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“What are you making?”
Qifrey paused his motions of mixing batter for a batch of muffins at Olruggio’s voice. He could have whipped up a spell to mix for him, but Qifrey had found a measure of satisfaction in the repetitive physical motion. He’d always preferred to do these kinds of tasks by hand.
Olruggio stood with his arms braced against the half-wall separating the kitchen from the living area, and Qifrey had to look up to meet his gaze. He looked unusually well-rested, and when Qifrey turned his focus onto him, Olruggio’s mouth quirked up into a small smile, a seemingly unconscious motion.
“Tomorrow’s breakfast,” Qifrey told him, returning the smile with one of his own. “Muffins. Mountain apple and cinnamon bark. Want a taste?”
“Of the batter?” Olruggio asked skeptically, but he had already begun to make his way down the stairs leading into the kitchen. “Isn’t that bad for you?”
“To be perfectly honest with you,” Qifrey said, and that phrase alone came with its own thrum of satisfaction (how novel it was, to get to be honest), “I’ve already tasted a bit. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Ha,” Olruggio said, as Qifrey gathered a small spoonful of raw batter and handed it to Olruggio. “If you get us both sick I’ll get to blame you.” He accepted the spoon anyway. Qifrey smiled as Olruggio took a taste. Olruggio’s eyebrows raised in a pleasantly surprised expression.
“How is it?”
“Pretty damn good, actually,” said Olruggio, handing back the spoon.
“You don’t think it needs more cinnamon?”
“Nah. Too much and you’ll overpower the mountain apple.”
“Hmm.” Qifrey dragged a finger along the edge of the bowl and popped it into his mouth for further consideration. The motion earned him a certain look from Olruggio.
Qifrey understood himself to be the type to be occasionally awkward when it came to the emotions of others. He was uncertain if it came from being someone with his fraught history, or if it was just the nature of his own self. Qifrey had worked rather hard to learn to read the expressions on another’s face, to learn what to say and when to say it. The start of it had been with Olruggio’s guidance, and he’d taken on the task of building the rest of his understanding of such matters as he made his way through his more uncertain teenage years.
So, when Olruggio turned this kind of expression in Qifrey’s direction, Qifrey knew exactly what it meant. This was not the first time Olruggio had looked at Qifrey in this way. As always, it came with an uncomfortable rush of anxiety that made his stomach turn.
“I think you’re right,” Qifrey said, voice perfectly steady, ever a master at hiding this sort of feeling. He turned to wash his hands at the sink. He could feel Olruggio’s stare burning between his shoulderblades.
“Save one for me?” Olruggio asked.
“You could simply wake up early enough to come to breakfast,” Qifrey teased, drying his hands on a towel.
“... Please save one for me?”
Qifrey gave a light laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I will.”
Olruggio sank into the stool at the opposite end of the table Qifrey had been using as his workspace with a sigh. He looked perfectly relaxed, contrasting with the tension that had begun to wind Qifrey tight. The feeling came with a sudden rush of frustration; he had no reason to be reacting in this way.
For as long as Qifrey could remember, he’d never properly understood the ferocity with which others felt this sort of thing. He’d reasoned that it was simply that he could not entertain it; true pleasure, and the kind of comfort that he imagined should come with it, had always been far from his reach.
Except, Qifrey could have it now, if he wanted. Qifrey felt quite certain that Olruggio would entertain it, if asked in earnest; his evidence lay in a decade’s worth of stolen glances.
Olruggio’s eyes followed Qifrey as he moved across the kitchen. Qifrey asked a prompting question about his latest contraption, which set Olruggio off in an eager explanation that had him waving his arms in emphasis. Qifrey loved to listen to Olruggio talk about his magic. Conversations like this were a journey into the most magnificent mind that Qifrey had ever had the pleasure of knowing. The sound of it washed over him as Qifrey considered a question that had been on the forefront of his own mind since the silverwood had left him.
Qifrey wanted… something. It gnawed at him like day-old hunger, a near constant source of discomfort that Qifrey found himself increasingly desperate to alleviate. Why then, did this kind of look from Olruggio cause the sort of anxiety that made him want to turn tail and flee?
Unfortunately, the answer did not come to him by the time he’d put the muffins into the oven.
Qifrey was no stranger to the effects of alcohol, but he’d never quite let himself experience it in this way. His body felt loose and uncoordinated, and his tongue felt much the same. He sprawled across the rug in front of the couch on his back, staring up at the ceiling. His skin felt hot, and he was certain his face was flush with it.
“I do hope the girls don’t come down and see us like this.” Qifrey spoke slowly, trying to keep his words from slurring. Had he ever allowed himself to get quite this drunk? He couldn’t recall. The ceiling continued to spin in pleasant circles above his head.
Olruggio snorted a laugh. He lay next to Qifrey, his leg pressed against Qifrey’s own. The contact felt almost as heady as the wine.
“Should’ve gone to one of our rooms,” Olruggio pointed out. “We could go now?”
“I don’t particularly wish to move. Perhaps I’ll just sleep here.”
Olruggio laughed again. He rolled over on his side to face Qifrey, and Qifrey mimicked the motion. It sent the world spinning almost violently, and Qifrey squeezed his eye shut against it. He opened it when he felt steadier, and found Olruggio’s face inches away from his own. His face was ruddy underneath the scruff, and he had his cheek pillowed on one of his arms.
“Oh, hello,” Qifrey said.
Olruggio snickered. “Hi. You’re so drunk.”
“Hmm.”
Then Olruggio reached for him. Qifrey held impossibly still as Olruggio’s hand found his own. Olruggio threaded their fingers together and oh—oh.
Olruggio gave his hand a squeeze, his palm hot against Qifrey’s, and Qifrey shivered.
“Is this okay?” Olruggio asked.
“Yes.” It left Qifrey in a rush, and he gave Olruggio’s hand a squeeze in return.
The picture of what Qifrey wanted began to come into focus.
A few weeks after Qifrey had been released from his affliction, he’d admitted to Olruggio that he’d only been reserved in his affections because any sort of comfort had posed a danger to himself. Ever since that conversation, Olruggio had kept finding surreptitious ways to touch—a hand at the small of Qifrey’s back as he walked past; an ankle hooked around Qifrey’s underneath the dinner table; a knee pressed into Qifrey’s thigh when they sat next to each other on the couch. These little touches, these indicators of affection without expectation, felt like being spoon fed tiny bites after an eternity of being starved.
This was the most direct attempt at closeness that Olruggio had made yet, and Qifrey wanted more.
“May I try something?” Qifrey asked, sliding his hand from Olruggio’s grasp.
“Of course,” Olruggio breathed. He didn’t even ask what Qifrey planned to do.
Qifrey wriggled close and tossed his arm over Olruggio’s waist. Olruggio made a quiet noise of surprise, but he returned the gesture and tucked Qifrey’s head beneath his chin. Qifrey let out a satisfied sigh, pressing his nose against the bare skin of Olruggio’s neck.
He felt Olruggio’s vocal cords rumble as he asked, “Good?”
“Yes,” Qifrey said. He tried to squirm closer. He felt more than heard Olruggio laugh.
“Let me try something?” Olruggio asked.
Maybe, without the alcohol loosening all of Qifrey’s worries, he would have felt more hesitant.
“Okay,” Qifrey said. He did not ask what Olruggio planned to do either.
Olruggio tightened his grip around Qifrey and rolled them over. Qifrey went with a startled noise, ending up sprawled across Olruggio’s front. This was…better. Like this, gravity kept them pressed together. Qifrey shoved his nose back against Olruggio’s neck. Olruggio’s hand went up to card through Qifrey’s hair, and Qifrey practically melted.
“Mmm. This is better,” Qifrey slurred.
Olruggio huffed. “Why are we doing this on the floor, again?”
“I don’t remember,” Qifrey murmured. His lips brushed against Olruggio’s neck. Beneath him, he felt Olruggio shudder, and Qifrey suddenly became aware of exactly the kind of position they were in.
Qifrey felt as if he’d been doused in cold water. This kind of affection between two grown men certainly did not come without expectation. He tried to roll off so quickly his forehead slammed into Olruggio’s chin. They both yelped and detangled themselves. Olruggio rubbed his chin, a bemused expression on his face. Qifrey clutched at his head, which throbbed from the impact.
“Sorry,” Qifrey muttered. “I just—”
“Freaked out?” Olruggio finished, raising a brow.
Qifrey didn’t answer for a moment. He dropped his hand into his lap.
“... I should go to bed.”
“Alright,” Olruggio said. Qifrey found that his expression was unreadable. “Do you need help?”
Qifrey managed to push himself to his feet. He only wobbled a bit before finding his balance.
He gave Olruggio a tight smile where he still sat on the floor. “It seems I can manage on my own.”
It felt like a lie, but Qifrey was good at that.
In the days that followed, a sort of awkwardness hung over them. It was palpable enough that Qifrey could feel the girls giving them odd looks as they skirted around each other. Qifrey no longer found himself a recipient of those small gestures of affection that he’d begun to get used to. Instead, Qifrey had somehow managed to put up a new wall between them, and as a result, he felt no small measure of distress. Still, Olruggio’s eyes kept following him when they shared the same space, and Qifrey knew he would not escape a proper conversation regarding his bizarre reaction.
It came to a head a few nights later when a knock sounded at Qifrey’s door. Qifrey knew who it was just by the knock—two sharp raps.
“Come in!” he called, trying to hide the sense of foreboding that rolled over him. He sat at the edge of his bed, undoing the straps of his shirt at his neck, and he tugged the last one free as Olruggio entered.
“We need to talk,” Olruggio announced. Then his eyes found Qifrey’s bare neck. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were getting ready for bed. I can come back later.”
Qifrey shook his head and patted the bed next to him. “No, you’re right. We do need to talk.”
The mattress dipped as Olruggio sat next to him, carefully avoiding sitting close enough to touch. For a moment, they remained quiet. The gap between them felt like an entire ocean—like churning waters too dangerous to cross.
“What’s up with you?” Olruggio asked, finally breaking the silence. “Did I do something wrong?”
Qifrey shook his head. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me who is the problem.” Qifrey smiled ruefully. “It always is.”
Olruggio frowned at the self-deprecation; Qifrey expected to be chided. Instead, Olruggio said, “You promised you’d tell me if you had any more problems. You promised no more secrets.”
“I did,” Qifrey said. “And I intend to keep my word. Just… give me a moment to gather my thoughts?”
“Alright,” Olruggio acquiesced.
Silence fell over them again. Qifrey willed the anxious rolling of his stomach to calm. Of course, it did not obey. For maybe the first time in his life, the idea of honesty felt less like a relief and more like walking himself to the edge of a cliff.
“I am frustrated with myself,” Qifrey admitted. He fiddled with one of the straps on the collar of his shirt. “I thought that once the silverwood was gone, I’d be able to do this.”
Olruggio’s brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“Return your affections,” Qifrey said. The words came out more miserable than he’d intended them to.
Qifrey watched Olruggio’s expression change as he caught onto the implications behind Qifrey’s words. His face turned steadily redder.
“I don’t—I never told you—”
“You do!” Qifrey exclaimed, suddenly vehement. “You tell me in the things you do. You tell me in the ways you look at me. I’d have to be oblivious to miss it!”
Olruggio’s shoulders had inched up to his ears during Qifrey’s rant. He looked away, hunched over and embarrassed. “You don’t have to say all that. You can just let me down easy.”
“I don’t want to let you down.”
Olruggio sat up, suddenly scowling. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I want—” Qifrey cut himself with a wordless noise of frustration. He threaded his hands into his hair and tugged. He blamed the sudden burning of his eye on the sting of it.
“I thought I’d be able to do this,” he said again, more miserably than before.
“Don’t you dare force yourself on my behalf,” Olruggio snapped. “Was that what the other night was about? You couldn’t force yourself to be close to me any longer?”
“No!” Qifrey exclaimed. He took a breath. Olruggio deserved a better explanation than this. He dropped his hands from his hair and struggled to get his thoughts in order.
“In many ways, I do want you, Olly.” He made sure to keep his stare fixed on Olruggio’s, to keep his face solemn and his voice certain.
Color bloomed on Olruggio’s cheeks again.
“You’re contradicting yourself,” Olruggio pointed out, but his voice had gone from heartbroken to hopeful.
Qifrey knew that. He grimaced. “In other ways, I do not want you.”
“… Okay?” Olruggio said, brow furrowed.
“I don’t know how—” Qifrey cut himself off. He tried again. “You desire me, yes? As in, properly desire me?”
Olruggio groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Don’t put it like that.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Qifrey told him, realizing as he spoke that it did not. “It only bothers me that I cannot return the feeling. I fear… I am incapable of it.” A hint of insecurity crept into Qifrey’s voice. “I think there’s something wrong with me, Olly. I want to be close to you, in a way that goes beyond our friendship, but I can’t…”
Qifrey watched Olruggio’s expression change in the same way that it did when he’d finally figured out what had made a spell go wrong. He reached out a hand. Qifrey took it immediately.
“So let me get this straight,” Olruggio said.
Under normal circumstances, Qifrey would have pounced on the joke so easily handed to him. Instead, he only laughed a little. The sound wavered as if he’d been crying, though his face was dry. Olruggio only rolled his eyes and gave his hand a squeeze.
“Let me talk before you start making jokes.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Olruggio said, shaking his head. He then held up their joined hands. “This is good?”
“Yes,” Qifrey agreed.
“And the cuddling the other night?”
“Very good,” Qifrey told him.
“So why’d you freak out?”
Qifrey swept his thumb over the back of Olruggio’s hand. “There is… an expectation for this kind of relationship that I’m realizing I cannot fulfill.”
“Sex?” Olruggio asked. His face turned a rather fetching shade of red, but he kept his gaze focused on Qifrey’s.
Qifrey took a moment to consider, feeling his own face warm. “That’s part of it, I suppose. But it’s not necessarily the act itself. There’s just… a lack, there, where I believe that I should be feeling something. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that.”
Olruggio returned the gesture, his own thumb rubbing a soothing circle against Qifrey’s hand. The feeling made Qifrey shiver.
“Alright,” Olruggio said.
Qifrey blinked at him. “Alright? That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” Qifrey stressed. “That I can’t desire you? Isn’t that necessary for something like this?”
“Qifrey, there aren’t rules.”
Qifrey’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t there?”
“The only rules in a relationship are the ones set by the people in it,” Olruggio told him. “You say you can’t want me in that way. I say that that’s fine. Done.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t feel that simple. It feels like I can’t give you something that I know you deserve. Wouldn’t you rather be with someone who can?”
Olruggio laughed and shook his head.
“This?” Olruggio said, waving their linked hands. “This is more than I ever thought I’d get. I’ve wanted you for so long, and I’ll have you in any way that you’ll have me. Besides, I’ve never wanted anyone but you. I don’t think I can.”
Qifrey’s eye began to spill over. “I don’t deserve you. And you deserve so much better than me. I’m so broken.”
“Let me decide what I deserve,” Olruggio said. He cupped Qifrey’s face with his free hand. Qifrey leaned into the touch, lashes fluttering. “I don’t think this makes you broken.”
Qifrey squeezed his eye shut. He let out a shuddering breath that came out like a sob.
“Hey,” Olruggio said. “Come here.”
Qifrey went, falling forward into Olruggio’s chest. Olruggio wrapped his arms around Qifrey’s shoulders and pulled him in close. Qifrey let the tears fall freely, soaking into where Olruggio’s shirt was pressed against his cheek. Olruggio held him through it. Olruggio rubbed Qifrey’s back soothingly, dragging his hand up to his neck and down to the base of his spine. Despite the tears, it felt unbearably good. Qifrey sighed, and settled. The tears slowed to a stop. Olruggio’s hand found its way back to his hair, same as it had a few nights ago, fingernails scratching along Qifrey’s scalp. Qifrey made a pleased sound at the sensation.
“You don’t owe me anything, Qifrey,” Olruggio told him. Qifrey let himself enjoy the feeling of his voice rumbling in his chest.
I do, Qifrey wanted to insist. Instead, Qifrey pulled himself back enough to wipe his face dry.
“There are things beyond this that I’d like to try,” Qifrey told him. “I cannot guarantee that it will go well, or that I’ll be any good at it, but I think I would like to try. I just couldn’t bear the idea of you not knowing the truth of all of this.”
Olruggio’s hand landed on Qifrey’s knee. “I can take care of myself. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Qifrey raised an eyebrow. He felt quite certain that he looked ridiculous from all the crying. Somehow, despite that, he found the courage to be a little bold.
“I’d still like to try kissing you, if that’s alright?”
Olruggio cupped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting away.
“… You’d want that?”
“I’ve never kissed before,” Qifrey admitted. “I’d like to try. Not now, I don’t think. I feel rather gross from all that crying. But later, yes.” Qifrey hesitated. “It’s okay with you that I may not want to do it again?”
Olruggio cleared his throat. “Uh yeah, that’s okay with me. I want whatever you want.” Then he groaned, pitching forward to rest his forehead against Qifrey’s shoulder. “I think you’re going to kill me.”
“We can’t have that,” Qifrey murmured. He thought about how good Olruggio’s hand had felt in his own hair. He stroked the top of Olruggio’s head, threading his fingers through dark locks of hair. Olruggio sagged against him, and Qifrey suddenly found himself holding up the majority of Olruggio’s weight. The tips of Olruggio’s ears were red. Fascinated, Qifrey dragged a finger along the shell of his ear. Olruggio quivered at the touch. Qifrey pulled them both backwards and down onto the bed. Olruggio threw a leg over Qifrey’s and rested his head on Qifrey’s chest. Qifrey marveled at the feeling of Olruggio’s warm weight on top of him, as indulgent as mountain apple and cinnamon bark muffins fresh out of the oven, and resumed petting his hair.
“Thank you,” Qifrey told him.
“Don’t thank me,” Olruggio mumbled. He sounded half-asleep. Qifrey knew he should get them both up and at least somewhat ready for bed before allowing Olruggio to properly drift off. Instead, he closed his eye with a quiet little sigh and let the warm, welcome darkness of sleep wash over him.