Archive of Our Own

It wasn't often Olruggio found himself wandering to Qifrey's room uninvited, but the night was chilling, with a gloomy storm pelting against the windows like furious stones rather than vicious rain. It stood to reason that none had seen hide nor hair of him since dinner, for the ghosts were long to haunt him during such miserable weather.

As the Watchful Eye, his closest, dearest friend, and partner in pain, Olruggio had it in himself to seek out that poor witch before he resorted to anything reckless. Heavens knew how bold Qifrey could get were his temperament tested just right...

In any case, without that horrid curse of the Silverwood Tree plaguing every moment of his life, there remained little danger in regards to Qifrey's emotions; but that mattered not to the habits he had fostered to stave it off.

Such as now, as Olruggio so brazenly creaked open the unlocked door, he found himself a familiar, yet unsettling scene.

An unlit room, as cold as midnight's ghostly sighs, silent as a graveyard barring the storm's assault. Not even a lamp was lit anywhere, and from the doorway Olruggio stood, his own shadow was cast onto the barren stone floors that felt utterly unwelcoming.

"Qifrey, are you well?" The answer was obvious, yet the question echoed several times more as he closed the door behind him. Bathed in darkness as he now was, the witch hadn't much bearings to find his way.

He was fortunate that the stairs winding up toward the loft was easy to navigate with a mere hand braced upon the wall. A flash of lightning warned Olruggio of a few trinkets left strewn on the floor. He stepped over the mess, treading lightly as he approached the empty bed by the window—

"Oi, Qifrey, you know you can't sleep like that." What luck to find him hiding at the foot of his own bed, on the floor, laying on his side with his legs pulled to his chest whilst using the wall as a rocky pillow for his head. It was a terribly uncomfortable position—and that tightly-pressed frown spoke all that needed to be said.

"The storm's unkind to everyone," Olruggio sighed with all the compassion he could muster, "but that doesn't mean you must hide from it like this."

In the silence he received, there were but the faintest rustlings of worried hands over a terribly frayed bedrobe. Qifrey plucked and pulled at his own sleeves as if they would soothe the tension sewn into his muscles.

"Can't sleep..." he murmured like a curse.

Yes, well, whoever possibly could whilst laying like this?

Thunder rumbled, stirring a jolt from the poor, restless witch. He hardly bit back a weary groan as he squeezed his eye shut, as well.

It never got any easier to witness...

Wordlessly, tentatively, Olruggio penned a pyreball in his palm quire, bathing the loft in a gentle light. It did well to chase away the cold, along with the vestiges of awful memories clutching one's mind. Warmth, comfort, safety... Though Qifrey was not yet one to bask in such things, he was hardly unreasonable when it came to chasing off any reminders of the bitter rain.

His lashes fluttered, his voice grew a touch softer, and he stared, and stared, and stared...

That, in itself, was a foggy memory in Olruggio's mind, much akin to a hazy dream. The slip of paper was set down, holding the pyreball steady as he made himself comfortable on the rug. Despite the heaviness through which Qifrey breathed, Olruggio took it to mean well, for he could at least now see the first signs of dread waning from his brows.

"There we go. Just relax, aight?" Till just the recent past, that advice was no different to wishing Qifrey ill, but now it served as true counsel. Even if he failed to recognise it as such, Olruggio hadn't any qualms in aiding him through the unfamiliar for as long as it took.

Such as now—as ever—when storms riddled them.

Olruggio had lost count of the time eventually, but that was no matter. For all his childhood spent in the bitterness of winter's worst, nighttime seldom brought with it a comforting atmosphere. The silence invited introspection, and the darkness soothed his eyes after hours upon hours of deskwork.

For Qifrey, at least, it gradually calmed his frown to something much less strained. As the pyreball crackled and sputtered, he lost himself to idleness, stillness, and a frail iota of serenity.

It would do Olruggio well not to stir him from it, yet it wouldn't do to leave the witch as he was. Tomorrow will surely reap its due if Qifrey were to fall asleep like this. Curled up to a ball, on the floor, against the wall... Why, Olruggio shuddered to imagine the aches and pain that would plague him come the morn.

"Qifrey," carefully, then, did the witch shift, inching closer to rest a hand lightly upon a still head. "Oi, Qifrey, still awake are you?"

His voice was but a whisper, gravelly from... matters that were unimportant right now. However, despite the gentleness with which Olruggio spoke, he roused not even a twitch of an eye. Qifrey remained as still as a corpse, staring at the pyreball as if it were the entirety of his world.

How strange.

Unless he had fallen asleep with his eye half-open, Olruggio reckoned there was something else at hand. He studied the pyreball that continued to burn, trading his gaze from it to Qifrey, watching as the witch's body continued to slacken ever-so-minutely.

A curious thought occurred right then.

"Hmm?" The first sign of life was but a faint hum, all because Olruggio had carefully picked up the pyreball spell.

Strangely enough, Qifrey's gaze never strayed from it. His eye followed the light as it rose higher and higher.

"Care to sit up for me?" Olruggio asked. He had risen to his knees and grasped Qifrey's limp wrist to usher him on. "I'll help you. Just take it slowly."

Surprisingly, fascinatingly, Qifrey heeded his words after a mere moment of listlessness. He seemed to stew over himself, as if his thoughts were muddled, watered down, before he commanded his lazy limbs to follow Olruggio's guidance.

"Okay..."

Sluggish and languid, with the grace of an old soul, Qifrey unfurled his legs and allowed himself to be pulled upright. His gaze never left the pyreball, nor did Olruggio snuff it out of his sight. If anything, the spell itself must be the cause of this... docile state of mind. How riveting; how curious.

But now was not the time for study. Once the drowsy witch had settled himself, Olruggio next guided him onto the bed, where the blankets and pillows were left a messy nest.

"Up you go. Easy does it... Now, rest your legs right here—aye, perfect."

It took a fair bit of effort—no part in Qifrey's, of course—but soon enough he was laying properly on his bed with a pillow cradling his head, another nestled in his empty arms, and a third propped under his knees. It was the best Olruggio could manage, but he reckoned it was a splendid job.

Oh, but he'd almost forgotten...

"Tilt your head to the side for me, love." A gentle hand cupped Qifrey's cheek—the left, not the right—tilting him to face away from the window where the storm still raged. The pyreball remained in Olruggio's other hand, careful to not stray too close.

"Now, just hold still for a while..." With the tip of his tongue snuck between his lips, Olruggio began the precarious task of unravelling the obscenely complicated strapwork of Qifrey's collar. To call it a tedious endeavor would be undercutting the utter carefulness with which the witch worked his fingers; a puzzle none could decipher, even an inventor who was well-accustomed to delicate handiwork.

To leave it done up as it was would be unkind of Olruggio. For all he knew, the undersuit Qifrey wore at all times may be stifling by design. There was no need to wear it in bed, but taking it off entirely was a bit too far. For what it was worth, Qifrey hadn't once stirred from his bizarre docility whilst Olruggio unwound the top of his collar, nor did he utter a sound once the last of it was finally unbound.

If anything, it was the slightest murmurings that nearly wafted past unattentive ears.

"Olly?"

What a strange tenor... So soft, so fragile, nothing like the Qifrey he pictured in his mind's eye.

And yet, instinct—empathy—urged Olruggio into slipping on a smile, for no other reason than to stay a loose tongue from speaking unnecessarily.

"Shhh, get some sleep. You can rest easy whilst I'm around."

The pyreball burned still, yet his words, his gentle reassurance, happened to be the one to sever the unbreaking stare at last. The golden light of his spell washed away the icy blue of Qifrey's eye before the crown of his lashes snuffed it out.

"Okay..."

What remained was a dull whisper, akin to a dying man's last words; and Olruggio watched for longer, even after Qifrey had drifted to a deep slumber.

Some things were just too precious to turn away from.

Because it meant nothing—because it was but a fleeting scene—Olruggio never spoke of the incident again. Besides, it didn't seem as if Qifrey remembered it at all, what with his unusual grogginess and confusion come late into the dawn. His first question had merely been when and why exactly Olruggio snuck into his room.

For courtesy's sake, and for whatever propriety he may wish to preserve between them, Olruggio had answered as vaguely as he could muster; something about checking up on him when the storm was at its worst. In his head, it was just... a thin veneer of truth, a white lie, one only told between friends. He meant no harm by it, and he would be hard-pressed to believe Qifrey would ever call foul. It was hardly anything worth mentioning, either.

Although... after a day had passed, then two, then three, Olruggio just so happened to wander into the kitchen during the dead of night when he caught a sight most curious.

That of... the room lit only by the full moon's gleam, and a single pyreball lit on the centre of the dining table.

Qifrey was seated with a cup of tea abandoned before him. He had his cheeks held in his hands, his elbows propped upon the table, and his narrowed eye affixed to the spell as though it were whispering to him the very secrets of the stars.

How... bizarre.

Even for him.

"Uhm, Qifrey? Are you with it?"

It took far too long for a response, let alone a reaction. By the time Qifrey showed the first signs of awareness, Olruggio had long deduced that he was certainly not with it.

"I... Olly? Did you say something?"

"What in the world are you doin'?" he asked incredulously as he rounded the table toward the witch. "Don't tell me you were just watchin' a pyreball for no reason at all."

Qifrey blinked once, then twice, slowly, torpidly, as if he had just awoken from a nap. Even so, there was confusion twisted in his brow, much like before, and he didn't seem to have heard the question.

"When did you get here?"

Unimportant. Olruggio stepped closer, raising a placating hand between them. And, with a sterner, more fussy tone of voice, he chided him as Qifrey would whenever he indulged in too much alcohol. "Have you any idea of the time? The moon's already on its way down. Don't tell me you were dozin' off while the pyreball was still burnin'. You could've gone and hurt yourself, you fool."

"No, no... I was just... lost in thought," Qifrey said. He ran his fingers through his hair as he averted his gaze, as if he knew not how else to argue or ease Olruggio's nerves without more hollow words. It was a sad sight, one that never got any easier to bear. If only Qifrey weren't the sort to bottle up anything he deemed obtrusive till it burst... 

Just what was Olruggio to do with him?

With a deep breath, a level-headed sigh, a tempered frown, and patient eyes, he asked without neither prejudice nor ire, "What exactly were you tryin' here?"

Kindness was akin to poison for Qifrey, even without his curse. Kindness brought him hesitation, caution, and fear; yet when it came to Olruggio, such apprehension was seldom less... intense, less impulsive, less prone to knee-jerk reactions.

Rather than excusing himself, or scurrying away, or both, Qifrey sat eerily, impressively still, like a statue of solid marble, till he whispered oh-so defeatedly.

"I can't sleep."

Oh. Was that so? Perhaps Olruggio had overthought it all...

Regardless, this was a matter still worth intervention, and he wouldn't dare dismiss it. "And what does a pyreball have to do with it?"

"I... just..." Qifrey pressed his lips to a thin, flat line. As the spell continued to burn, the golden light cast upon his face did well to illuminate his weariness in its entirety. If Olruggio were to stare, he would catch the darkened spots beneath those snow-laden lashes, along with the reddened veins surrounding his eye. Perhaps it wasn't merely hesitation that stalled his tongue, but a lack of sleep, as well.

Olruggio understood perfectly.

Thus, did the witch cease his questions and offered an open mind, for some things needn't be explained. So long as it helped Qifrey navigate his newfound freedom, what purpose was there in prying so early?

"So, the pyreball calms you, ey? Seems that you take well to it. If you need, I can help with that." Fire was, after all, Olruggio's specialty. This was but child's play. "Come, let's get you to a proper bed."

"Pardon?" Qifrey looked awfully bemused at that. He was just as startled when a hand was barely placed upon his shoulder to urge him on. "H-hold on, what's this about?"

What?

Despite the minute pang in his chest, Olruggio couldn't help but ask, "Do you not recall the other night, when it was stormin'?"

For some reason, Qifrey thought long and hard about it, as if he needed to wrack his brain for mere snippets of memory.

"I don't remember much," he confessed. "I remember... that there was indeed a storm that night, after dinner, and I had found myself in my room. Then, I... fell asleep, eventually, and awoke in my bed... where you then greeted me and hastily left."

Oh, well, at least he remembered something.

"If it matters to you, it was I who saw you to sleep," Olruggio said. "You were hunched up on the floor and couldn't relax, so I cast a pyreball to keep you warm. Whatever had happened, it seemed to lull you into a strange state of mind. You started actin' real docile."

Qifrey turned his head toward him without ever shifting his eye. With that ice-cold expression alone, it was impossible to decipher his innermost thoughts. Even as Olruggio removed his hand, it did little to ease the stiffness that remained etched into Qifrey's entire being.

"Oh... Is that so?"

What was with that hollow voice? Did he— "I did not do anythin', I swear to it!"

"What?" Now it was Qifrey's turn to bear that same befuddlement.

"What?" Whatever did he mean by what?

Oh, dear. They seem to be tangling themselves in a horrid misunderstanding. Olruggio took a step back—a tentative, courteous step, nothing more—whilst he never dared turned his eyes away, not even as they burned. It shouldn't be unnerving, being the subject of Qifrey's scrutiny like this, yet he felt himself... pinned, like prey caught in the jaws of a scalewolf.

At the same time, Qifrey looked no different to prey himself.

"I just..." The words died on the witch's tongue, to which he groaned oh-so frustratingly, so strongly, till his lungs must surely ache with the strain. Only then did he slump his shoulders and press the heel of his palms at his temples to knead at whatever migraine he nursed.

"This is ridiculous," he groaned with fatigue writhing in every fiber of his being. "Here I was, believing that it'd all be better now, yet things haven't changed one bit, have they? Still but an empty mess..."

"What are you on about?" Was the fool up in his own head again?

"Nothing. It's nothing, Olly. I just thought... I could try out a full night's sleep, without needing to wait for exhaustion to take me; and it appears my body just isn't accustomed to anything but."

"Old habits are tough to break, I reckon." Olruggio knew that all too well. Of course, he let out a quiet sigh. Perhaps this wasn't as complicated as he believed. Qifrey was simply... facing troubles with adjusting to his newfound freedom—not that it was a trivial matter, just...

Ah, how confusing.

Olruggio took a seat right beside him, well within arm's-reach, well within sight, yet his gaze was affixed to the table, and his hands were kept to himself.

"Listen, Qifrey, it's foolish to expect everythin' to change so quickly. You've had that blasted curse for as long as you remember."

"I know that. It's just that... well..." Once again, Qifrey's words failed him when he needed them most, catching in his own throat and seizing the air he breathed like thorns encircling his neck. It was through the discomfort he was so accustomed to that helped to utter his thoughts, even if they were but murmurs in the still air.

"It felt quite nice," he said, so cautiously that it seemed he couldn't believe it for himself—as if he didn't understand it entirely—that there was something to fear about the unknown. "I hadn't ever thought it was possible to simply... sleep without worries plaguing my mind. I hadn't dreamt at all, nor had I awoken feeling worse than when I fell asleep. It was an entirely novel experience. Forgive a starving witch for wanting another taste of ambrosia."

How... charming.

To watch as Qifrey discovered the most mundane comforts was terribly endearing. At the same time, Olruggio hadn't the heart to find pride for his sake. It shouldn't have had to be this way. It shouldn't have to be a luxury afforded to him after decades of torment and roadblocks beyond anyone's control. Qifrey hadn't any part in the conflicts he had been thrust into; he was simply one of the many countless, faceless victims used and discarded by the brimmed caps.

Logically, reasonably, as cruelly blunt as it may be, Olruggio knew that those scars will never truly heal. The habits Qifrey had fostered to stave off the Silverwood's encroachment was ingrained into him, as language was to any child. Certainly, he was free to learn otherwise now, but instinct will forever be tricky to forgo.

"There is nothin' to seek forgiveness for," Olruggio assured. Before them both was a mountain of trauma to sort through, but he knew better than to push through unprepared. Now, at least, they had all the time in the world... That alone was a blessing they could bask. "If this is what helps you, then so be it. You needn't find reason to explain why."

He tapped his finger against the table before taking the pyreball spell into his grasp. He spared the weary witch no other words than a firm invitation.

"Come. Let's get you settled in."

The thing about empathy was that it oft served as a double-edged sword. Though Olruggio may not ever understand all that Qifrey had had to endure, he had it in himself to recognise that the pain was unimaginable.

It was no way to live, let alone exist. Perhaps... that was why Olruggio had always offered him the easiest way out. After all, what were a few precious memories compared to the crushing guilt of destroying them? It only proved to them both that Qifrey was still but human despite his sins.

"Make yourself comfortable," Olruggio said; and because that simple request could be left for wild interpretation, he explained himself, "Off with your slippers and spectacles, lay down in bed, make sure you aren't strainin' any of your limbs."

Inside his workshop, where all was dark save for the pyreball in Olruggio's hand, there was nothing to distract them, nothing to seize this quiet moment.

"What am I, a child?" There was an iota of vexation there, but Qifrey obeyed nonetheless.

"You're someone who's never gotten to relax a day in his life," Olruggio quipped. "There isn't much else I can do for you yet, Qifrey," even a chaste touch was beyond them during the worst days, "So, we're takin' things as slowly as you need. However it has to happen."

"How kind of you."

Yes, yes. Was there ever any doubt? "Now, get cosy."

For what it was worth, Qifrey certainly did a fantastic job at laying down without compromising his limbs, or back. He stared up toward the ceiling, the thick, quilted blanket tucked under his arms, and he asked, "What next?"

Next, well... "Do you trust me?"

"Is that a genuine question?"

"Aye."

"Yes."

Grand.

With the pyreball in his hand, Olruggio rummaged his desk for something small, something unassuming. It didn't take long to find that which he sought, and the warmth that radiated in his palm brought a fair bit of hope that this might work.

The phantasmal fireball, sealed within a small, rudimentary glass case and entwined with a thin silver chain; merely one of the many prototypes he had gone through in perfecting the spell for the Silver Eve procession. Now, he supposed this could be refashioned for a different purpose, if all went well.

He returned to Qifrey's bedside, sitting at the edge and turned toward him with the fireball pendant dangling off his hand. From a mere glance, its light was paltry compared to the pyreball, and Qifrey needed to squint his eye just to discern whatever it was.

Then, he levelled Olruggio with an expression most unamused. "You cannot be serious."

"Aye, I very much am."

"And, pray tell, what exactly will you be doing?"

"What does it look like?" Olruggio was quite curious to hear what was afoot in Qifrey's head. "A pyreball's too dangerous, so why not use this spell instead?"

"That sounds rather lovely, Olly. However, are you really going to lull me to sleep with that? Is this not akin to..."

What? "Hypnosis?"

For some reason, speaking it aloud seemed to unnerve Qifrey, for he furrowed his brows and turned away. "Is that not associated with healingcraft, or forbidden magic in general?"

"I ain’t a therapist." And as far as Olruggio was concerned, he was the last witch to be asked for anything regarding maintaining a healthy sleep schedule. "I ain't drawin' a spell on your body, either. I suppose you can think it no different to drinkin' tea and listenin' to pleasant music. It's just a method to relax you, Qifrey."

"I dare say I am plenty relaxed already," the fool claimed through a smile bearing far too much teeth.

"And your temperament ain't gettin' anythin' outta me," Olruggio said. Honestly, Qifrey hadn't grown out of his temper one bit, had he? Always putting on a front depending on who he faced. It was just Olruggio's fortune that he was trusted to glimpse upon the brunt of those unmasked emotions, dulled as they may be. It was only natural that one who clung to anxiousness for survival would lash out whenever the opportunity came to rest it.

But his composure did not waver, nor did his voice quiver as he swayed the pendant ever-so-gently. "Just trust me, aight? I promise you'll wake up the most well-rested you have ever been."

An argument was tested on Qifrey's frown, something undoubtedly along the lines of, "That's hardly a tall order, anyway," but he held his tongue; and that was answer enough.

Olruggio breathed deeply, quelling the nerves that wracked his heart. For all his bravado, composure—nonchalance, even—he couldn't trick himself. There was a whirlwind inside his head, not unlike the dizziness that came after a full day of puttering about his workshop. Things both meaningless and unimportant, yet blown out of proportion. Ifs, ands, buts, what ifs, how sos, anything, everything. It was a storm bearing no weight, yet it wasn't nothing.

He only had the wherewithal to recognise this as but a morsel of Qifrey's turmoil—but that hardly mattered now, did it? No, what mattered now was granting him just another full night's rest. Olruggio could do that much.

Thus, did the fire witch sway the pendant in his grasp. Gently did it, the motions that smeared the phantasmal fire's glow. The pyreball gradually waned in due time, leaving the workshop darker and dimmer till all that remained was the soft moonlight, and a shimmering, golden spell.

Fortunately, Qifrey refrained from playing difficult. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon his body, akin to fetters that pinned him to the bed. His eye followed the silent flame and parsed no judgement in favour of humouring Olruggio.

Time seemed to stall, becoming a still river as crystalline as the full moon out the window. The passage of several clockmarks felt akin to a fleeting instance no matter how steadily the pendant swayed. And just like watching a pot of water come to a boil, Olruggio found that it took much, much longer than one would think for Qifrey to finally settle down to a more... subdued state of mind.

It was a frankly unsettling sight, though not in the way Olruggio first thought. The longer the silence went, the calmer the atmosphere became; banter forgotten, doubts muted... The bed itself became a bubble warding off the outside world, lulling the two witches into a shallow trance, akin to an absent daydream.

Olruggio was stirred from it when Qifrey shifted. The quaint fog that enveloped his thoughts was dispersed like a thin veil, and his vision realigned itself to grant a scene of the weary witch fiddling over the straps of his collar with a blind and heavy hand. Not a word was uttered. Not a disturbance was tossed into the stagnant river. Qifrey continued to follow the pendant's steady sway whilst absently hooking a finger beneath the thick, tightly-woven bands.

It was...

Well, it was a sight. Olruggio pressed his lips thin and willed away the heat creeping up his neck. For some inexplicable, unwarranted—completely predictable—reason, his heart began to pound as if it wished to burst out of his chest. He couldn't tear his eyes away, not when each of Qifrey's fingers looked so... delicately thin, and beautifully long, and how it looked against the soft flesh of his throat—

Oh, what was he thinking? Olruggio must've gone far too long without proper sleep again. Why else would such untoward images be accosting his mind over such a mundane motion? It was just... a hand... Qifrey's hand, unravelling the very impractical, very intricate braidwork he oft does every night, in his lonesome, whenever it came time to undress for the evening...

Olruggio purged those thoughts before they could run amok. He chased them off like white noise, for anything less would be disastrous.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, minding the frailty of his own traitorous voice before he asked, "You still awake?"

Quietly, gently, a mere ripple in the still river. It did not rouse Qifrey from his trance any more than the pyreball extinguishing did. The pendant remained his North Star amidst the otherwise blinding darkness.

"Just... settling in," he murmured, utterly oblivious to the turmoil raging within Olruggio's poor head. Qifrey simply finished unravelling the last of the bands, leaving them undone whilst he shifted to lay on his side, with his arms curled up and near his head.

"That's good to hear." It proved that it was working, at least. Olruggio wondered if Qifrey was in any state to listen to suggestions, much like before. Would he be opposed to that?

There was but only one way to discern, and Olruggio took it upon himself to brave a gentle smile.

"Perhaps it'd be best to close your eye," he said with all the grace of an innocent remark. "You've been workin' yourself to the bone these past few days. You deserve a nice, long rest. That sounds lovely, doesn't it?"

"Hmm..." 

Whether Qifrey was playing along or truly following his words, Olruggio carried on when the witch let his eye finally fall shut.

"There we go, all snuggled up and comfy. It's enough to lull even the most restless mind to sleep. Here," carefully now, he set the pendant down to a limp, open hand, and he closed Qifrey's fingers over it to soak in the gentle warmth, "Whenever it comes time for bed, just hold onto this spell and let your thoughts drift away. Sleep will come easily to you."

It wasn't a promise—because Olruggio hadn't the slightest clue if the suggestion would even stick by dawn—but tonight, at least, he could see Qifrey off to it.

The witch in question sighed deeply, clutching the pendant where it was laid as if it were a tether. It wasn't long before his breathing evened out, and the last of his consciousness faded to a dreamless slumber.

Olruggio dared not move for a considerable while, for he feared even a rustle of his sleeves would snap Qifrey out of his trance. He watched, then, like a guard stationed at his king's door, keeping the peace with a deathly silence.

He supposed he couldn't complain. Where else, after all, would Olruggio squirrel off to stew over his own nauseating thoughts?

Despite the turbulent shifts in the witching world, many things remained as it was. 'Forbidden magic' was still a term blanketting all spells cast to bring harm unto others, and punishments for such crimes were just as harsh. Spells that forcefully wrested command of one's mind fell squarely in the realm of the forbidden. And yet, for this case, Olruggio hadn't exactly cast such a spell, had he? Nothing of the sort. What he had done was little different than a magician's trick. If anything, it was a miracle it had even worked.

He couldn't help but wonder if exhaustion had played a considerable role in making it easier. From what little he knew of real hypnosis, achieving a genuine state of trance required a great deal of trust—trust which Qifrey probably, likely, may lack in abundance.

Olruggio wasn't blind to the witch's faith in him, of course. He would simply rather not get ahead of himself… Actions, after all, were Qifrey's preferred language; and though his reservations as of late had stung a fair bit, Olruggio hadn't the heart to fault him for it.

The witch slumbered for hours upon hours, uninterrupted, undisturbed. All the while, his Watchful Eye remained ever by his side, having situated himself in the comfort of his hammock nearby. A torchlamp was hung upon the wall, casting the loft in a gentle golden light that soothed his eyes.

Despite the quiet night beckoning Olruggio off to join him, he couldn't bring himself to drift off; not when Qifrey had displayed a grand deal of trust in laying himself vulnerable before him, sound asleep. It was in Olruggio's best interest to uphold his assurance that the witch shall awake the most well-rested he ever has, because, well... the more Qifrey learned to enjoy it, the more he shall indulge on his own. And with luck on their side, he shall take to it as naturally as anyone.

Yes, that was it.

Once an unreachable luxury, now a mere right.

Besides, Olruggio was no stranger to staying up the whole night. He welcomed the silence to sort out the emotions that whirled within him, emotions that sent chills down his spine, a hot flush over his cheeks, and numbed his fingers and toes with pins and needles.

Ridiculous. It was utterly, childishly ridiculous. And here he had thought himself to have matured since their youthful days at the Great Hall...

In hindsight, much could be reinferred from even the littlest moments. Every time Qifrey had closed himself off without rhyme or reason, every time he looked to be in pain over such silly little things, it all stemmed from that secret he kept tightly-wrapped, the curse he had harboured in total isolation. How foolish of Olruggio to believe he had never had a chance with that witch. In the end, it was the exact opposite which he had lived through all these years—just as Qifrey had endured it in secrecy.

There was no need to question their relationship. Neither missing memories nor conflict could ever shake its veracity. The promise they had each made was kept and fulfilled. What mattered now was... building upon the wreckage left behind by the Silverwood Tree. However, while the curse no longer haunted Qifrey, he remained enshrouded by it, pinned within the winding branches that refused to wither after its removal.

Such were miracles, Olruggio supposed. Not even magic was a cure-all, least of all that which was forbidden. There was always a price, a catch, an exception, a logical, reasonable outcome...

But, one day, Olruggio hoped to see Qifrey blossom despite it.

It was just... too soon to expect anything right now.

Consciousness returned to Qifrey in a steady trickle. First came sound, where static filled his ears and blanketted his heavy head. Then, came the first thought, the first memory, flickering like fireflies in the dead of night. Then, sensation, awareness, and epiphany.

Qifrey hadn't the will to fight the blanket's grasp on his body, nor could he muster the courage to open his eye; not when his own breaths sounded so heavy and deep, filling his lungs as far as they could bear and making his chest ache almost... pleasantly. Shivers rolled through his body, yet it did little else than leave him feeling heavier, more dazed. Regardless, his voice rumbled to the peaceful silence and stirred him from the deepest clutches of a long, fulfilling slumber.

Warm...

There was something warm in his hands, nestled closed like a second heart, encased in a smooth, glossy surface and fixed with a thin chain. How strange. Qifrey could recall something about this... What was it again? The name was on the tip of his tongue...

"Awake, are you?"

That voice...

"Olly?" The name slipped before Qifrey recognised it, yet it sent his heart aflutter with emotions he dared not name.

His lashes clung, his eyelid remained stubbornly shut. Despite that, he willed whatever he could of his body to respond, till the pleasant buzz that muddled his thoughts waned.

Footsteps ambled toward him, stopping just by his bedside, where Olruggio's voice resounded.

"Sounds to me like you've had a great sleep." A quiet yawn was muffled into his sleeve. "That's good to know. Slept for a good while, too. I don't think you've ever slept in till noon."

Was that so?

Noon.

Noon...

"Noon?!" Panic was ever-so-quick to grapple Qifrey. The hastiness with which he shot out of bed was enough to send his head to a nauseating spin. "What do you mean it's noon?! Whatever did the girls have to eat for breakfast this morning?"

For some reason, Olruggio saw no need for urgency, save for raising his hands before Qifrey in a vain attempt to soothe his frenzy.

"Hold on a moment, will you? They're old enough to care for themselves just one mornin'," he assured. "You, on the other hand, need all the rest you can get. I'm sure they'll understand."

"But, I—"

"Don't you dare start with me, Qifrey," There was an unforgiving sternness in Olruggio's glare. It lacked much venom, yet it poured with worry and exasperation. He clasped Qifrey's hand—the one which clutched his blanket and felt a fierce sting within his palm. He eased his grip with a few gentle strokes of his thumb along boney knuckles...

It shouldn't hasten Qifrey's heart as it did, yet now it raced for a different reason.

"Just relax, aight? The world won't burn down if you take a moment for yourself. I'll make sure of it."

That—

Qifrey hadn't a clue on what to say to that. Should he be... happy? Should he be relieved? How his body trembled as if he were soaked to the bone, while his mind was flooded with a myriad of nonsensical, indecipherable things. Despite that, Olruggio knew well how to steer him toward composure. Just that firm grasp of his hand alone was enough to loosen his fingers till a warm stone fell to the blanket.

"A phantasmal fireball?" Strange. When did Qifrey...

"It helped you sleep, remember? Figured I let you hold onto it," Olruggio said.

Well, that was one mystery solved. It made sense, anyway. The memories were slow to return, but Qifrey hadn't any cause for suspicion. Not when it came to Olruggio.

It was still confusing, however; confusing in the sense that he was unused to this. To awake with aching limbs that did not burn, a muddled mind unburdened by the day's errands... Why, it was a luxury Qifrey wouldn't ever grow accustomed to. He simply sat on his heels, basking in the utter novelty that came with nothing.

Neither pain nor fear. Not an iota of dread, emptiness, or doubts to shove behind a mask.

For once, Qifrey needn't lie.

"Ehh, Qifrey?"

The bed called out to him, and to the bed he went, slumping back to enjoy how the soft pillow cradled his head.

"If it's all the same to you, I would like to sleep in a bit more, then," he sighed. Perhaps the day could wait a little longer. He could trust Olruggio to see to the more urgent matters, eventually.

The pendant was held just an inch above his eye, swaying idly, listlessly, before it was laid upon his chest.

"If you want, you could join me," Qifrey offered. "You stayed up all night for my sake, didn't you? Why not take a few hours to rest your eyes?"

There was silence there, perhaps a flare of conflict within the Watchful Eye's brilliant eyes. Whether Olruggio saw fit to entertain him or indulge him, Qifrey went ahead with shifting over to take up merely one half of the bed. He did not await the kind witch's decision. The invitation had been made clear.

Qifrey could not care less of the outside world right now. If anything, he could certainly stand to care a lot less of the dip in the bed before a warm body settled just within arm's-reach. Why, it stood in Qifrey's interest to turn on his side before extending a mere pinky finger between them. The meek witch who couldn't bring himself to dare even the slightest brush eventually found it in himself to lace his own finger over it.

Always so kind. So patient, so caring, and far too chivalrous for his own good at times.

"Rest well, Olly." It was the last Qifrey spoke before he closed his eye and welcomed the blanket of slumber to be tucked over him. 

In turn, what a blessing it was to receive a most sincere wish uttered over his head.

"Same to you."