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Qifrey is at the lake near the atelier. It’s well into the evening and the late winter air nips at his skin. The moon sits high above him, nearly full and dances delicately across the still water. The sight could almost be beautiful, if he were someone else, doing anything else, but to him it only looks haunting, a looming invitation, beckoning him forward. He’s stripped down to just his pants, standing with his toes just mere centimetres from the cold water. This has become something of a ritual for him, on particularly bad days. Or good days, he should say, if he were anybody else. Days that were filled with laughter from the girls, delicious home cooked meals shared all together, gentle moments with Olruggio. All things that make up a perfect day are the exact reasons why it’s so terrible.
His body aches. Everything in him, down to the very atoms that make up his form hurt. The silverwood creaks, somewhere deep within him, an ever-constant reminder of how fickle his existence is. On days as pleasant as today’s, he can feel it clawing at his skin unrelentingly. It’s there now, pressed against him, creaking and groaning, waiting for Qifrey’s guard to be let down so that it can spring to life.
So he’s at the lake, ready to let the water take over him, engulf him until the silverwood is replaced with the terrible sensation that can only be brought on by being surrounded by water.
With one foot, he steps in. The water laps around his ankle, stinging the skin as he sinks into it. Slowly, with a tortuous pace, he continues deeper, letting the water sting and nip at his skin. He breathes in sharply through his teeth, hissing at the cold. He does nothing to quell the feeling, though, letting his body react harshly to the sensation, allowing his mind to panic. Alarm bells flare inside him, all urging him to leave the water, get out this isn’t safe, but he continues deeper regardless.
He stops at his waist, where it feels most sensitive, letting the cold water turn his stomach to ice. His hands swirl aimlessly on the surface and he watches with tired eyes how the water ripples and collides against his skin. After a few moments, before his body has become fully adjusted, he continues deeper, wading up to his chest.
His body shivers, goosebumps riddling his body. He rests here, head just above the water. He’s never learnt to swim, not properly at least. Olruggio had tried to teach him back when they were teenagers but he never got the hang of it, his body and mind would panic and he would hyperventilate. So the best he can do is float and tread water for a few minutes. It’s been a long time since water brought on a panic attack that he can’t control, but his body has never forgotten the sensation, he’s just simply become numb enough to ignore the warning signs, override the mind. All for the better, anyways.
After a slow inhale, filling his lungs, Qifrey dunks his entire body under the surface. He holds himself there, letting the water engulf him. It sends a shiver through his whole body, and then, it’s on fire. Panic signals are sent through his body, urging him to lift his head, but he doesn’t; he still has air in his lungs. He still has time. So he stays put, forcing his body to comply. And he waits. He waits until his lungs start to burn and the darkness feels eternal. Then with much force, he shoots his head out of the water, gasping for air. He feels it fill his lungs, ice cold, taking one, two, three deep breaths, only to shoot his head back under the water with far less preparation than the first.
His mind is screaming at him, Stop! Stop! Get out! But he doesn’t listen, he can still feel the silverwood, receding but still present. He forces his eye open under the water, the cold hits his eye and burns, but it stays open. There’s nothing to see under the water, it’s just murky and dark. Something about the infinite void of darkness sends a new chill through his spine, his body on edge, anticipating something lurking just beyond his field of vision. God he hates water.
Slowly, as his lungs burn and whole body aches for a new reason, he feels the silverwood back off.
But not completely. It’s persistent. It’s reduced it’s pressure, sure, but Qifrey can still feel it. He can still feel the way it waits. So he forces himself back under again, this time with far less preparation. He waits, body still as he lets himself suffer. He runs out of air quickly, but he forces his body to stay put, testing his limits.
His chest heaves. He waits.
It feels as though it may collapse in on itself. He waits.
His eye shoots open in a panic. He-
Hands.
Forceful and hurried, grab him by the shoulders and heave him out of the water. The movement catching him off guard, he coughs upon his reentry, disoriented and panicked.
“What the hell are you doing, Qifrey?!” Olruggio yells, voice laced with terror. His eyes are wide, brows knit together in deep concern and anger. Qifrey, mind scrambled from how quickly this unfolded doesn’t respond, eye blown wide in surprise. Olruggio’s hands drag his body back to the shore, he follows willingly but Olruggio’s hands never loosen their grip. He can feel his fear through his hold, how they grip him so tightly it would probably hurt had his skin not become numb from the cold, how Olruggio doesn’t trust to let Qifrey go.
Only then, once on the shore, completely removed from the water, does Olruggio’s grip loosen and let go. Qifrey’s body drops to the ground, exhausted and cold. He lay there, chest heaving, body shivering, his eye unfocused, staring off into oblivion.
Olruggio doesn’t say anything at first. Qifrey can’t even see him, he’s somewhere behind him. He can barely even hear him. If he didn’t know better he’d think Olruggio left him there to die. But Olruggio would never, no matter how badly Qifrey would want him to.
Instead he hopes Olruggio will simply let this go, take him back and never ask a question about it. He never intended for anyone to catch sight of the things he does in this water.
"Are you insane?” Olruggio hisses. Of course he wouldn’t let it slide. This is Olruggio he’s talking about. “Are you tryin’ to kill yourself or something?” Qifrey can’t ignore the way his voice cracks, concern evident in the way he spits his words, forceful and angry, but ultimately rooted in fear and worry.
“No,” he says back, detached. He doesn’t feel like talking. Doesn’t feel like trying to explain to Olruggio what he was doing without revealing what he is. He especially doesn’t feel like erasing his memories tonight.
“That’s all? I come out here to see you practically drowning yourself, and for what? For fun? I highly fuckin’ doubt that.” He mutters out that last part, frustration getting the better of him. Qifrey doesn’t respond, instead just lets himself suffer from his frigid body and the icy words Olruggio shoots his way.
The grass feels warm against his skin. He can feel the beads of water slip down his back and the way his hair clings to his forehead. He lets his eye close, listening to his breathing, letting his body recoup. In and out. Rise and fall.
Footsteps in the grass, heavy and wet, round and stop in front of his face. Keeping his eye closed, Qifrey pretends not to notice.
“Open your eyes,” says Olruggio sternly. Then, crouching down to get closer, he adds, softer, “What’s going on Qifrey? Why are you out here in the water?” He lets out a long exhale through his nose before reopening his eye to look up at Olruggio. He’s crouched in front of him, fully clothed, soaking wet. His clothes cling to him angrily, hair flattened and damp, dripping water steadily. He’s got a tight lipped frown accompanying his deeply troubled eyes. Qifrey reflexively frowns at his state, concern for his wellbeing flooding his mind.
“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, reaching out to touch the wet clothes. “You’ll catch a cold like this.” Anger flashes across Olruggio’s face.
“Me? Look at you, Qifrey! God it’s February.” His eyes rake over his exposed body, his face twists into all sorts of emotions that Qifrey doesn’t have the capacity to decipher. His own vision glances down at his fingertips, blue and pale. He flexes them and watches the way they respond slower than normal. Maybe I overdid it this time. Ah well, all the better. “C’mon, we’re going inside.” Olruggio wraps his arms around Qifrey, hauling him upward until he’s standing. His brain feels empty, foggy.
With little resistance, he follows Olruggio silently back to the atelier and into Olruggio’s wing. With quiet frustration, Olruggio moves quickly across the room to his desk and sifts through the small metallic bowl until pulling out two rings. He moves to stand in front of Qifrey, pressing the rings together, letting the magic dry him. Turning to point the rings at himself, Qifrey’s hand stops him, holding them over Olruggio’s.
“Let me, please.” Olruggio eyes him for a moment before slipping the rings off and dropping them softly into Qifrey’s hands. He slides the rings on and presses them together, watching the water evaporate off of Olruggio. His posture is rigid, stress forcing him upright, shoulder taught and jaw clenched. Qifrey wants to hold him, assure him that he’s alright, that this is normal and good for him. Tell him that it might look bad, might be bad, but in some roundabout way, it’s actually good. He wants to thank him for his endless kindness, thank him for once again pulling him out from the depths. He does none of those things, however. Just watches silently until Olruggio is fully dried off, studying the way he avoids Qifrey’s gaze.
How does Olruggio always end up wrapped up in Qifrey’s misery? No matter how hard he tries, Olruggio is always right around the corner, taking a beating for him without needing to be asked. It makes him sick.
He wants to shove him, tell him off for pulling him out of that water. Spit profanities at him until he leaves. Force him away. But he doesn’t do that, either.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says after some silence. They’re sitting on Olruggio’s couch, perched near the fireplace, both warming themselves back up. Olruggio scoffs lightly, shaking his head with a mirthless smile.
“You would’ve killed yourself if I didn’t stop you.” That doesn’t feel true. He hadn’t meant for that when he went out there. It wasn’t his intention, it’s just that the feeling wouldn’t go away. No matter how hard he tried, the silverwood moved ruthlessly beneath him, threatening. It had felt like the only way to quell the storm inside him.
He turns his body to face Olruggio across the couch, there isn’t much distance between them. He can see the way his anxiety manifests into restless legs and tense muscles. He reaches out, tentatively, and grabs ahold of his hands. Olruggio’s eyes snap to his, widening slightly at the contact.
“I’m sorry for putting you through this. I hadn’t intended for it to go that far. I apologize for scaring you.” Olruggio’s face softens, adopting something akin to acceptance. Resignation might be a better word.
“How many times am I going to have to save you from water?” He says with a sad smile, a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. Qifrey offers him a weak smile in return. Sadness permeates his body, slotting itself into every fibre of his being.
“Far more than I would’ve ever liked you to,” he admits quietly, guilt running its course through his body.
It was a long time ago when Qifrey realized that Olruggio would forever be deeply entwined into his messed up life, due to his inability to keep his distance all those years ago. Olruggio tore down his walls with his persistent kindness and damned himself to suffer alongside Qifrey for the rest of time for it. Was it worth it? It’s hard to know the answer.
He had tried to leave once, and it didn’t turn out all that well. He hadn’t even been gone for more than a few clock marks but the mere thought and anticipation of allowing Olruggio a life spared of pain forced him back to the atelier where Olruggio was waiting, unaware that Qifrey even tried to leave. At the time it felt wise, but as time progressed forward, he learnt running away was never a viable option and he’s only ever felt guilty for thinking so.
He feels guilty about a lot of things. Memory erasure being one of them. He’s lost count of the times he’s had to wipe Olruggio’s memories and that kind of guilt follows him with a sick twisted grin everywhere he goes. Anytime Olruggio reminds him that he can confide in him his sins laugh in his face, reminding him that he can only drive himself farther away and he can never be the person Olruggio wishes him to be. He can never be the person that reassures Olruggio, affirms their bond to him. He will always have one foot out the door and Olruggio is none the wiser.
Before he loses himself in the comfort of Olruggio’s presence, he stands, “I should go back to my room.” He tries to sound decisive but it comes out small and a little pathetic. He watches Olruggio’s face twist, cycling through emotions before landing on resignation.
“Stay,” he tries anyway. Qifrey shakes his head sadly.
“It’s no good if I do.”
“I’m worried about you,” Olruggio says with intense honesty. It tears a hole in Qifrey’s heart. Worry is something that should only be placed in his hands. It’s unfair to stare at the person he holds most dear and know that the pain he is in comes directly from himself.
“I never meant for you to see that. I’m fine, it’s just something I need to do.”
“So you’ve done that before?” He asks, taken aback. Qifrey frowns, then shrugs, defeated.
“I’m always safe.”
“That didn’t look safe.” He lets out a shaky exhale. Eyes locked on Qifrey’s. “Stay,” he whispers out again, pleading.
His resolve wavers. It doesn’t take much for him to adhere to Olruggio’s wishes. But if he stayed then the whole lake would be for nought. But he is looking at him with that look on his face, a miserable mix of concern, fear, and hope.
Qifrey’s shoulders drop, letting out a resigned sigh as he places himself back on the couch, posture still rigid, holding on to any semblance of agitation he can. His hands clasp together, twisting and turning as he works his fingers anxiously. As his adrenaline from the lake wears off, the apathy and detached side of him wears away and slowly he can feel the anxiety and shame creep back in. The reality and gut punch of having to subject Olruggio to something like this settles deep in his bones. It’s a worse feeling than any lake could offer him.
He can see the way Olruggio is shaken up, how hard he is trying to stifle his own old fears being brought to light. His foolishness always has a target, and it always lands square into Olruggio’s heart. Every time.
His stomach turns, bile rising up in his throat. It chokes him.
His face twists into something unpleasant, squeezing his eye shut, desperate to block out the pain.
Turning away as to not startle Olruggio with his pain, he casts his gaze towards the fireplace, watching the way the flames flicker and dance mindlessly.
“I truly am sorry. Seeing me like that must’ve brought up unwanted memories,” he says quietly, gaze still focused on the flames in front of him. Slowly, the couch cushions rise, a weight being taken off and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Olruggio stand before walking to kneel in front of him, forcing his gaze on him. His hands extend slowly, placing them atop his own.
“You’re stupid to think I care about that right now.” He gives Qifrey’s hand a small reassuring squeeze, hardly there but he feels it all the time. “Tell me why you were out there.”
“Don’t make me,” he whispers out. “I can’t bear it tonight.”
Olruggio purses his lips, pressing them into a thin line. “Alright, let me fix you some tea, then.”
They sip silently on the freshly brewed tea and he can feel the warm water travel down his body, bringing warmth and life back into him.
“The girls have excelled quite a bit recently, wouldn’t you say?” He says after some time, searching for some normalcy.
Olruggio eyes him for a moment presumably weighing his options, give in and let Qifrey hide himself again, or press for more. “Mm quite the incredible bunch we’ve got here.”
The night dissolves into familiarity, the two of them sipping on their now cooled off tea, chatting mindlessly.
As if his body had suddenly remembered what it had gone through a few clock marks earlier, his bones are suddenly weighed down by exhaustion and a yawn creeps up on him.
“I should go to bed, Olruggio. Thank you for this evening, it’s always a treat to spend time with you.” Please don’t ask me to stay.
“Come to bed with me.” Qifrey opens his mouth to protest, refusal on the tip of his tongue, loaded long before the question even formed. Olruggio raises a hand to silence him, reaching out to take hold of Qifrey’s, holding him in place. “I won’t be able to rest without knowing you’re safe.”
He always seems to know exactly what words to use to get his way. In truth, he never stood a chance. This was how the night was always going to unfold the moment Olruggio saw him in that water.
His shoulders drop in acceptance, allowing Olruggio to walk him towards his bed, hand in hand, pulling Qifrey with him.
They used to do this when they were kids, sleeping in Olruggio’s bed together. Back when Olruggio struggled more intensely with his nightmares and insomnia, he would find Qifrey late in the night, stirring him quietly before leading him down the hall back to his room so they could fall asleep pressed together. They never really spoke about it, in the morning hours, it had become an unwritten rule, if Olruggio woke him he would follow, no questions asked.
It had been a long time since Olruggio needed that comfort again. Or perhaps he thought he wouldn’t receive it anymore if he asked this far removed from it.
After the Tower of Tomes, Qifrey pulled himself away. Never denying Olruggio’s nighttime requests, but his behaviour in the daylight wasn’t what it used to be. Nothing tangible that Olruggio could comment on, but enough for the both of them to feel the effects. Still, whenever the knock on his door came, Qifrey went with him, it’s just that the knocks became more and more infrequent.
Adulthood took away the remaining moments of that shared intimacy. Perhaps Olruggio has been trying to be braver than he lets on.
The truth is that he’s sure both him and Olruggio miss those nights. Miss who they were to one another. Before everything got all twisted. Before Qifrey ruined them.
The bed is bigger than the ones they shared back in the Great Hall, double the size now, plenty of space for two grown men to sleep comfortably. A small pang hits Qifrey’s chest. He wouldn’t have minded the forced proximity, it’s not something he’s privileged to receive often.
Olruggio lays first, resting on his back, head and back propped up slightly with a pillow. He opens his arms wide. An invitation. A small smile tugs at his lips, one that is mirrored in Olruggio’s.
He settles in, slotting himself into his arms, letting Olruggio hold him gently. His hand mindlessly plays with his hair, smoothing his fingers across his scalp. Qifrey traces sigils and shapes into his chest. He tries not to focus too hard on how nice it all feels. Instead he focuses on how it’s fleeting. Reminding himself that the sun will rise and this will become a simple memory, never to be acted upon further. Never to be discussed in the daylight. He will leave Olruggio to wonder what went wrong, why Qifrey can’t commit to any more than a few scarce fleeting moments such as this. And Qifrey will be left to weep, alone in his isolation, to never be granted the only thing he desires.
He almost misses it, so deep in his own thoughts, but he catches it nonetheless, the softest, almost imperceptible, feather touch of a kiss on his forehead. It’s timid and unsure, but Qifrey catches it and it makes his heart skip a beat, only to then crack.
He pulls himself closer, desperate for more contact, anything to show Olruggio what he means to him too, without crossing the blurry line he’s drawn for them. His arms squeeze Qifrey’s tighter, a silent understanding unfolding between them. It feels like the safest place in the world. A dangerous sentiment to feel. To truly feel like he could die happy in these arms, but he feels it anyway, no amount of internal denial would stop his heart from feeling it. And what his heart feels, the silverwood feels.
Instead, to neutralize the feeling, he reminds himself of all the bad he’s inflicted on those in his life. How he has repeatedly hurt Olruggio through his distance, leading him to believe he is lesser than in Qifrey’s eyes. As though he is not the light that guides him. He thinks of all the times he has wiped his memory, how at some point all these sins are going to catch up to him. It helps, for the time being, at least.
His body is warm. There is a gentle swell inside him, something dangerously close to comfort. He knows he’s playing with fire here, tempting the universe to strike him down in an instant, but he doesn’t pull away, not tonight. For all the times he’s sacrificed his and Olruggio’s happiness, he will allow himself to be selfish. For one evening.
“You know, Olly,” he says after some silence, craning his head to look up at Olruggio. “You didn’t tell me why you were out there.” His hand that was playing with his hair stills for a fraction of a moment. Qifrey forces his head back more, trying to get a better view of Olruggio’s face. Something sullen has washed over him.
“I couldn’t find you in the atelier.”
“Oh.” He swallows. “You were looking for me?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Mm,” Qifrey murmurs, resting his head back onto his chest. He places a light kiss on the exposed skin, just as ghostly as the one Olruggio left for him. The same silent confession. A million words left unspoken. “Perhaps we could sleep now.”
“Sure,” he whispers back, running a hand up and down Qifrey’s back. It sends shivers up his spine. It had been such a long time since the two of them shared a moment like this, and he’s feeling quite deprived of it.
He closes his eye and lets his mind wander, dreaming of an alternate universe where he can embrace this comfort every night, crave more, receive more. In this world, he can embrace Olruggio’s affections with equal, if not more, intense passion. He wouldn’t know a world where he must subject himself to a freezing lake just to stay alive.
He feels his body pull him into a sleep, mind adrift, lost in the gentle touch of Olruggio, listening to his heartbeat drum rhythmically, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He tries to imagine he is in the other world, and tonight is just another night for him.
The silverwood creaking deep in his body is just the sound of trees moving in the wind outside. The ache in his body comes from something far more intimate.
“We could have something real good, Qifrey,” Olruggio murmurs into his hair, voice just above a whisper. A damning confession. Perhaps he hadn't even intended for Qifrey to hear it, something spoken aloud only when you suspect no one is listening.
“I know,” he forces out after a beat, just as quiet. “But-”
“I know. It’s alright.”
It isn’t though, is it? Because Olruggio will always want more and Qifrey will never be able to provide. Qifrey wants more. This action alone is already stirring the silverwood back up, deep within himself. He tries to stifle the thoughts of what he needs to do after this to counteract it. He will have to be more careful, the next time he goes to the lake. The next time he takes any drastic measures. He simply cannot bear the thought of Olruggio seeing him like that again.
“I wish you would talk to me, though, Qifrey. I hate to think you’re going through something alone.”
Some nights he is so angry he could burn down the entire atelier with himself in it just to spite the tree inside him. Rage over the terrible cards he has been dealt. He doesn’t like to think of himself as an angry person, but it exists, inside of him, building slowly until one day it boils over and resets the clock. He could’ve had all of this and more if his own autonomy wasn’t being held in the hands of something else. Who would he have been had he been able to choose the life he desires? How sick is it that he will never know who that person is. Who he truly is.
Most days he just feels a melancholic numbness, he has only known a life of struggle, doing whatever needed to be done to survive, it’s hard for him to even imagine who he’d be without the silverwood. Living most of his life on auto pilot.
“You needn’t worry, Olly. I’m not going through anything. You’d be the first person I’d go to if I was.” It passes his lips easily, but the lie sits heavy on his tongue still, a bitter aftertaste.
When had he gotten so good at lying? Perhaps he was born a liar. His first sentence was likely a lie. Something deceiving and unfair. Perhaps this is who he always has been, cursed or not.
Olruggio’s heavy breathing eventually pulls him out of his daze, chest rising and falling rhythmically, fast asleep.
“Olly,” he whispers, testing. He doesn’t stir, breath remaining even and unaffected. Qifrey studies the sleeping man's features, his slightly agape mouth, hair ruffled slightly, hanging loosely around his eyes. He inspects his facial hair and the early signs of stubble peaking out across the rest of his face. With the slowest movement, as to not startle Olruggio, he places a ghostly kiss on his jaw, before settling himself back into his chest and falls asleep to the rise and fall of his chest, listening in on the steady beating of his heart.
By the time the sun rises, Qifrey is awake again. His gaze settles on Olruggio once more, admiring the man as the sun rise dapples his face delicately. He looks radiant, relaxed, and at peace, untroubled by the burdens of the world. Does he look like that when he sleeps? Or does the anxiety transcend into his slumber and reflect it all the same then, too? He reaches his hand out, tentatively, and brushes the side of his face with the back of his fingers. His fingers trail over his face, slowly nearing his lips. He hesitates. Letting out a small sigh, he pulls his hand back, takes one last glance at his lips. A frown tugs at his own as he imagines how they would feel on bare skin.
Before he loses himself and stays here for longer than he should, he slips out of bed.
He walks himself silently back to the lake. The chilly morning air nips at his skin as he slips his clothes off once more. He doesn’t linger this time, fear that Olruggio will find him again keeps it short, he merely wades up to his hips, soaking his body in the frigid water until he feels his body ease up.
His heart feels heavy, burdened by his sins, he lets the water lap at his skin, painful and comforting at the same time.
By the time Olruggio wakes up and makes his way into the main area of the atelier, Qifrey has long since returned and awaits the rest of the residents of the atelier with a freshly prepared breakfast laid neatly across the dining table. He greets Olruggio warmly and waits patiently for the girls to stir. With a plastered smile, lets his body handle the rest of the day for him.