows what he is asking for, so he sweeps him up, spins him and sets him safely down on his feet.

“Oh my!” Qifrey grins. “He’s strong.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Olruggio scoffs, though he’s laughing too. “I’m very strong.” Qifrey is so close, and his charming smile is infectious.

In a cheeky half-step, Qifrey grabs him by the waist, lifting him through a turn and setting him down before Olruggio can even protest.

“No I in team, darling.”

The pet name drops hard into his stomach. Their feet move, but Olruggio doesn’t know where. His eyes are stuck on Qifrey’s mouth, hypnotized by soft, pink lips. Suddenly, there is no campfire, no dirt beneath his feet, no music or attentive audience. All he can feel is the impending doom of a kiss. No – the sudden need to hold him close, to bridge this gap between them that shouldn’t belong in the first place.

Qifrey is staring at his lips too.

Their feet have stopped dancing, and the music ends as the spell fizzles out into a spark of light. Olruggio breathes in, and is close enough to feel Qifrey exhale. His visible eye is no longer a refreshing pool of water – but is burning hot.

“That was amazing!!” Tetia shouts.

The moment shatters. Qifrey suddenly takes in their closeness, and flinches aggressively out of his arms. The rejection stings.

“That was…quite advanced.” Qifrey fumbles with his glasses, fixing them on the bridge of his nose. He looks spooked, and Olruggio feels like shit. “Don’t assume you must learn all of that.”

“But it was beautiful,” says Coco. Agott and Richeh agree, clearly touched by the romance of it all.

Qifrey is struggling. His eyes keep jerking between the fire and the silhouette of the Silverwood tree, and he fumbles at his clothes, now picking at the collar of his shirt. Olruggio’s heart breaks for him.

Will it always be this way? Every time Qifrey feels the slightest bit happy, will he suffer the painful memories of that parasite squirming, threatening to bloom inside him?

Olruggio wants to hold him so badly and tell him that seed is no more. He can stay here at the atelier and be happy. He can laugh and dance and fall in –

Qifrey takes a deep breath, trying to put on a strong face in front of the girls. Guess that makes two of them. Olruggio steps in and extends a hand, gesturing for Tetia to join him. “Well, let’s see if you learned anything.”

Tetia squeals happily, and jumps off her seat, nearly trampling through the campfire. Olruggio goes oi, watch it –!

Agott has clever eyes, as does little Miss Coco, and the two of them call Qifrey to sit at the log. “Come here and rest, Master Qifrey.”

“Don’t overdo it, professor. You’re still healing!”

Qifrey presses a hand against his chest, and takes a deep breath as he perches on the log. “I’m alright.” It sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Just a little too much excitement.”

Olruggio is too embarrassed to look at him any longer. He takes Tetia by the hand, and teaches her to waltz.  

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

“I’m sorry,” Qifrey whispers.

The door creaks to a stop. Olruggio pauses with his hands in the pantry, placing back a bowl of cinnamon crackers that were lovingly made this morning. It is disastrously late, and after dragging four thirteen-year-olds into bed, he’s ready to climb in the bath and wallow in his own feelings.

It is so, so quiet.

“Does it still hurt?”

Qifrey takes the time to consider his answer. His palm fits to his chest again, eyes caught in the distance. “Only the memory.” He must be tired of speaking of this already. Olruggio is prepared to swallow his pride and change the subject, but Qifrey continues, “You must understand, it’s entirely compulsive, not a – it’s not because of you, or –”

Oh dear gods, Olruggio can’t hear this. Not when he can still feel Qifrey’s laugh ghosting across his lips.

“Goodnight, Qifrey.”

He looks smaller without his cloak. Qifrey’s mouth attempts to form several words, before settling on, “Okay. Goodnight.”

Because he doesn’t want to leave on a sour note, Olruggio shuts the pantry door and says, “I had fun.”

Qifrey nods once.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

It’s tax season, which means Olruggio must return to the Great Hall for the most tedious two and a half days of the year.

Honestly, Olruggio isn’t mad at the excuse to get out of the house, but spending two days going through the books with a grumpy old witch is pure torture. Qifrey handled much of the accounting before he took on his apprentices, but Olruggio wouldn’t dare ask him to do that now. He’s been avoiding the stronghold lately, and Olruggio has a feeling as to why.

“Olruggio of the Torch!”

He straightens himself on the path, pausing at the midpoint of the bridge. High above them, the sea coos and groans, the water rippling from the passing sunlight, casting little shadows as a school of fish pass over the domed windows. Hooves clop on the path, and Olruggio immediately turns to bow.

“Master Beldaruit.”

“I see my star pupil did not come to visit me.” Beldaruit smiles warmly as he approaches in his magical sealchair. “Have you at least brought me a grand-apprentice?”

“Apologies. I traveled alone this time.”

Beldaruit clicks his tongue, “What a shame.” He then reaches into his cloak with a smile. “Could you do me a favor, and deliver this to Qifrey? He seems to be ignoring my calls through the teleslate.”

Olruggio didn’t know that. He takes a small, white envelope from Beldaruit’s hand, examining the ornate wax seal stamped across the fold. He’s surprised to find the letter made entirely of ordinary paper. Without a doubt, something sinister is waiting inside. Beldaruit is a magnificent witch; a revered Wise One, but also a trickster at heart, and after the last present they received, Olruggio could never get all the glitter out of their couch.

“I’m sure Qifrey means no harm. He’s been very busy with his wards.”

“Mmm, busy teaching, or perhaps, busy with you?”  

Waterfalls flow from the upper floors of the hall, and harpists play in the center foyer, giving a false sense of serenity to Olruggio’s panic.

Olruggio sputters, “I-I-I haven’t a clue what you mean!”

Beldaruit pouts. He scoops his long silver hair over his shoulder, and combs through it petulantly. “You don’t? That little fool…”

Much to Qifrey’s chagrin, there is much of Beldaruit in him. Not in blood, but in manners; quite friendly on the surface, but utterly scheming beneath. Like master, like apprentice.

 “I-I must get going. I’ll make sure that Qifrey receives this.” He bows in quick, short successions as he attempts his escape. “A pleasure seeing you, O Wise One.” His pointed hat falls, and he catches it clumsily. 

Beldaruit silently laughs, lifting a hand from the curved horn of his chair and waving sarcastically. Olruggio gets the hell out of there.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

The atelier is quiet.

Olruggio tucks his cap under his arm as he crosses the threshold. He closes the door, peeks into the central room, and sees nothing but a clean, unassuming table, and a dark fireplace.

He sets down his bag, and looks about the kitchen.

“Hello?”

This letter is burning a hole in his cloak, and he’d really like to fall in bed as soon as possible.

Shoes are still lined up neatly by the door, and four little cloaks hang on the coat hooks – so they can’t have gone far. Olruggio makes his way upstairs, and as he takes one step down the hall, a head of short, pale hair pops out of the doorway.

“Welcome back, Master Olly!”

His anxiety falls out of his lungs. “Thank you, Coco. Where is everyone?”

Across the hall, Richeh peeks out of the opposite doorway. “It’s independent study time.”

Ah.

“Well done then, I’ll let you crack on.”

“If you’re looking for Master Qifrey, he’s in his solar,” calls Agott. Olruggio looks into the room to see her nose down in a book, her hand scribbling notes on a separate paper.

“Right…I’ll go pay him a visit.” Olruggio pauses in his step. “Anything you girls need me to look at?”

“Um.” Coco tucks her hair behind her ear. “If you don’t mind? This levitation spell…it keeps flipping upside down?”

Agott turns in a flustered huff. “I told you, it’s the–”

“I know! But I just want to be sure!”

Olruggio’s interest peaks. “Well, no harm in a second opinion. Let’s have a look.” 

He helps the girls with a few easy corrections to their homework, then slips down the hall, up the next set of stairs, and ends at Qifrey’s door. He raises his hand.

“Come in.”

Olruggio hadn’t even knocked. He looks at his own hand, shrugs, then turns the knob and steps inside just as Qifrey finishes shuffling a pile of papers beneath a heavy book. Olruggio clears his throat, and Qifrey turns to greet him.

“You’re back sooner than I thought.”

“Could’ve done with a little-more sooner, to be honest.”

“Books all squared away?”

 “Yup. Taxes done, and turned in my Watchful Eye year-end review. Even filed for your apprentice stipends for next year.”

“Brilliant,” says Qifrey. He looks tired, stripped of his cloak and his skirt, just in his trousers and that formfitting shirt that garters to his thigh. His study is usually tidy to a fault, but there are a myriad of books, papers and ink thrown about his desk, as well as a few papers tacked to the wall. Olruggio doesn’t get much time to look, because Qifrey is soon standing in his way, blocking his line of vision with his height. “Anything else?”

“Oh.” Olruggio digs in his cloak pocket, and finally pulls out that letter. “Delivery for you, from the Wise One.” 

“For me?” Qifrey takes the letter, flips it front to back, and clicks his teeth at the seal. “Master…”

“He says you’re ignoring him.”

“That’s not anyone’s business.” Gee, he’s snippy today. Olruggio lifts his hands in a placating gesture, and Qifrey quickly softens. “Apologies. Thank you, I – sorry, it’s been a long two days.”

Olruggio relaxes too. “Everything alright?”

Hands wipe at that right eye, dabbing at it with his sleeve. “Yes. I just don’t like when you’re gone too long.”

Pang. A shot to the heart.

“Well I – I’m not going anywhere for a while. I dropped off my commissions on the way home.”

“Good,” Qifrey says, still fussing with his eye. Olruggio frowns.

“Is that still bothering you?”

“It waters a lot.” Qifrey puffs a sarcastic laugh. “Ironic, I know. The doctors say my body thinks it’s a foreign object. Still can’t see out of the damned thing.”

“Stop rubbing it.” Olruggio grabs for his arm, pulling his hand away from his face. “Can I see?”

Qifrey freezes. He blinks quickly, then nods, using his other hand to brush back his hair. The eye is indeed watering profusely, and the skin around is red and agitated. The color of the iris takes Olruggio’s breath away. It is crystal blue, nearly aquamarine, so much richer and deeper than his other eye, which is a beautiful silver. But even with that rich color, the right eye is obviously blind, the pupil being a hazy grey. Qifrey squints as it continues to water, and without thinking, Olruggio wipes beneath it with his thumb.

Qifrey makes a short sound.

“Nothing in it,” Olruggio confirms. “I’d bet you’ve just been staring at that book too long.”

 “Cheers.” It’s no surprise that Qifrey pulls away from him.

“You should visit the doctor for eyedrops the next time you’re in town.”

“Mmm. I should check on the girls –”

“I’ll check on the girls.” Olruggio grabs for the door handle, blocking Qifrey’s path. “You see what the Wise One needs.”

Qifrey looks back at the letter with a pout. “Am I to assume this will open to a cloud of smoke and glitter?”

“Definitely. You might want to crack a window.”

At dinner, Qifrey’s hair sparkles.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

The days are growing longer.

Now that winter is gone, it’s time to start checking the roads again so they can fix whatever protection spells might’ve cracked during the snowpack. Olruggio takes the girls with him, giving Qifrey a chance to get some work done alone. Whatever that work may be.

The girls are becoming more confident in their glyph drawing, and Olruggio barely lifts a pen throughout the entire trip. They’re eager to impress, and Olruggio is eager to crack open the lunch Qifrey packed for them.

It’s an easy day. The weather’s nice, he gets to walk off lunch, and the girls retire to bed early that night. It’s a win-win.

Olruggio stretches his arms above his head as he strolls towards his annex of the atelier. He’s in a good mood. It was a job well done, and Coco gave him a solid idea for how to better refine his recording spell. She called it a Songspinner, which he quite liked.

The Silverwood tree looms above the atelier. At the base of it, Qifrey stands with his hands folded in his robes, his gaze far from reality.

Olruggio slows his pace, dropping his arms to his sides. Qifrey’s silhouette is statuesque, his stone face shaded by cold moonlight. Olruggio approaches cautiously. His presence isn’t acknowledged right away, as Qifrey continues to stare impartially at the tree’s canopy. Olruggio fixes the wrinkles in his shirt, and clears his throat.

“You alright?” 

Qifrey doesn’t look away. 

“I wonder if some part of me is still stuck in that tree.”

Olruggio’s heart sinks. “And what part is that?”

“My sanity.” Qifrey finally breaks from his trance, flinching away to wipe tiredly at his face. “No, I’m sorry, I –”

“Don’t apologize,” Olruggio says firmly. “Tell me.”

Qifrey presses his lips together. He wants so badly to carry that docile, carefree persona, but Olruggio knows how heavy that mask is.

“That’s the problem. There are words that I – things I want to say, but just…can’t.” He makes a frustrated sound. “I hate it.”

Olruggio hums his understanding. Both their cloaks billow in the night breeze. He looks upwards, away from the tree and towards the cloudless sky. “It’s a beautiful night.”

Slowly, Qifrey turns, following his gaze. “Yes, I suppose so.”

The air smells like dewy grass and fresh pine. Fireflies bounce around in the low brush, sparkling like stars.

“It reminds me of when we would sneak out of the Great Hall. Perfect nights like this.”

Qifrey finally cracks that gloomy expression, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Is that how you remember it?”

“And you don’t?”

“I think of all the times we got stuck out in the rain.” He shudders. “Drenched and freezing cold, hiding in caves, waiting for the downpour to end.”

“Ah. Perhaps that happened once or twice.” Olruggio twists the ring on his thumb. “But I fixed it, didn’t I?”

Qifrey’s gaze lowers. “That you did.”

Olruggio stretches again, inhaling deeply. The kids are asleep, the town is quiet, the world isn’t ending. He turns to Qifrey with a grin.

“I’ll race you.”

Qifrey blanches. “What? Race where?”

Olruggio clicks his feet together and activates the flight seal on the bottom of his shoes. “Anywhere!”

He takes off into the sky. He smiles at the brisk air that whooshes through his clothes. The atelier grows smaller and smaller, until he’s shadowed by the moon. He only has to count a second more, before a flash of green light zips past him, a smoke-colored cloak whirling around elegantly as Qifrey flies above him, grinning.

They both suspend in the air, two witches alone in the night sky, enveloped entirely by the full moon.

“To the mill?” Qifrey calls.

“You’re on!”

Qifrey takes off first, with Olruggio a close second behind. This high up in the air, there are no obstacles keeping them from acting a complete fool. Diving, soaring, flipping and rolling with the jet streams. Qifrey’s shoes are so damn fast.

The ground rushes beneath them. The air is cold, and cuts past his cheeks, and at this speed, they quickly approach the river. The large mill sits on its bank, the wheel spilling water as it turns. Qifrey nosedives, twisting himself to tap his hand against the top of the stacks, then returning into airspace.

“You’re a dirty cheater!” Olruggio calls. He doesn’t slow down, and Qifrey quickly moves out of the way, giggling as Olruggio chases him. They climb higher, and higher. 

“I learned a little something from my pupil!” He twists through the air, kicks his boots apart, and shows Olruggio the bottom of the sigil. “Longer pillars.”

The smile on his face makes Olruggio feel young. They haven’t played like this since they were children.

Time slows down once more. Having broken the levitation seal, Qifrey begins to fall. He is relaxed, his arms splaying outwards as he allows the sweet siren of gravity to call him back to earth. It’s as if he’s been enveloped by the air, the essence of life fluttering through his open hands. Olruggio breaks his own seal, and falls with him.

Wind caresses through Qifrey’s hair, and flows up through Olruggio’s clothes. They’re an arms length apart, so as Qifrey falls backwards, Olruggio follows above him. They used to play this game, too. Flying as high as they can go, then falling to see who would catch themselves first. You’re a chicken – no YOU’RE a chicken – 

He can feel Qifrey’s eyes all over him. His gaze is reverent, taking in Olruggio’s black cloak, his billowing shirt, and his dark hair fluttering off his forehead. Qifrey reaches out to him, and Olruggio takes his hands.

The freefall makes his stomach swoop. Qifrey’s lips part and his chest rises. Olruggio wouldn’t mind falling like this forever. Shrouded in stars and blue moonlight, and Qifrey’s strong hands clasped in his own.

Qifrey begins to say, “Olly –”

The ground is quickly approaching. Too quickly. Olruggio curses, slamming his heels back together and pushing downwards, pulling so Qifrey is yanked into his arms. It’s just enough power to stop them from slamming into the roof of the old mill. Dust explodes off the rooftop, expelled by force, puffing around them like smoke. The dust falls and settles like rain. 

“Oops,” says Qifrey.

“You’re crazy!” Olruggio shouts. He grabs Qifrey around the waist, who still refuses to activate his own sylph shoes. Arms circle his neck, strong and heavy. “That was – terminal velocity! We could’ve died!”

“You’re just, mad you, lost,” Qifrey pants.

In more ways than one. But…

Olruggio hovers in the air, still holding Qifrey in his arms. To an onlooker, it might look as if they’re dancing again. His eyes fall to Qifrey’s face, close to his own.

“You’re smiling.”

Qifrey freezes. The smile slips right off. He attempts to pull away, but Olruggio won’t let him.

“I…”

“It’s okay. Fuck, Qifrey. Whatever you’re mulling on about in that head of yours, it’s gonna be okay. Nobody’s going anywhere – just, stay here.”

Qifrey’s hands tighten on his velvety cloak. He looks at Olruggio with wide eyes unhidden by his hair, and Olruggio is completely overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him again.

Oh shit.

He takes in their proximity, and gasps. “I mean – here, in general! Feel free to fly any time! If you’re uncomfortable–!”

Qifrey quietly laughs. He pulls away to finally click his own heels together, taking the weight off Olruggio’s arms and allowing them both to hover side by side.

“Never with you.”

This false hope is just enough to make his heart flutter. Even if Qifrey never desires more than this, Olruggio would be more than happy to float here forever. To return to their humble abode, to share meals together, to stay side by side and create magic that makes people happy.

The words are watering in his mouth. He so badly wants to say them.

Qifrey’s hands slowly slip off Olruggio’s shoulders, trailing down his arms before leaving entirely. The gesture feels more intimate than it should.

“Race you back? I’ll give you a ten second head start.”

“Oh, he’s cocky now.”

“Well, I’ve been accused of being a dirty cheater. My reputation is on the line.”

When they return, Qifrey is the first to discover the front door half open, and a pile of shoes kicked off at the straw mat, as if a herd of young girls were spying on their two masters and then quickly scrambled into their rooms.

They both speak nothing of it until morning, when Tetia sits down at the kitchen table and says, “How come it’s okay when you race in your Slyph shoes, but we’re not allowed?”

Olruggio chokes on his tea, but Qifrey recovers faster. “When you pass your fourth test, you can race past bedtime as long as your heart desires. But you must understand and master the rules in order to break them.”

“Nice save,” says Olruggio.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll pretend to believe that,” Tetia sighs.  

 Richeh joins her, grumbling, “It’s like the pudding all over again.”

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

Dreams are windowless portals into memories. Sometimes distorted, changed, or strengthened by fear, by loss, by love.

This dream is perfectly preserved, and just as real as the day Olruggio almost lost him.

The seed had sprouted. It was growing through his skin, taking root in the ground, sprouting big, bushy leaves of iridescent silver. Olruggio’s hands shook as he pressed them to Qifrey’s chest, desperately searching for a beating heart through his thickening skin.

“Please, d-don’t look,” Qifrey begged. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The grief was so thick, Olruggio couldn’t even cry. He doesn’t remember the words he said. In his dream, his lips won’t move. But he knows he sunk to his knees and begged. He told him how much he needed him. How much he loved him.

The roots curled lovingly around Olruggio’s ankles, Qifrey’s sweet poison threatening to take him too. And he let it – because there is no LIFE without QIFREY.

In the distance, a cry of hope shouted on the horizon. A little girl with her too-fast shoes, zipping through the air.

“I have the eye!” 

The creak of a door stirs him from sleep.

Olruggio takes a deep breath, opening his eyes to take in his surroundings. His study is dark and blue from the early morning, his pen is at his nightstand, a project sits half-done on his desk, and his robe is hanging by the closet. It is safe.

He lets out a sigh – then quickly chokes it back as he hears a door close.

Qifrey.

He slams his eyes shut. Those feather-soft footsteps tread up the stairs, and Olruggio takes a deep breath to slow his heartbeat.

Once again, Qifrey approaches his sleeping form. It is most certainly him. The scrape of his long robe against the floor, the smell of his perfume, and his warm, minty breath that pants against his cheek. It takes all of Olruggio’s focus to feign sleep, hoping that Qifrey’s poor eyesight wont see through his charade in the dark.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly. Qifrey stares for a long while.

Is this all he does? Creep into my study to watch me sleep? A bit anticlimatic. 

Just as Olruggio considers opening his eyes, there is movement. He lies in shock as Qifrey proceeds to lean in, hover tantalizingly above his face, and press a gentle kiss against his lips.

The kiss is tender. A bare brush of skin, light as a butterfly wing. It is a lasting press that spans several slow seconds before Qifrey inhales at once, and pulls away. Olruggio’s mouth is left tingling, and softer than before.

Very, very, quietly, Qifrey whispers, “Almost.”

And just like that, Qifrey steps out of his room and closes the door behind him.

One.

Two.

Three.

Olruggio sits up in a rush. He clasps his hands to his head, then his cheeks, then his mouth. He sucks in too much air.

Frantically, he slides up to the window to see Qifrey walking out into the garden. He entertains the white quadryphon birds that flap around him, tweeting their demand for treats. The sun peeks over the horizon, and it makes Qifrey look like a beautiful golden prince, and not at all a man who sneaks into people's bedrooms and kisses them.

Olruggio can’t stop touching his mouth. It is faintly sticky with wax.

He lets out another groan, and flops back on the bed.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

So, Qifrey has been kissing him in his sleep. This is something Olruggio can definitely be normal about.

He knows that Qifrey cares for him. Enough that the act of erasing his memories was so agonizing it kept the Silverwood tree from sprouting. But that doesn’t equate to romantic love; not like what Olruggio holds for him.

He wishes Qifrey trusted him enough to talk about this, but it’s clear he does not want to, which is only a little soul-crushing for Olruggio. Is he just supposed to pretend he doesn’t know? How long has this been going on? Is he testing the waters? Taking a sample? Stealing his soul?

Olruggio sinks into the bath, and blows bubbles out of his nose. The spell at the bottom of the tub keeps the water warm, but he is tempted to carve a new sigil into the ceramic and dunk his head beneath the ice.

He successfully avoids lunch, and nearly makes it through dinner, until Qifrey sends that little rascal brushbug into his study with a piece of palm-quire paper stuck to it’s back that reads “come eat” in Qifrey’s elegant handwriting.

And thus, Olruggio ends up at the dining table with a plate of husk potato dumplings and a fresh pot of stew. Despite being a rather rambunctious child, he was never good at acting, so he keeps his eyes on his plate as Qifrey comes to sit in front of him.

Before Qifrey can ask anything, Olruggio blurts, “So, what did the apprentices learn in school today?”

The girls perk up at the kids table.

Tetia exclaims, “We got to build sandcastles!”

“Big ones! As tall as me!”

“Richeh dug a hole.”

“We’re learning to shape gravel,” Agott explains, a bit petulantly. “Though, it’s a fairly basic spell.”

“Gravel turns to stone,” says Qifrey. “As a witch, we are frequently asked to repair damaged buildings.”

“It’s important stuff,” Olruggio nods. “One wrong move, and you can send a whole bridge under –” He suddenly bites off his tongue. Qifrey’s bare foot nudges against his own beneath the table. It’s only an accident, but it derails his thought completely, startling him into sitting up straight.

Qifrey gives him an odd look, but turns back to the girls to continue his teaching moment. “Kalhn will be building a new school soon. I’ve let them know we will be visiting the construction site. It’s important to understand how these things are made, before you ever attempt to fix them.”

Olruggio stuffs an entire dumpling in his mouth. He can feel Coco’s clever little eyes staring into the side of his face. He might be sweating a bit.

This was so much easier when he thought Qifrey was unobtainable. Now it takes so much effort just to swallow down his food – like his throat is constricting around the emotion trying to choke him. He knows Qifrey would never tease him about his feelings, but this is painful.

He finishes his dinner and quickly escapes to his study with a half-assed excuse about an approaching deadline.   

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

It’s not to say he is actively ignoring Qifrey, but he certainly isn’t knocking on his door asking to play chase amongst the stars. Qifrey continues to hole himself up in his room, and it becomes easy for Olruggio to do the same.

However, the topic of sleep is a sore one. It becomes nearly impossible; lying awake with his eyes on the domed ceiling, wondering if this will be the night that Qifrey sneaks into his bedchamber.

He does not. At least, as far as Olruggio is aware.

The Silverwood tree groans outside his window. Olruggio sits up with a huffy sigh, and crawls over to lean against the windowsill. He doesn’t smoke a pipe, but he has the urge to. Far at the other tower, he can see light coming through Qifrey’s window. Awake.

How pathetic, that he still wants to crawl out this window, climb in his bed and smell the lavender on his hair.

As Qifrey lay in his arms, trembling, but alive, he somehow found the strength to squeeze Olruggio’s hand in his own. Olruggio’s tears landed on his pale cheeks, and as they ran off his face, it looked like he too was crying.

The girls had run off to fetch a doctor. Together and alone, they lay there under the husk of Qifrey’s Silverwood tree. A hole remained in the trunk, perfectly fitted to Qifrey’s body; proof of how close he was to losing him.

“I love you,” Olruggio said, again. Qifrey struggled to speak, and Olruggio shushed him. “It’s okay. I’ve waited all this time to tell you. Answer me when you’re ready, and not a moment too soon.”

Olruggio groans. Maybe he should’ve just kept his big mouth shut. 

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

“Careful now,” Qifrey says.

“I’ve got it.”

“You only have one chance at this.”

“I’m aware.”

Qifrey leans in closer, his voice low in his ear, “It’s mating season, so the smell might not be enough to –”

Olruggio huffs, “Qifrey, let me handle this!”

Qifrey presses his lips together, and crouches back down on his haunches. Their concealment spell will hide them from sight, but not sound. Olruggio peeks back around the brush, and prepares the spell on his palm quire.

The local village knocked on their door this morning, begging for a witch’s help against a lone wolf that’s been eating their livestock. Typically, such a beast would be hunted and eaten, but it’s forbidden to hunt a scalewolf during mating season. Hence, why Olruggio and Qifrey are now hiding in the forest brush.

“You’re angry with me,” says Qifrey.

Olruggio breathes harshly out of his nose.

Given the dangerous nature of this mission, the apprentices were instructed to stay back at the village and help the farmers with the broken fence. The girls weren’t too happy to be left behind, but Qifrey wasn’t having it.

“I’m not angry,” Olruggio says carefully. “I just want to finish this.”

A twig snaps in the undergrowth. Qifrey taps anxiously against the hilt of his sword.  

“When we return –”

“Shhh.”

“I think we need to talk.”

A scaled wolf crawls out of the thicket, sniffling around for the tantalizing smell of meat. Its size is massive, and it’s retained most of his scales, despite being late in the season. The beast is far from home.

Olruggio turns to look at Qifrey with exasperation. “You want to talk? Now?”

“No.” Qifrey’s eyes track the wolf’s slow movement. It raises its proud head, listening for danger. Qifrey lowers his voice to a bare whisper. “This evening, in my room.”

“Right, okay, sure.”

“You’re being sarcastic.”

His shoes are muddy, it’s humid, he’s been drawing glyphs in the dirt for two hours and he wants to go home.

“You know I care about you more than anyone in the world, but I don’t bloody understand you, Qifrey. God knows I’m fucking trying.”

Now Qifrey sounds irritated, “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I’m ready to talk!”

“You never want to talk. You promised no more secrets, and now you’re hiding away in your mysterious books and sneaking into my room in the wee hours to kiss me like a…” Olruggio stops. Qifrey stops. The wolf steps into the trap.

“Shit,” they say together. Olruggio jumps from the brush and activates the spell, while Qifrey draws his watery sword. The wolf snarls, but the spell hidden in the leaves begins to glow, entangling ropes around its feet. The wolf struggles in Olruggio’s binding spell, lunging and snapping its teeth.

“Get back!” Qifrey commands.

Olruggio’s wet shoe gets stuck in the damn mud. He falls backwards, flinching as the ropes from his spell fling violently in the air, like a pit of mad snakes. The wolf starts to claw free, and Qifrey propels it back with a wave of water that gushes from his magical sword.

“Damn it all,” Olruggio huffs. He grabs his palm quire from the mud, redraws the glyph in a series of quick strokes, and completes the entanglement spell. The ropes slither back to the scalewolf, squeeze tightly, and bind it with a neat little bow. The wolf whines pitifully, trapped, but unharmed.

Qifrey fixes his glasses. Olruggio wipes the mud from his face. They make eye contact.

“So…after dinner then?”

“Once the girls are asleep.” 

“Right.”

“Right.”

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧ 

Olruggio rests his hand against the ornate brass knob of Qifrey’s room, and stares at the grains in the wooden door.

There is nothing left to do. They released the wolf back in its natural hunting grounds and still had enough time to fix up dinner. Everyone’s had a bath, the girls are asleep, and the atelier is peacefully quiet.

Olruggio wipes his damp palms on his shirt, before grabbing the handle again. Even without his cloak, he is sweating.

The door is yanked out of his hand. Qifrey stands before him with a floatglow lamp in his arms. His tone holds no warmth. 

“Let’s not waste any more time.” 

Just as briskly, he turns on his heel. Olruggio follows him inside. He observes as Qifrey hangs the lamp in the far corner, one of several magical lamps that illuminate his room, and as he activates the spell, his hands shake. 

Olruggio always found it strange how bare Qifrey’s bedroom is in comparison to the rest of the atelier. A workbench, a chair, a bookshelf, and a small nook by the window. His bed is tucked into the opposite corner, with a little stool used as a nightstand. This is not neutral ground, and he knows it. 

Qifrey gestures to his bed. “Please sit.”

Feet planted, Olruggio stays where he is.

“I’d prefer to stand.”

Qifrey sighs. He leans himself up against his work table, and grasps the edge with his elegant fingers. Olruggio spins his thumb ring. They both sniffle.

“So,” Qifrey says. “How long have you known?”

A cough. “That you were…?” Olruggio rubs across his mouth. “Kissing me?”

Qifrey fidgets. 

“Yes.”

“I figured it out a week ago. Woke me up when you snuck in.”

Qifrey flinches, but looks unsurprised. “It was a matter of time.”

“How long has this been going on?”

An elegant hand plays with the edge of the table. “Longer than a week.”

The question of the hour, the only thought on Olruggio’s mind:

“Why?”

Qifrey steps away from the table. He holds something between his fingers, tucked behind him where Olruggio can’t see.

“I asked you here to show you something.” He takes a steadying breath. “My answer.”

Olruggio’s heart fucking drops.

“Wait –”

“Let me speak.” Qifrey runs his tongue along his cheek, as if the words are hard to say. “I – there is no other way to do this. Each time I’ve thought of how to answer your feelings, it’s never what I want to say. This is far more important than frivolous words. And so I thought, if I cannot give you your own memories back –”

This again?!

“Qifrey –!”

He approaches, one step at a time.

“—the least I can do is give you what is left of mine.” Face to face, Qifrey grabs him by the shoulder and pleads with all the ferocity in his soul, “Please, forgive me for what I am about to do.”

He then takes the paper from his hand – a thin, circular page of a palm quire – and presses it flat to Olruggio’s mouth, swooping in and kissing him through the parchment.

Before Olruggio can voice his surprise, the world bursts into a liquid flame.

✧.*☽ ✧ ☾ *.✧