Archive of Our Own

There's always been something in the way he smiles. A small upturn of his lips, as if he's amused yet unsure at the same time. When Olruggio flicks his gaze up to study him, the action never seems to quite reach the other's eyes. There's always something hidden, something guarded, like a storm brewing beneath his hazy gaze.

For as long as they've been friends, Olruggio has always known something is there. Something out of his reach. So close yet so far, and he isn't sure he'll ever be able to figure it out. As happy as their life may sound and feel, Qifrey still stands on the edge of it all, almost as if he's some straggler peering in from the window. As if he isn't the mentor here, guiding young witches alike toward better lives. As if this isn't his atelier.

Pouring himself into a new job and invention is not unusual for Olruggio. Finding a way to create and make life easier is all he does. Someone wants something, and he hunches over and devotes himself as if his life is at stake.

Figuring out how to help his friend has been a lifetime goal, something that keeps him up late at night as he pours over his notes. Every time Qifrey's gaze softens around the edges, he thinks he's made progress, but then he's back to being guarded, a step away, just out of reach. Olruggio is always there, hand extended, yet his fingers just barely graze the other before Qifrey's turning away.

No magic seems to help. Their late night adventures in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder as they whip up a meal, don't seem to be the answer, either. Watching the young girls bloom under their teachings doesn't seem to help, even if he can tell that there's a simmering of pride in Qifrey's gaze. Nothing Olruggio comes up with seems to be what Qifrey needs.

So he continues to search. He stares at his notes and endless pages of ideas, but there's something missing. A puzzle piece he can't connect. His mind itches, as if it's blurred and right at the edge of it, yet he can't grasp what. Just what could he be missing?

What does Qifrey need to finally smile for real?

It's on a rainy afternoon, while the girls out at town with Qifrey, when it happens.

His pen scribbles upon an open page of his notebook, a new job keeping him holed up in his room. His stomach rumbles lightly, a reminder to go eat— yet the deadline keeps him seated and determined. Without meaning to, his gaze drifts toward his door. An insistent knocking usually greets him, a tray of food and a reminder to keep his mind sharp to give him a moment of respite. It typically happens like clockwork. The other man is currently gone, of course, so that can't happen. The routine of it all is something he's used to, and there's an ache in his chest at not being checked in on.

A little foolish, if he does say so himself. Since when does he rely on Qifrey for such mundane things? Or maybe it isn't relying, but a steadfast hope that the man will never tire of looking out for him, of reaching out in his own ways. It's an easy realization, really, to be hit with the obvious truth that his entire world revolves around Qifrey's axis. Of course it does.

His gaze drops back down to the paper. Of course it does.

Of course he's in love with Qifrey. Hasn't he always been?

An amused huff passes through his lips, hand lifting to glide his fountain pen across the parchment paper. As easy as it is to accept, it's just as easy to move past and to continue working. He's far too busy to spiral over such a thing.

Suddenly, though, an itch rises in his throat, and he has to clear it a few times to feel better. A tea break, then, should suffice. If he won't have an annoying man knocking on his door with soup in hand, then it's up to himself to finally make his way down and take care of himself. How bothersome.

He finds himself wandering down the steps and through the hallway toward the kitchen, muscle memory guiding him as he sets up the kettle and gets to work. The spell he scribbles is enough to ignite a pyreball, warming up the thornbark tea in no time at all. The itch is ever persistent, coming back to life with a vengeance. After dumping some honeytree nectar into the liquid and mixing it up, Olruggio downs the cup in seconds, pouring another one for himself and downing it just as quick.

The coughing fit that follows is enough to make him wheeze. His hand flies out, steadying himself against the countertop as his body wracks itself from the intensity of it. His vision blurs, and before he knows it, he's doubled over and gasping for breath.

All at once, however, it subsides. With a heavy breath, he rubs his palm against his chest and downs another cup of tea. A bit odd, but the weather has been a tad cold lately. If he's coming down with something, then he just needs to stay on top of it and nip it in the bud.

…Once his deadline is complete, of course.

Once back in his room, Olruggio watches the sun set from his window, and before he knows it, a rapping of knuckles against his door alerts his senses. He didn't realize the others had come back. His chest feels oddly tight, but one firm cough into his fist clears it up. With that, he lifts himself up and steps over to the door. As expected, he's greeted with a small smile and a tray full of food.

"The girls helped me make dinner. I figured you wouldn't want to join us since you're on a deadline, so I brought some up to you instead."

The kindness of it all makes that insistent feeling rise up once more. It's as if a tangle of roots have taken shelter in his chest cavity and cling to his ribcage, suffocating him and making another cough rumble through his body. He clears his throat, ignores Qifrey's startled look, and reaches for the tray.

"Thanks," he grounds out, giving a firm nod of his head. "I appreciate it."

"Are you-"

"Yup, thanks again. Have a good night." It comes out swift and firm, but he can blame the deadline for his hurried movements. Stepping back, the door thuds closed, and Olruggio is left with nothing but the sound of his own thoughts once more.

No matter, he thinks, if it doesn't pass by tomorrow, then I'll see a doctor.

Unfortunately, the next day is worse. He wakes up with a startled wheeze, turning onto his side and sputtering for breath. His ribcage aches with the pain, as if something is tangled around his ribcage and constricting his airway.

Funny enough, just as the thought swirls around in his brain, he hacks up a few brightly colored petals into the palm of his hand. Bewildered, Olruggio sits up and stares at the bloodied petals, mind doing somersaults in an attempt to make sense of this all.

Although he's been fed a glowrose tart bouquet before, those were not true petals. Just a hand crafted pastry made with the upmost of care. Dough and apples do not equate to velvety petals that are almost obnoxiously yellow in color. As he shifts the slightly torn petals in his grasp, he realizes that they're petals belonging to a yellow tulip. Strange. There's almost enough in his grasp to make a whole flower, some of the petals lying haphazardly on his bed sheets. Flecks of blood add to the mix, which only serve to make the confusion in his head grow tenfold.

Slowly, he unfolds himself from the bed and rises, stripping the bed of his sheets and bundling it up into a ball. No matter, if was time for him to tidy up his space regardless. Laundry day was supposed to happen sometime this week, so it's just the thing that pushes him to get it done.

With that thought in mind, Olruggio gets ready for the day.

After instructing Agott to tell the others about laundry day, he goes about shoving his own sheets into the magic washing machine they have. It's a simple process that doesn't take much time, but it's still a pain to do multiple loads when you only have one of the contraptions. Once he's wrangled his bedsheets free and folded them neatly off to the side, he's met with Richeh who shoves the large pile of linens into his arms. With a huff of amusement, he gives a tiny salute to the girl and a nod of thanks before moving to clean the rest of their things.

Qifrey is last, a glass of lemonade in hand as he arches a brow, no sheets in hand. The stinging in his chest returns tenfold as he straightens up to look toward his friend, head tilting slightly to the side in silent question.

"What prompted such motivation? I expected you to be dead tired and holed up in your room for years once you finished your job."

The teasing jab makes his throat itch. "I guess I'm reenergized instead."

"Really? You look quite tired to me."

Olruggio smiles, resisting the urge to cringe. It's true that he doesn't feel the best, but if he can gaslight himself into believing otherwise…

"Did you want me to wash yours as well?"

"I can do it later, it doesn't take too long. What made you want to suddenly start? I thought we'd do it together in a couple days."

He shrugs. There's an answer, but not one he's willing to share. "Just had a burst of motivation, I suppose."

Amusement filters through Qifrey's expression. "You? Having motivation after working so hard on a job? Color me surprised."

"Haha," Olruggio says, deadpan. "You're so funny. I can be productive."

"Never said you couldn't," Qifrey quips back.

He goes to reply, only to stifle another cough with his fist. With a slight cringe, he turns away to clear his throat a few times. This entire ordeal is becoming quite bothersome, so he supposes he should go visit the doctors and get a check up.

"Olly?" The voice sounds concerned, and when he faces Qifrey again, he's met with furrowed brows and a slight frown. "Are you coming down with something? You should take it easy- here, I'll finish up the laundry."

Olruggio wants to argue, but another cough has him turning away.

"Fine," he relents, not much fight left in his system, "I'll bring back a treat as a thank you."

Huffing out a small sigh, Qifrey shakes his head and shoos him away. "Always thinking of others above yourself, my goodness. Just go get to feeling better, alright?"

He really doesn't need to be told twice. With a dip of his head, the witch turns on his heel and makes his way toward the windowway. Once there, he makes sure the spell is good before stepping through and making his way into the medical spire located within the Great Hall. He passes by a few of the stalls, eyeing the bread man with interest as he goes. Maybe he'll bring something nice back for all of them to share later.

After entering the spire, he comes face to face with Sinocia.

"Oh! Master Olruggio, hello." She steps forward and gives him a once over, head tilting slightly to the side. "What can I do you for? I feel as if we just saw you recently…."

"Ah, yeah," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck a bit awkwardly. "My physical was a couple months ago…but it seems I've come down with a nasty cough."

Her eyes grow wide with sympathy. "That's never fun. Here, sit down, do you have a fever?" She moves toward a free bed, patting the spot and urging him to sit. He's unfortunately too tired to argue, and he knows it doesn't do well to try and be stubborn with healers. Whatever this is, he truly does want to be rid of it sooner rather than later.

After getting his weight, height and other necessities, she gets down to the specifics. Sinocia checks his lungs, his throat, frowns and runs a few more tests. Whatever she's finding, she doesn't seem very thrilled about it.

"How bad is the pain?"

"Right now? A zero. When I cough though, I guess it's around a five. I've been…" he juts his lip out, glancing around the clinic. Would he sound crazy to admit to such a thing? They're in a world full of magic though, so how outlandish could it truly be? "I've been coughing up flower petals."

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. "Um..I haven't heard of it happening before, but did you happen to swallow any flower seeds?"

Olruggio shoots her an unimpressed look. She laughs a bit, holding her hands up in mock defense. "I'm just covering all the bases, Master Olruggio." She taps her chin for a bit, deep in thought before making him stand up.

"We'll do an x-ray and see what we can find, I'll call Ermile in for a second opinion."

The process is as annoying as ever. He decides to let it be and be a good patient. The sooner this is over and dealt with, the better, so he sits patiently and lets Sinocia and Ermile do their thing. After another half hour, he looks over to see them both mulling over his scans with muted mumbles.

Clearing his throat, he tilts his head and waves to get their attention. "Something I should know about?" He asks, only slightly amused.

Sinocia jumps a bit but sighs, striding back over to him with the xrays in hand. She pins them up on a board to show him, her lips tugged down into a deep frown. That can't mean anything good.

"It looks like you have something growing in your chest cavity. And by the look of things, it's roots. Multiple ones."

Olruggio's eyes nearly bug out. He's on his feet in an instant, hands flying to his cloak. He needs to check himself. What if he had been unknowingly drugged and attacked?! If there's a seal etched into his skin, then he…he needs…well, there's not much to do, is there? Maybe he could find a counter spell, but etching magic onto a person's body is taboo— if this is what's going on, then he's practically doomed. His memories will be erased and he'll be sent away. There isn't a good outcome to this.

He'd say it's fine, but it really isn't. That would be worst case scenario. It's supposed to be a simple cold that ebbs away with medication and rest. Not this.

"Actuallt, I think I know what this is. I've only seen a few other cases before," Ermile says, glancing to Sinocia and then to Olruggio. They both look at her with wide eyes, waiting for the explanation. She shifts from foot to foot, hands coming to settle on her waist. For a moment, she looks hesitant, as if the news she's about to share could tilt his life on it's axis and shatter it all at once. Which, he supposes, that could very well be a possibility.

"Have you ever heard of Hanahaki Disease?"

Olruggio arches a brow. Sinocia frowns. They glance at each other before looking back to the doctor.

"No," Olruggio says, Sinocia nodding in agreement.

Emile sighs before saying, "Well, it's a disease for unrequited love."

His eyes nearly bug out of his skull. Sinocia's hands fly to her mouth, a small "oh!" slipping free. They don't look away from Ermile, though, waiting for her to continue.

"It's uh, obviously rare. But when a love is so intense yet unrequited, you start to grow flowers in your chest. The flowers usually have ties to show how you feel— flower language, you know— and well…it can be fatal. It's a mystery as to why it really happens, but yeah." Ermile pauses, eyes sliding toward Olruggio with pinched brows, the seriousness of the situation settling down on them like a heavy stone. "Did you happen to know what flowers you've coughed up yet?"

His mind is spinning. This is already a lot of information to process. He thinks back to the petals from this morning, the frown on his face growing into something uncomfortable the longer he sits there in contemplative silence. He doesn't know the language of flowers very well, so perhaps he'll have to find a book…

"It's only been yellow tulips so far," he mumbles, looking down and away. The tips of his ears are burning. This feels as if they now know something they shouldn't. He had been prepared to take these feelings to the grave— which, if Ermile is right about the fatal part, then perhaps he still will.

"I see," Ermile says, nodding seriously.

"What does it mean?"

She gives a nod. "I don't know."

Olruggio sputters in surprise, looking back to Sinocia. She looks just as perplexed, giving Olruggio a shrug to show she doesn't know, either.

"Then why did you ask?"

"Just curious. Anyway." She moves over to pluck a clipboard up, jotting down a few notes. "If I remember correctly, there's three options here. One," she holds up a finger, "you tell them how you feel and if it's reciprocated, the flowers wilt on their own once that happens."

Olruggio cringes. He can't do that.

"Two," she holds up another finger, "you get surgery to remove the roots, otherwise they'll just continue to grow seeds and suffocate you and continue to grow and tear you up from the inside out. The downside is, you will forget all your memories with them, and them as a whole."

He frowns. That doesn't sound great.

"And three," she holds up the final finger, "is that you do nothing and die from it."

He weighs his options. If he confesses, he already knows the answer. Qifrey has many things on his mind and romance is not one of them. No matter how close they may be, his best friend will forever remain just that— his best friend. They may be platonic soulmates of sorts, if one would go as far as to say that, but it would never be anything more.

The second option is not even on the table. To forget his best friend, someone he's known since he was a child…that would be like losing a part of himself. Losing his other half, the person who he follows and orbits around…forgetting him is not something he can fathom. How could he ever live a fulfilling and proper life without Qifrey by his side? It's just not possible.

Which leaves option three.

Olruggio stares at his hands, eyebrows pinching together as the information sinks like lead into his system. He feels weighed down by the decision, slightly startled by how easy it is to make. At the end of the day, dying because of love is almost poetic, isn't it?

"How long?" He asks, flicking his gaze back up.

Ermile looks uncertain, shifting from foot to foot. "The last person on record had a week. The person before that got the surgery, and the person before that had a good ending." Her expression shifts to something more somber, voice lowering as she says the next part. "Master Olruggio, neither of us want to see you get the bad ending. You should tell this person what is going on."

Olruggio looks away. They wouldn't understand. How could they? A life so intermingled with another so precious to him…he can't just forget him. He can't just confess.

There's no other option.

"I'll make sure my things are in order, then. Thank you for this."

Sinocia looks as if she may cry, hands clasped together in front of herself. "Master Olly, we just want what is best for you. If you tell us who it is, then maybe we can-"

He shakes his head, getting back to his feet. As best as he can, he offers up a lopsided grin. "Don't you two go worrying about me, okay? It'll be okay."

The two share matching looks of uncertainty.

"But you said-"

"I know," he says, shaking his head, "but it'll be okay."

It take a bit more before he's able to leave, promising to return in a few days to check on the status of the disease. Sinocia looks distressed, but it isn't like they can force him to do the surgery. It's his choice, after all.

With that in mind, he returns home to the atelier after snagging some puff pastries from the bread man, steps slow and calculated as he reaches the windowway. His hand lingers against the seals etched perfectly into the wooden circle. They had tried so hard to make sure it was safe and useable, and it took more time than they'd like to admit to perfect the spell. He breathes in heavily, and exhales slowly. The events of the day make him feel sluggish, his throat burning with the itch to cough once more. He swallows heavily, willing it away as he carefully pushes the door open.

Practiced steps lead him through the atelier with ease. The winding steps leading him away from the windowway is a path he would know with his eyes closed. He's been here for as long as it's existed, so really, he knows how to travel soundlessly through it. However, slight laughter makes him pause, angling his body to peer around the corner.

It seems as if a late afternoon snack has caught all their attention. Some sort of pudding, it looks like. Qifrey is smiling as the girls all fawn over the recipe, telling him what they like best about it.

Something in Olruggio's chest aches. Shaking his head, he looks down at the pastries in his hand. It seems like he won't be needing these for tonight, so he decides to save them for tomorrow. With a tired sort of sigh, he dips his head and retreats to his room. It may be too early, but he figures he deserves a good nap after everything he's learned.

Before he can sleep, though, he examines himself just to make sure there's no forbidden seal etched into his skin. Maybe a seal could be easier to fix than this strange disease. Regardless, though, his skin remains unmarred. A heavy sigh passes through his lips as he slowly accepts the predicament he's found himself in. Shaking his head, he collapses onto his bed with a huff.

Once his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light.

Another full day of coughing up random petals is enough for Olruggio. He gets concerned glances from Qifrey during lessons, and he can at least duck away to his quarters to hide away so as to hide from such looks. The girls even begin to catch on, Coco big eyed and worried as she rambles about herbs and markteas that could soothe his throat during dinner time. It's nice that they care, but he also hates to worry them.

When the next morning comes, splattered blood and petals splattering across the sheets, he decides he shouldn't stick around all day. He may have accepted his fate, and he may be on limited time, but stepping out to clear his head alone for a moment will do him wonders. He'll make sure to soak up the time he has left with the others starting tomorrow. For now, he needs a moment of calm to try and clear his head and figure this all out.

Of course, he finds himself in the market. A shelf of books about flowers stare back at him, the spines littered with different titles making his head spin. Do all books hold the same information? Could a flower mean one thing in one book, but something else in another one? He spends the afternoon flipping through pages with morbid curiosity, finding that the gist of it all is basically the same. That's good, at least. He just needs to find one that feels right and bring it home with himself. At the end of it all, he doesn't need to know the meanings— but a small part of himself has to know.

After deciding on a title, he plucks it from the shelf and hands over the correct amount of change before taking his leave. He ends up back in his own study, away from prying eyes as he cracks the book open and begins to flip through the many pages.

He pauses on the page for tulips. His lips tug down into a frown. Beneath a detailed drawing of the flower, there's multiple different descriptions for each color the flower comes in. With that in mind, he scans the words until he finds the one for yellow.

Desperate love, or hopeless love. A way to tell someone that there's sunshine in their smile.

Well, that's…yeah, alright. It makes Olruggio cringe, so he flips to another page. The petals from today were from a honeysuckle, the petals long and thin. The text is enough to give himself a headache.

Devoted affection. Love.

He continues to flip through the book.

Primrose; eternal love. White carnation; pure love and faithfulness.

So maybe his feelings for Qifrey are more deep than he was willing to admit to. His stomach churns with the fact that his love for the other is so intermingled with his very being. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but it's enough to make him lean back and stare at the ceiling for a long, silent moment.

It's selfish, isn't it? To go down this path when there's a solution to keep him living and working. Stubbornly, though, he cannot imagine living a life without Qifrey. Sure, he could be reintroduced, but he might never have the chance of falling in love with him again. He'd lose all their moments together. Making the atelier a home, bringing in the girls, watching them grow…would he even remember the girls? They're so interwoven in his memories with Qifrey. What if things with them became hazy and confusing as well?

He could always try confessing, but the thought alone makes his throat tighten and his stomach twist. It wouldn't go over well. He knows, deep down, that whatever they have between them…his friend would not reciprocate. He may lie to save his life, but would the disease know if it's true or not? Even then, would it return if Qifrey revealed he had been lying? There's far too many unknown variables for Olruggio to be certain if any of it would work.

Which is how he knows it isn't worth it. Losing his memories would create more problems for everyone involved, and confessing makes him want to hurl up petals all over the place. Dying is it's own disaster, but in the end, the cold, chilled hand of death does come for everyone. They could bury him in the back of the atelier and give him a proper sendoff. He's not stupid enough to say it would be easy to lose him, but at the very least, they could learn to live without him— and that's something that makes it all easier. He knows, in the end, that they'll be okay. They have to be.

Glancing back down at the small pile of petals stacked beside him, he decides to open up a drawer and sweep them into it. Once they're safely tucked away, he faces his desk once more. How does one even prepare for such a thing? He knows death is near, yet he cannot figure out how to make his passing easier for those around him. Through his muddled thoughts, he decides to pull out a piece of paper. Perhaps he could start by writing it all out, then. With that heavy thought in mind, he begins to scribble out instructins on what to do. Things to remember. He knows, realistically, that Qifrey knows everything he does, but it still makes him feel better to write it all out. He wants the girls to be okay when he's gone.

He wants Qifrey to be okay when he's gone.

Once satisfied, he leans back to inspect his work.

Rubbing his chest, he wills the sudden flutter of pain away as he surveys his room once more. He'll miss it, he thinks, but then again— he can't miss something if he's dead.

Tucking the paper away, Olruggio gets up to properly tidy up his space before a knock at the door alerts him. He's quick to stride over, blinking a bit owlishly at the group staring back at him. Tilting his head a bit, he raises a questioning eyebrow, waiting for one of them to speak up.

"Well," Qifrey says, breaking the silence by chuckling lightly, "we were wondering if--"

"-you'd like to come on a picnic with us!" Coco blurts out, eyes wide and pleading. It catches Olruggio off guard, eyes sweeping over the others. The pastries from yesterday come to mind, so he quickly steps away and retrieves the treats from his desk.

"Funny you mention such a thing, I picked these up yesterday and wanted to give it to you all."

A small, collective cheer is their response, his expression softening at their reaction. His gaze meets Qifrey's breifly, his chest contricting so suddenly that it nearly catches him off guard. He clears his throat, willing the itch to let him have this moment, and motions for them to lead the way.

"Shall we, then?"

The next day is filled with chores. It would be rude to leave the atelier in such a state, so he downs some throat medicine that Sinocia prescribed him and goes about getting all the chores done. He nearly sweeps Brushbuddy into the dustpan in his haste, chuckling at the dust that clings to his fur. Richeh mumbles something about a bath as the creature scampers over to her, as if he's been bullied and mistreated- it only serves to make amusement cross his face at the display.

By nightfall, he's worn and tired, chest feeling tight. His breaths come in short pants, arm lifted as he uses it to hold himself up against the wall. Distracted, he nearly misses Qifrey sneaking up beside him.

"Olly," Qifrey mumbles, reaching out and startling him. His fingers brush against the other's shoulder, gentle and featherlight as he settles his hand there. One solid, firm squeeze, and then his hand retreats as if burned. "You're not feeling well, you shouldn't be doing so much."

Olruggio frowns.

"I just want to help," he explains, pulling himself away from the wall and smiling at his friend. "Just some spring cleaning, you know?"

Qifrey's lips part, expression falling. It's as if all the pain the other typically hides rises to the surface in a split second, only to smooth away and disappear with practiced ease a moment later. He clears his throat, hands smoothing down his cloak. As if he can tell that there's more to what Olruggio is saying.

"There's nothing more to help with. You need to stop doing this to yourself."

As if he's one to talk. Olruggio goes to say as much, but the words die out on the tip of his tongue. For some reason, it feels as if it'll be a battle he won't win. His brain cannot comprehend why that must be, but the muscles in his body tense up and beg him to let it be. Muscle memory alone should be enough to make him listen, yet he has no reason to be afraid to speak his mind to his dear friend. It doesn't make sense. A familiar sort of pain blossoms in his chest at the thought. He shouldn't feel unsure. This is his best friend. They don't hide things from one another.

Lips parting, Olruggio takes a deep breath. "I'm fine, Qifrey," he insists, lips tugging up into a lopsided grin. There's something in his chest that makes it hard to breathe, the urge to cough growing with every second that passes. His face screws up with pain, lips twisting down as he tries to clear the feeling away.

Okay, so maybe they hide some things from each other.

"Olly?" Qifrey questions, stepping closer, worry flickering across his face. "You don't look good, perhaps you should lay down? This is what I'm talking about…" Qifrey sighs with a small shake of his head, an almost fond look crossing his face, "always working yourself to death. You need to take care of yourself."

Olruggio resists the urge to roll his eyes. When he goes to reply, another coughing fit takes ahold of him, making him double over from the sudden sharp pain that tears at his throat. He can feel the velvety taste of petals coat his tongue, the tinge of copper adding to the mix as he gags against his palm. Qifrey is there in a flash, fingers brushing down the other man's back as he tries to soothe him.

With a shake of his head, Olruggio stumbles to the side in attempt to shake the other off, lifting an arm to brace himself against the wall again. Raising the long sleeves of his shirt, he obscures himself from that worried gaze as full petals fall from his lips. He's quick to shove them into his pocket, wiping blood from his lips as he glances back at Qifrey and lowers his arm.

"We need to get you to the doctor. Sinocia or Ermile can-"

"No need," he mumbles, cringing at how hoarse his voice sounds. "I've already visited them. The remedy is already in my quarters."

"Oh!" Qifrey sighs, leaning in close as he inspects the other. "That's a relief, okay. Let's get you to bed, then."

It doesn't feel like a relief, yet Olruggio can't say that. There's an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that twists like a knife the longer he stares at his friend. Ermile's voice rings his ears, the warning clouding through his mind— this is mostly unfamiliar territory, and the only way to treat it is to take a path he is not willing to go down.

His time is limited. That much he knows. He can feel the clock ticking down with every day that passes.

"Let's stay up," Olruggio says slowly, ignoring the way the itch creeps back up his throat. "We haven't cooked together in awhile."

"You should be resting," Qifrey mumbles with a frown. "Why don't I make something for you? The girls are already asleep, so-"

"Qifrey," he replies, and something in his voice must sound pathetic enough for it to get through to him.

The other man deflates but nods without any fight, motioning for Olruggio to lead the way to the kitchen. Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks off, cloak billowing behind him. The bloodied petals in his pocket weigh nothing, yet feel as heavy as stones the longer they rest there. He needs to remember to retrieve them and add them to the ever growing pile in his room later. Perhaps he can try to figure out their meaning as well.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Olruggio takes the lid off the magic cookpot they always have brewing, glancing inside. The bubbling liquid is hardly enough to even feedthe two of them.

"This won't be enough for tomorrow," he says, stepping back to take stock of all their ingredients. Qifrey is right beside him, humming in thought as he grabs some sword carrots and some chrysanthonions. Olruggio snags the butter and some smoked quadryphon, and before they know it, they're working flawlessly together.

It's not the first time they've cooked together, and Olruggio can only hope it won't be their last. His chest aches, though, an insistent tangle of stems and emotions expanding with every second making it harder and harder to pay attention. It nearly is enough to make him feel as if he'll pass out, yet he grits his teeth and stays rooted to the spot.

It will be fine. It has to be.

In no time at all, the soup is done. Olruggio retrieves two loaves of bread, setting them out so that Qifrey can pour the steaming mixture into it. Bread bowl stew is always a hearty and comforting meal, and he's glad to sit across from his best friend and share a meal together. Tomorrow, he'll make sure to be there for breakfast, too.

His gaze drops down to the food in front of him. What will they do when he's gone? The girls have Qifrey, but they can be such a handful sometimes, too. Not to mention he's meant to be the watchful eye over this atelier— would they get a new one? What if this ruins the whole dynamic they have going on here? He doesn't want them to mourn him for long, though. He figures being buried behind the atelier would be nice…

A small pwee! startles him from his thoughts. Glancing to the side, he watches as Brushbuddy ambles up to the edge of the table, it's tiny legs lifting it's body up until it can rest it's upper body against the table top. His wide eyes stare with wonder at their soup, long tail slowly swishing back and forth. He must have forgiven him for the broom incident from that morning.

"I think he wants some," Qifrey chuckles, picking up a spare spoon. He takes a spoonful of the veggies and broth, angling the utensil down for the creature. It's tiny arms come up to rest against the spoon, eagerly inhaling the treat it's been given.

"They sure have fattened him up, huh?" Olruggio laughs quietly, stirring his own stew before taking a bite. "They love that thing."

"As if you don't," Qifrey counters, a teasing lilt in his tone. The other man huffs, but no argument comes to mind. It's no use lying. It's obvious they all care for the tiny creature. However, he does give a little roll of his eyes, just to show he's annoyed, even if he truly isn't.

Brushbuddy suddenly heaves himself up onto the table fully, lifting it's arms up to settle on the side of Olruggio's bowl. His wide eyes are pleading as he stares up at him. Olruggio would not consider himself a weak man, but…how many more meals will he get to share with Brushbuddy, too? It seems a little silly, knowing that he'll miss the creature as well, but he supposes it makes sense. Wtih a small huff, he motions for him to take as much as he wants.

Brushbuddy really doesn't need to be told twice. He tilts his body down and starts to eat directly from the bowl like a dog, which makes Qifrey burst into laughter. He has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop the noise from being too loud, though, lest he wakes up the girls. Olruggio can't help but chuckle as well, gaze fond as he looks over at his friend.

He's really going to miss this. Though, he supposes a dead person can't really miss something, now can they? A bit morbid, but…a little comforting as well.

"Thank you," he suddenly says, catching the other off guard.

Qifrey tilts his head in silent question.

"For tonight. I think I needed it."

At that, Qifrey frowns, moving to rest his forearms against the table. He looks to be in deep thought for a moment before clearing his throat. "I didn't really do anything out of our usual routine. Are you okay, Olly?"

It feels wrong to force a smile onto his face as the lie is already bubbling over his lips. "I'm fine, Qifrey."

He'll tell him before his time comes, just so it isn't a surprise.

Not tonight, though.

"Okay," Qifrey says, smiling softly right back at him. "Want to have some spirits?"

A crooked grin crosses his face, and he gets up to leave Brushbuddy with the stew as he goes to retrieve a bottle.

"I thought you'd never ask."

The rest of the night, thankfully, goes without incident. He swallows past the itch and downs half the bottle, joking and conversing the night away with his best friend.

Maybe, just maybe, Qifrey will remember nights like these when he's gone.

If he's to die within the week, then he needs everything to be in order.

It's how Olruggio finds himself in the market with Agott and Tetia in tow. Coco and Richeh stayed behind, one insisting a nap was needed, the other far too excited to help Qifrey with dinner. That left himself and the other two for shopping, not that he minds, much. He cares for the girls just as much as Qifrey, of course. Always has.

"Oh! But it looks so pretty," Tetia whines, eyes wide as she stares at the pale pink fabric sprinkled with golden sparkles. Olruggio wrinkles his nose up at the color. The blue fabric right next to it looks way better…

"What are you wanting to make?" He questions, eyeing the fabric and the price. For a yard, it isn't too bad. Depending on what she wants it for, it could be doable.

"I want a new skirt, I think."

"Couldn't we just buy you one?"

Tetia gives him a flat stare. "And where would we find a skirt in this exact color? Coco used to be a seamstress, too! She could help!"

Olruggio turns his gaze to Agott, arching a brow at her. She simply rolls her eyes, not interested as she scans the people milling about. Reluctantly, Olruggio caves. After all, it's the least he could do. Maybe he should find something for all the girls…

"You pick something out as well," he says to Agott, catching her attention. "Something not food related."

She looks conflicted and confused for a moment, but shrugs as she surveys the market once more. While she thinks about it, he turns back to the booth and asks for a bundle of the fabric. As an afterthought, he gets extra just in case, and takes the bag once the exchange is finished.

"Oh! Thank you, master Olly!" Tetia exclaims, eyes practically shining as she clasps her hands together. He blinks down at her before offering up a small smile, reaching out to pat her head and ruffle her hair. The action seems to take her by surprise, but she shakes it off and offers up an even wider smile.

By the time they wrap up, Agott is on a mission. She winds through the streets and past a few stalls until they stop in front of a book cart. It shouldn't surprise Olruggio, but it does anyway. He's patient as she goes through all the titles until she pauses, finally plucking a romance novel from the collection and handing it over toward the owner. Hiding a smile, Olruggio passes over the money and lets Agott tuck the book away and out of sight.

"Excellent," he mumbles, looking around. "Will you two help me find something for Coco and Richeh?"

The two girls share a slightly confused look, but they shrug and help with the quest regardless. A heavy, plush blanket is found for Richeh, and a new dress for Coco is plucked from another stall. Once the gifts are all in hand, Olruggio finds himself at another stall filled with books.

His hand reaches out before he can think better of it, fingers snatching a cook book from the collection. He flips through the pages, finding new recipes with carapace yams and flying shrimp, the pages full of new things to try. He hands over some money and slips the book into the bag with the rest of the stuff. It'll make a good gift for Qifrey. He's always wanting to try new things for the girls…and Olruggio won't be around to help as much anymore, so this seems like a fitting parting gift. For good measure, he makes sure to swipe the best bottle of Willow-grape marktea for him, too.

Turning around, he faces the two young witches and nods his head. His lips part to tell them they should get going, only for a violent cough to wrack his frame. Lifting his hand, he covers his lips and wheezes into his palm. A bit unsavory of him, but he'd rather catch any pesky petals than cough into his elbow and risk the girls seeing…whatever this is. Hanahaki, Ermile had said.

Angling his body away, he sputters blood and petals into his hand, leaning against a wall for support. He can only imagine what the apprentices must be thinking as they watch. Probably concern mixed with surprise, but they shouldn't have to see him like this-

A hand gently touches his back, another one resting on his shoulder.

"Master Olly?" Agott asks, voice tinged with slight panic. "Are you okay?! What can we do?"

Tetia squeezes his shoulder, eyes wide as saucers. "I'll go find him some water!"

"Wait, don't go fa-" Olruggio tries, yet falls into another coughing fit. He slowly turns to push his back against the wall, slowly sliding down until he's sitting. Agott is right by his side, expression tight with determination, as if she's taking her post of looking after him that seriously.

Groaning, Olruggio tucks his face away, hiding it within his long cloak. He obscures himself from the young girl, and surprises himself when a nearly whole, fully formed flower splatters into his palm. The petals are red, the shape all too familiar. A red tulip without the stem. How peculiar. He tucks the flower away into a pocket, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. A streak of crimson stares back at him.

How peachy, he thinks with a grumble, lowering his arm as the coughing fit subsides. His gaze finds Agott, but the look of horror painted across her face nearly makes him flinch. He must look worse for wear.

"Hey, kiddo," he says, trying to give a comforting smile. "I'm okay."

"There's-" Agott starts, but gets cut off as Tetia comes rushing over. She shoves a bottle of water into Olruggio's hands, eyes wide and shaky with unshed tears.

"Oh my god, there's blood on your face! Are you okay?!"

He blanches at the exclamation, lifting his cloak to dab at his lips. There goes him trying not to freak them out. He takes a moment to uncap the bottle, tilting his head back as he downs half of it. Once he feels like he can breathe normally, he tucks the bottle away with the other stuff and hobbles back to his feet. Agott's hands hover beside him, as if she would catch him if he were to collapse. The action is kind, and it makes him bite back a smile.

"I'm sorry to worry you two," he says gently, giving them a thumbs up. "I've been fighting this cough all week, I just need to get back and take my medicine." A lie, again, but it seems to ebb their worries. If there's a made up cure that makes them feel better about it all, then he'll continue to use that to his advantage.

"So you'll be okay?" Tetia asks, eyes still brimming with the threat of her bursting into tears.

His chest twists with the lie. "Of course I will be."

They both look unsure, but seem to let it go. He gives another grin and clears his throat, motioning for them to come along with him. His steps seem a bit unsteady, but he forces his gaze forward and continues to place one foot in front of the other as they make their way back. Agott and Tetia are right by his side. He can feel the glances they throw his way, but he refuses to acknowledge them.

Once they're back at home, he gives a small wave toward the others as they reach the living room. Coco is practicing on the table, Richeh napping with Brushbuddy on the couch. Qifrey isn't around, but from the smell wafting from the kitchen, he can tell where he is.

"Hey, Coco," Olruggio says, stifling a small laugh as she jumps and ruins a line. Setting her pen down, she looks over her shoulder with wide eyes, a silent question within. He hands over the bag with the dress, then moves to tug the blanket free so he can drape it over Richeh.

"Oh!" Coco exclaims, pulling the dress out to examine it. She immediately looks at the seams and studies the fabric, eyes sparkling as she gives it a thorough once over. "Thank you, Master Oruggio!"

He smiles softly, moving to ruffle her hair. He then steps away to the kitchen, watching Qifrey's back as he moves flawlessly around the space. He moves with practiced ease, expert hands adding spices and ingredients.

It's a sight he sees almost daily, and it makes the ever growing abyss in his chest expand rapidly at the fact that this may be the last time he gets to experience it. It's that thought that makes him lean against the wall, arms crossed as he tries to burn the sight into his memory, the bag holding the other's gift now resting at his feet. Qifrey is far too focused to notice him anyway, so he feels as if it's fine if he stands there and watches for a bit longer. It feels almost like yesterday when they were young apprentices, out when they weren't supposed to be, gazing at a cauldron of boiling stew as they tried to make a recipe together. How times flies, really. Now Qifrey is practically a master in the kitchen.

When the witch turns, he startles slightly before smiling, head tilting to the side. "Enjoying the view, Olly?"

He chuckles, lifting his shoulders into a half shrug. "Perhaps," he says back, straightening up and rolling his shoulders back. "What're ya making?"

"Just some flying shrimp and veggie dumplings," he says, showing off the bowl with the food. Olruggio peers in with a sparkle in his eye, ignoring the thought of knowing this could be the last time he'll get to eat this specific meal. He'll definitely miss Qifrey's cooking, that's for sure.

"Looks good- speaking of food, I got you something."

Setting the bowl aside, Qifrey arches a brow. "Oho? And what did I do to deserve a gift from Master Olly?"

Olruggio rolls his eyes, but picks up the bag. He hands it over. "Just a thank you, really."

A look of confusion passes through Qifrey's face, but he opens the bag and looks in. He looks surprised as he pulls out the new cook book, and Olruggio can already see his mind racing with ideas on how to spin the recipes into something of his own as he flips through the pages. His eye widens in surprise at the bottle of willow-grape marktea.

"A thank you for what?" He asks, setting the things aside.

Awkwardly, Olruggio rubs the back of his neck. He gives another shrug. "For being my friend, I guess."

It sounds kind of lame now that he says it aloud, but it's also true. Where would he be now, had he not befriended the other all those years ago? Would he still be a watchful eye? Would he have gotten a different job, worked at a different atelier, or would he have stayed in the Great Hall and found work with his inventions there?

Nevertheless, he's grateful to be here with his best friend. There's no where he'd rather be, even if he could've potentially had other jobs instead. He knows he would've always chosen this path.

And there's no way he'd ever want to forget any of this.

"Aw, Olly…" Qifrey smiles softly, stepping over to gently nudge his side with his elbow. "You're getting awfully soft, aren't you?"

"Yeah, yeah…if you tell anyone, I'll kill you."

Qifrey's laughter is like music to his ears, and it's embarrassing to think such a thing. Thankfully, he doesn't have to think on it much longer, because then they're all at the table and sharing a meal together.

One of his last meals, probably, if not his very last.

The realization is enough to make the dumplings settle like tar in his stomach, yet he eats it all anyway and makes sure to thank Qifrey more than once for the meal. After helping with clean up, he bids them all goodnight and retreats to his room. Once there, he sits down heavily at his desk and stares at the drawer full of petals.

Slowly, he tugs it open, petals overflowing and fluttering out. The earlier ones have begun to wilt and break off, mixing together with the newer ones to create a withered but colorful painting, stained with his blood. Unrequited love has quite the way of looking so pathetic. Fitting, really.

Putting a hand to his chest, Olruggio takes a moment to feel the beating of his slowly breaking heart, cracking more and more with every sunrise. How much longer does he have, he wonders? How many days has it even been? They all seem to bleed together into a blur of pathetic and sad yearning.

Shutting the drawer filled with evidence of his shame, Olruggio gets up and begins to get ready for bed. No matter, really. He's sure it'll all be okay in the end.

He can tell time is running out by the time Sunday comes around, two days later from that dinner. It feels as if the world is moving slowly, his head spinning violently as he shakily makes his way down the steps toward the kitchen. The light shining in from the window makes him squint, a full on migraine forming the longer he lingers. His chest feels as if it'll explode, tight and uneasy as he looks over and finds Qifrey at the magical cookpot.

He'll be dead come tomorrow, won't he?

Slowly, he steps over to the counter and manages to give a small smile. "Hey," he croaks, surprising himself with how awful he sounds. Qifrey stops stirring, heading snapping up at the other's voice, looking just as shocked at the sound.

"Olruggio," he says with a nod of his head, eyebrows slightly furrowed with concern. "I'll make you some markstea. This cold of yours sure is persistent, isn't it? Are you sure the meds are working?"

He isn't sure how to tell him, but he knows he has to. "Are the girls around?" He asks, voice lowering as his gaze sweeps across the kitchen. He can't hear anyone else flitting about, so it's possible they could be alone. If so, then it's the perfect opportunity to lay it all out for the other.

Qifrey shakes his head. "They're at the Grand Hall for the day, just for fun. I figured they deserved a day off and they wanted to go…" His voice trails off, gaze sweeping across his friend. "Why? Did you want to practice something with them?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Olruggio gives a small shake of his head. "I just want to speak with you about something."

"Oh," Qifrey replies, setting his spoon down. "It sounds serious. Let me make that markstea and then we can discuss."

"Think you can whip up some wood sorrel for us?" It's a bad joke, but he figures it's mildly relatable for the situation at hand. The tea in question is one known for drinking while remembering those of whom they've lost. Something to treat a bout of melancholy. He figures Qifrey might need some once he's gone.

The joke is bad, he knows this. It's enough to make Qifrey frown, eyeing Olruggio with a calculating stare.

"Speak," he says, voice as calm and soothing as the gentle waves of the sea at dawn.

So he does. There's no reason to try and hide it anymore, and it's best if he's given the heads up so he knows what to expect when he finds his body. Will it happen tomorrow, or the next? Olruggio doesn't know, but it would be traumitizing for one of the girls to find him. Maybe he should visit Ermile and Sinocia again. It would be kinder to die outside of the atelier, wouldn't it? His room may be taken by a new watchful eye once he's gone, anyway, and who would want to stay in a room where someone had previously died in….?

"I'm dying," he says, curt and straight to the point. The words hang in the air between them for a beat before Qifrey sputters in surprise, hands falling to the counter in front of himself to steady his suddenly shaking limbs. His eye is wide, searching the other man's face for any ounce of a lie.

"You're….? What are you talking about, Olly?" His voice is small and unsure, a hint of anxiety trickling in. The guilt settles like a heavy stone in Olruggio's gut, yet he swallows past the petals threatening to break free and keeps eye contact.

"I…" His voice wavers, and he suddenly pivots. Why it comes out now, he isn't sure, but the words come out steady and sure, not an ounce of regret in his tone.

"I love you."

The words make his body relax, as if finally saying them have lifted an unexpected weight from his shoulders. Despite the lingering aches, his heart feels a tad bit lighter with the confession.

Qifrey's hands still against the countertop. His expression smooths out, hands gripping the edge of the counter so hard they turn white. He looks equal parts surprised and fearful. Olruggio falters. He wasn't expecting a reaction such as that.

"What?" He whispers into the space between them. His eye widens the longer the words hang in the air. A nervous laugh slips free, and he straightens up to smooth his hands down his cloak. "I mean- of course you do, I love you as well so-"

"No," Olruggio says, "I'm in love with you."

The way Qifrey looks moments away from passing out tells Olruggio everything he needs to know. Awkwardly, he rubs the back of his neck, finally looking away to let out a heavy sigh. At least he knows his prediction about the confession was correct.

"Since I'm going to die, I just thought you deserved to know the truth."

The silence that stretches between them is so thick that it nearly suffocates him. It takes a moment for Qifrey to gather his bearings, taking a step closer, hand flying out to grip the other's cloak and tug him close. There's a mixture of emotions that filter through his face, all too quick and fleeting for Olruggio to correctly pinpoint a single one.

"You're dying and choose to confess to me? Is that supposed to make it all okay, Olly?" His fists tighten around the cloak, his voice cracking as he snaps at the other. "Oh no, you're dying, but thank god you're in love with me?! What the hell am I supposed to do with that?!"

Awkwardly, Olruggio shrugs. What can he really say to that? He could explain the disease, explain what's really happening, but that wouldn't be fair, now would it? Then Qifrey would feel as if he has to love him back.

"I can't-" Qifrey takes a deep breath, gently shaking the other man. "How am I supposed to do this without you?"

It almost, almost, sounds like a confession, but Olruggio knows better. He searches his friend's face, a somber look painting across the edges of his expression. Slowly, he takes Qifrey's hands in his, carefully unfurling them from the fabric of his cloak.

Before he can speak, though, Qifrey continues.

"I can't, Olly, I can't," he whispers, a broken kind of sound following the words. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Olruggio mumbles, giving the other's hands a comforting squeeze. "It was selfish of me to tell you at a time like this, but I don't want to leave without you knowing."

"Olruggio," Qifrey says, slow and calculated, mind whirring as he tries to find a solution on the spot. "Maybe it's not too late. What did Sinocia prescribe you? We can…we'll visit her now, and we can-"

Olruggio shakes his head, gritting his teeth and willing his head to stop spinning. He can tell he doesn't have long, yet he stubbornly stands there and wills his body to give him a little bit more time.

A look of pure helplessness passes through Qifrey's face. Anguish and fear mix together as he stares at his best friend with a sense of horror. The seconds seem to stretch on for hours.

"Olly," he says again, like a lost child left out at night about to lose his source of light. "Please don't leave me."

"I-" but the feeling is back, a violent cough rattling his frame. Turning away, Olruggio lifts his arm, coughing and sputtering into his elbow. He steps away with hurried strides, vertigo getting the best of him as he nearly topples down the staircase. Qifrey is there, though, steadying him and guiding him down toward the windowway.

He needs to make it to the medical spire. He cannot die here, that wouldn't be fair to anyone involved. They can always bring him back to be buried, but he shouldn't taint this place more than he already has.

However, his steps fumble once more, Qifrey's shout getting lost as his head throbs, ears ringing. A wheeze escapes him, his body tilting away from the other. Qifrey's grip slips as Olruggio's body becomes deadweight, a panicked sort of sound echoing in his mind as he tumbles to the floor.

A flurry of apologies drip from the others lips, but they fall to deaf ears as Olruggio coughs and hacks and wheezes. A collection of full sized flowers collect by his fallen form, the agonizing pain of thorns and stems tearing up his throat making it impossible to pay attention.

Red and white carnations. Honeysuckle. Primrose.

Deep romantic love.

Eternal love.

Faithfulness.

Desperate.

Hopeless.

Love.

They all mix together with his blood to create an odd bouquet of horror and love wrapped up in one. Qifrey looks absolutely terrified, hands grappling at Olruggio's form and tugging his cloak free.

"Is this a-" his voice sounds far away, shaky and confused. "-seal? Your skin, Olly- Come on."

A muted, raspy sort of laugh passes through, his cheek resting against something warm. It provides a muted sort of comfort, his eyelashes fluttering as he tries to make sense of it.

When had he settled against Qifrey's thigh? It doesn't feel right, to lay here and trickle blood onto his friend's cloak as the life is slowly squeezed out of him.

"What's going on?" Qifrey sobs, no doubt completely puzzled over the flowers surrounding them. Olruggio has no concept of time, or how many flowers he's coughed up, but his throat feels rubbed raw, his lungs barely holding any oxygen.

"Sorry," he chuckles, a wheezed and pathetic sort of sound.

Qifrey shakes his head, another sob sounding out. "Always worrying about others, even at a time like this," he whispers, warm fingers running through his hair. "Just hold on, help will come."

It'll be too late, this Olruggio knows. Who he even called, he doesn't know, but he allows himself a selfish moment of peace as he squishes his cheek against Qifrey's thigh. He takes solace in the comforting movements as the other's hands try to soothe his pain with a simple touch, even as his body grows numb with every passing second. He thought death would be cold, but laying here with his best friend, he finds that it's oddly warm.

They say that looking at the stars in the sky is like looking into the past. Light takes time to travel, so the light one sees in the night sky is left from stars years ago. He may not be able to guide Qifrey any longer now that his fate is sealed, but maybe if Qifrey looks toward the night sky, he can pretend that Olruggio is somehow lighting up the way for him still. The past is there, it always will be, and perhaps he can pretend that even in death, he can watch over his friend. It's a little silly, maybe a little childish, but the thought makes him smile one last time.

With that in mind, Olruggio closes his eyes.