Work Text:
All things considered, it was a perfectly average evening.
The girls were all happily feasting on their supper as Qifrey listened to them all chatter around the table, offering his occasional input with a smile. He sipped from the soup they had all made, which provided a very nice contrast to the chilly spring day. The rain was still drumming hard on the rooftop of the Atelier and once, a boom of thunder had echoed loud enough that the students paused their conversation at once.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Tetia, looking up at the ceiling in wonder. "Master Qifrey, does that mean the lightning is super close?"
"One often measures lightning by how quickly the thunder follows it," Qifrey explained, blowing on his teacup. "The volume actually has little to do with the closeness of the lightning, except to determine it's direction."
"The closer the sound follows the light, the closer the lightning has struck," Agott nodded. Having already finished her food, she appeared to be drawing on her napkin.
"Master Qifrey, is there a lightning spell?" Coco asked in excitement, her eyes lighting up.
Qifrey laughed lightly. "Definitely not one that any of you should be casting, that is an incredibly disastrous one to learn. I've seen many a witch electrocute themselves even after rigorous training."
"Electrocute?" Coco parroted curiously.
As Agott irately explained the way electricity travels through the body, Qifrey glanced over at the empty seat they often left at the table in case their Watchful Eye was to ever join them. Come to think of it, Olruggio had been very absent over the course of the last week. Qifrey was aware that he had a tight commission schedule at the moment, but usually one of the most reliable ways to get him out of his room was the lure of food. Qifrey frowned, trying to remember the last time he saw Olruggio actually eat a meal and it was troubling to say that he couldn't think of an example within the past three days. He had of course seen the witch out of his room a handful of times a day, emerging to grab the odd supply from the Atelier, but he had been shut inside otherwise. Knowing his imposing deadline, Qifrey had opted to let him be lest he distracted his friend, but three days was far too long without proper food.
"Are you all finished your food?" he asked the group as Richeh and Agott were having a mild back and forth about the usefulness of a lightning ribbon.
"Yes, Master Qifrey," they all chimed in.
"Very good," he smiled. "I'll take a plate to our trusty Watchful Eye, I'm afraid he's been occupied with his work. Please leave the dishes, I'll-"
"We'll do the washing up!" Tetia volunteered, raising her hand with a beaming smile.
"We?" mumbled Richeh flatly, almost inaudible.
"I'll help!" Coco offered as well.
"Oh!" Qifrey blinked. "Very well, thank you very much, girls. I do appreciate it."
"Thank you for your thanks!" Tetia grinned, before taking her bowl up to wash with Coco close behind.
As the girls all cleaned the kitchen, Qifrey ladled a heaping bowl of soup, retrieved a bread roll and laid out a few pieces of fruit on a tray alongside it all before heaving it up and walking across to Olruggio's wing. Although Qifrey knew the burden of pushing oneself better than most, it still did cause his heart to ache when his friend clearly valued his health much less than his work.
As he approached the door, still carved with the large warding seal, Qifrey leaned in to listen for any scratching of a pen or rustling of paper. Nothing.
"Olly?" he called in a hushed voice, shifting the tray to one hand. A light knock on the door yielded no response either. "Are you still working?"
When still no sound came, Qifrey pushed the door open with a gentle press of his fingers and glanced around. Everything was quite dim, the soft light of the nearly set sun not sufficient enough to brighten the room. The lower section of the room was utterly silent and still, so after a quick glance around, Qifrey put his shoes together to ride the gentle gust of wind that carried him up and over to the open second floor of the room. As he softly touched down and laid eyes upon the workstation, he sighed, brows pinched in concern. It wasn't uncommon to find Olruggio slumped over his desk, snoring away as his work went unfinished in a crumpled heap under him, but this time he had knocked over his conjuring ink. Thankfully, not all of it had spilled, but a small trail had leaked out enough to run a river down his fingers and bloom onto his white sleeve.
Tutting quietly to himself, Qifrey carefully set the tray down on a mostly clean corner of the workstation and leaned over. "Olly?" he called softly to the man below. "Come now, you'll stain your clothes." He laid a careful hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed. At the contact, Olruggio's face shifted and his eyes cracked open like a rusty door hinge. "Good morning," Qifrey joked, smiling fondly.
"Isit?" Olruggio mumbled, words slurring together.
Qifrey chucked lightly. "No, my friend, it's nearly nightfall in fact. Are you alright?"
"M'fine," he muttered, raising his head an inch of the table. "Just tired, I'll sleep when s'all finished."
"You've been sleeping already," Qifrey pointed out. "Come, let's clean you up and get you some food so you're not working on an empty stomach."
"Clean-?" Olruggio began to ask before leaning back and lifting his sleeve to see it soaked with a smear of conjuring ink. "Ah shite."
Shaking his head at him, Qifrey then glanced around the room until he laid eyes on a vapor bubble left abandoned in the corner. Fetching the contraption and a cloth napkin from the tray of food, he hooked his foot around the leg of a stool, now sitting across from Olruggio. As he poured a small amount of water over the cloth, he was about to comment on the Watchful Eye's bedraggled appearance before a closer look gave him pause. Even without considering the creases on his cheek where he had been pressed against the folds of his shirt and the bags under his eyes, something didn't seem quite right. Olruggio's face was a shade paler than normal and his tousled hair was plastered to his forehead in a layer of sweat. His chest heaved with unsteady breaths and he seemed unsteady in his attempt to sit up properly, still regarding his ink-stained sleeve.
Qifrey frowned as he looked him over. "Are you feeling alright? You don't seem well."
"Nah, it's alright," Olruggio sighed, dragging his clean sleeve over his forehead. "Just tired. And it's bloody hot."
"It's certainly not," Qifrey disagreed, his frown deepening. "It's quite cool in here in particular." He lifted a hand to brush Olruggio's hair from his forehead, wiping the damp cloth over his face.
Olruggio sighed in relief at the chill drag of the cloth, his eyes closing. "Thanks."
"Olly," Qifrey said gently, laying the back of his hand on top of Olruggio's forehead. "I think you're getting sick."
"Nah, it's just the fatigue. Bit of rest and I'll be right as rain."
"You're positively burning," Qifrey insisted, dropping his hand to instead clutch the witch's face, his palms cupping each of his cheeks and forcing him to look straight ahead at Qifrey. The way Olruggio lurched forward into the touch made something in Qifrey's heart squeeze.
With a slow, hard blink, Olruggio seemed to jolt back to his senses and grabbed at Qifrey's wrists, trying to back away. "Well, if I've gotten ill," he barked, his voice strained and raspy. "Then you've got to get away! I can't get you sick, or the girls."
"It's not like I'm drinking out of your teacup," Qifrey pointed out with an air of irritability, instantly grasping back onto the man before he could get far.
"I don't care," fumed Olruggio, weakly trying to pull out of Qifrey's grip. "It's my duty to-"
"If I were unwell, would you have me fend for myself?" Qifrey interrupted, his voice quick and firm as he affixed his piercing blue eye into Olruggio's.
"Of course not, but-"
"Then I will not be doing the same to you," he insisted as he leant closer, his grip on Olruggio's wrists loosening, but not releasing completely. "Look, Olly. You're trembling." Sure enough, whether from his body temperature, lack of sleep, or a secret third thing, Olruggio's body was wracked with subtle shivers that radiated through his arms into Qifrey's hands. Gently letting go of his wrists, Qifrey instead held one of his hands gently between the two of his own, looking up with his most imploring look. "Please," he asked quietly, his thumb grazing over the ridges on the back of Olruggio's hand. "Please allow me to take care of you."
A muted rumble of thunder overhead was the only disturbance in the moment of silence that followed. Olruggio swallowed with great difficulty, his last few strands of pride seeming to wither under Qifrey's pleading gaze. Finally, they all snapped. "Fine," he muttered, moving to stand up and instantly stumbling.
"Careful!" warned Qifrey, shooting up and holding him steady, one hand placed against his chest to prop him up. Close enough to feel the side of Olruggio's body pressed heavily against his own, Qifrey felt overtaken by the hungry, consuming desire to map his hands all over the man. To cradle his face, to smooth a palm over his back, to run his hands over his sides and press gentle kisses to his temples and assure him that he was in good hands, that he would be entirely looked after. However, Qifrey knew deep down that was only a ploy for his own selfish desires and instead supported Olruggio with an arm hooked under his shoulders, tamping down the urge to sweep him up in his arms.
Guiding Olruggio over to the cushioned window seat where he could be more comfortable, Qifrey deposited him carefully and stood in front of him. "Your shirt is stained, would you like my help removing it? I'll of course abstain if you'd rather..."
"I can do it," Olruggio grumbled, moving to unclasp his belt. "'S too hot anyway." Qifrey politely averted his gaze as he changed, yet his mind couldn't help but linger on the blurry shape of his bare torso as his shirt was shrugged off. He bit his tongue inside his mouth as he used every modicum of will to resist sneaking a glance. He busied himself instead with fetching the vapor bubble and cloth from the desk, as well as a spare shirt nearby. He was going to be respectful. And not ogle his very good friend.
Once Olruggio had discarded his various layers of cloak, shirt and belt, he remained only in his pants and the thin, sleeveless shirt Qifrey had brought as he slouched over the window seat. Qifrey took his old shirt from his hand, carefully folding it so the ink-stained sleeve remained on the inside of the bundle and setting it aside. "Your hand?" he asked, holding out his own to receive it as he knelt in front of Olruggio. The other witch extended his hand in defeat, his pinky finger and wrist awash in a drying trail of dark conjuring ink. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" Qifrey murmured as he wetted the cloth again with his other hand and started to dab at the stains, his own slim fingers holding Olruggio's steady.
The other witch sighed. "Probably something ill-advised."
"Well, that's quite the rude implication for someone tending to you," Qifrey chuckled softly. Olruggio simply grunted in response. "In fact," he continued, "I don't think it's all that controversial to say that you deserve some looking after every now and again." An answering scoff made Qifrey raise his head with an arched eyebrow. Olruggio was no longer meeting his eye, his gaze disconnected and brow furrowed. With how miserable he looked, it wouldn't be surprising if he was fighting off a headache along with everything else. Relenting with a sigh, Qifrey looked back down to examine his work. Although Olruggio's fingertips and the slope of his hand still carried some traces of pigment, it seemed that all the ink that could be removed was cleaned off. Qifrey hummed in satisfaction. "Do you think you can eat? Even something small?"
The Watchful Eye sighed, looking morosely at the laden tray Qifrey had brought, still on his desk. "I suppose I should, shouldn't I?"
"If you think you can."
"I'll try," he acquiesced, looking somewhat distant as he took a shaky breath.
Qifrey retrieved the tray of food and brought it over to a side table nearby. Once everything was set down, Qifrey sat himself on the other half of the window seat, folding his leg up onto the seat to properly face his bedraggled friend. He took the small bread roll and gently tore a piece off, handing it to Olruggio, who in turn ate in small bites. Once that had been finished, Qifrey balanced the bowl of soup in his own lap, bringing the spoon to Olruggio's mouth.
"I'd say you're treating me like a child," Olruggio muttered after being fed a few generous mouthfuls. "But truthfully, I'd worry I'd spill the damn thing if I tried." He blinked his eyes hard and clenched a fist in his lap, as if it would make him stop shaking.
"The important thing is that you get something in your body for now," Qifrey assured him with a gentle smile, feeding him another bite.
"Sure," Olruggio muttered after swallowing. He tried to straighten himself out of his slouch, but he was beginning to list to the side, his eyes growing woozy.
"Olly?" Qifrey set the bowl back down quickly in alarm. "Are you feeling faint? Here..." He carefully looped an arm around Olruggio's waist and tried to support him into standing. As Olruggio groaned and leaned almost his full weight into him, Qifrey instantly knew he had to change course. With a grunt of effort, he leant down and swept up Olruggio's legs. He half-expected his typically obstinate friend to push at him or complain about being carried in such a way. Instead, Olruggio made something of a pitiful noise and curled into his chest, his breathing shallow as he still trembled. Qifrey's heart strained, along with his back, and he carried Olruggio as swiftly and carefully as he could, depositing him onto the end of his suspended bed. He then quickly reached out and pushed the assorted pillows atop the blankets together into what he hoped was a comfortable pile. "Lie back, dear," he offered. With a groan, Olruggio leaned back fully against the fluffy mound as Qifrey fetched the cloth again, his heart beating rapidly as he realized the endearment that had left his lips. In a bitter kind of relief, he supposed that it was unlikely that Olruggio would notice such a small misstep in the state he was in.
Busying himself to distraction, Qifrey withdrew his palm quire from his belt and drew a quick casting circle, reversing the fabric in his hands to its previously ink-free state. With the cloth now clean and damp, he put his feet together, aligning the seals on his shoes to glide up in a smooth motion and alight on the side of the bed. He reached down, gently brushing Olruggio's hair from his forehead and stroking the cloth over his face. Olruggio's eyes closed and he let out a shaky exhale, his body sinking into the mess of blankets and pillows.
With a melancholy, distant frown, Qifrey placed the cool cloth directly over Olruggio's forehead, resting his hand overtop of it with gentle pressure. "I mean it," he murmured quietly, barely above a whisper. "You deserve so much more than anything I can give."
Olruggio's eyes cracked open, his gaze foggy. His body was starting to shiver more violently, despite his sweaty face. "You give plenty," he mumbled.
Not enough, Qifrey thought to himself, his heart pushing itself into his throat and threatening to spill forth his desires. I would give you the world if I could only grasp it. I would make it so you would not want for anything. I would fight with blood and tears for a peaceful life with you. Instead he simply asked, "Are you cold?"
"A bit," Olruggio admitted hoarsely through his tremors. "S'hard to tell if I'm hot or cold."
"Here." Qifrey pulled the quilt up to wrap Olruggio up snugly, leaving the cloth on his forehead. Once he was sufficiently tucked in, Qifrey looked him over once more. Sandwiched between the covers and the mound of pillows, Olruggio might have been a rather silly sight if he didn't look miserably unwell, like a small animal left out in the rain. He gazed up at Qifrey blearily, as if he were a thousand miles away. Qifrey couldn't begin to piece apart his indecipherable eyes, so he instead placed a hand gently on Olruggio's cheek, his heart squeezing as Olruggio again nestled against the cool touch. "There's some water here by your bedside and I've put a seal under the soup to keep it warm," he murmured, thumb gently stroking against Olruggio's cheek. The man made a weak noise at the contact, but didn't shy away. Instead, his eyes closed and he exhaled in a short, steadied breath. "And it may be wise to bathe when you feel up to it," Qifrey continued in a hushed tone. "But that's quite enough from me, I'll let you sleep. Please call for me if you need anything."
As he withdrew his hand, rising up on his knees to shuffle backwards off the bed and leave his friend in peace and quiet, Qifrey suddenly stopped. He looked down to see Olruggio's hand had shot up and grabbed onto his. His grip was weak and awkward, his fingers barely grabbing halfway up Qifrey's own, yet that small point of contact made Qifrey freeze as though ice had stuck his legs to the bed.
"Qifrey," Olruggio breathed, looking as though he was clutching onto coherency. "Stay, please."
Still unmoving, Qifrey stared down at him. It would be so easy to simply lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. The simplest thing, really. To press his lips to his fevered skin and whisper against the warmth of him to get some rest before slinking away and hiding in his own bed. Qifrey bit his tongue hard inside his mouth to stem the emotions that threatened to turn his stomach and crack his heart open.
Furiously trying to simmer himself down, he let a breath go out of his nose. "Alright," he murmured quietly. "I'll stay." He toed his shoes off so that he could return to sit cross legged on the bed, never once letting go of Olruggio's hand. Olruggio heaved out a shuddering sigh and his awkward fingers tried to squeeze around Qifrey's, so Qifrey in turn slid his hand up to hold his properly. "Do you need anything?" he asked.
"Talk to me?" Olruggio rasped out, eyes barely staying open. "About anything? Just...don't like the quiet, right now."
Something aching seeped in Qifrey's chest like a thick syrup, potent and heavy. "Of course," he breathed, squeezing Olruggio's hand. "Anything." After a moment's thought, he began to recount some of the events of his lessons with the apprentices, most of which proved to be quite interesting or humorous, which always tended to happen with the precocious group they had under their roof. The stories of the day shifted to plans for tomorrow, ideas for new recipes for the two of them to try once Olruggio recovered, recollections of moments from their childhood, on and on until Olruggio had closed his eyes, insisting he was only resting them. Qifrey smiled and continued, his voice lowering to a murmur as Olruggio's breathing slowed and his face relaxed. The soft sound of Qifrey's voice and the gentle patter of the rain were the only sounds heard as the sun fully set, blanketing the room in peaceful darkness.