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glissando

welcome to another witch hat atelier fic! this one is set in a musician AU I've been seeing on my socials by qiyomori, and the premise is that Qifrey is an accomplished music instructor and Olruggio is a concert pianist. Look them up on twitter or instagram if you've got either of those, there has been some BEAUTIFUL work made by other people who are into it too.

Concert pianist Olruggio has to give a performance while miserably ill. Qifrey is there to support and to look after him.

--

glissando (n.) -- a glide from one pitch to another (4k words)

--

On one side of the curtain, the orchestra was beginning to tune.

On the other, Qifrey could hear Olruggio sneezing.

The opera house had a fairly large backstage area, and Qifrey had gotten lost back here before, but today it was easy to find his friend.

"hh'IRRHShieu!"

Qifrey frowned. When Olruggio had admitted over text earlier that he was going to have to perform tonight while sick with a cold, Qifrey hadn't known what to expect. But here was Olruggio standing in the wings, a blue-trimmed black handkerchief clutched one-handed to his face, eyes half-shut with anticipation as his breathing began to hitch, began to swell…

…and then, when the irritation should have tipped over into a sneeze, nothing. He sighed, cursing, and gave his nose a firm rub through the handkerchief before dropping his hand with a sniffle.

Qifrey stepped forward, making sure his wingtips made a soft patter against the floor so he didn't startle his friend. "Olly?"

Olruggio was thumbing at the corners of his eyes, but he turned at the sound of Qifrey's voice. "Qifrey."

His voice was a gravelly rasp, and Qifrey winced.

"Oh, you sound terrible."

Olruggio sniffled again, but by the sound of it, he was growing congested and losing the ability to deal with his irritated nose in that manner. He was squinting faintly behind his glasses, like he was working on a headache too. "Can't say I feel great," he admitted. "But I'll be all right."

"Will you?"

Olruggio shrugged. "'Ave to be. There are goin' to be people in those seats."

He was right, and Qifrey knew it — there was probably no cancelling the concert this close to its start. Qifrey bit his lip.

"I did bring you some medicine." He reached into the pockets of his long coat and produced a blister pack of Dayquil, a bag of cough drops, and a pack of travel tissues. "I didn't have time to pick up much, but I suppose it's better than nothing."

Olruggio looked faintly startled, and he seemed to be stumbling over what to say when his body made the decision for him, and he took a hurried step back from Qifrey to grasp his handkerchief securely in both hands and sneeze into it. "hhr'ESHHieu!"

"Bless you!"

"Snf. Thank you." Olruggio sniffled thickly, palming his handkerchief with something that looked like hesitation, then he turned his back to Qifrey and blew his nose quietly. There was something a bit ironic about the juxtaposition, of Olruggio dressed in formal wear and clearly trying to maintain some composure while also suffering through the complete indignity of a head cold. He wiped at his nose with another sniffle, his head sounding a little clearer this time. "An' thank you for bringin' me things."

"Of course." Qifrey's eye was sharp with concern. "I was worried about you. Am worried about you."

That seemed to fluster Olruggio, who ducked his head and dabbed the handkerchief beneath his nose again. Qifrey hoped he had several on hand; that one was certainly taking its fair share of abuse. "Don't need to be," Olruggio mumbled. "'S just a cold."

"You said you've had it for almost a week, though," Qifrey pressed. "Because you're not taking care of yourself. Will you promise me you'll try and get some rest after this? No late night practicing."

Olruggio barked a laugh, then folded over into his handkerchief as it turned into a coughing fit. Qifrey felt a flash of aching empathy.

"Get out of 'ere, Professor," Olruggio croaked fondly once he could breathe again. "Doors'll be openin' soon."

"Will they?" Qifrey checked his own watch, then made a face. "I'm sorry, I've kept you for too long."

"Not at all." Olruggio moved to the table where Qifrey had set the cold medicine and began to inspect the goods. "Just figured you might be wantin' to get to your seat. It's a good one."

A good one that Olruggio had specifically set aside for Qifrey as a comp ticket. They both smiled at that, gazes meeting in something soft and affectionate. But then Olruggio gave a sharp, irritated inhale, and he quickly turned away from Qifrey before lurching forward into his handkerchief with a powerful "hhHrIISHHoo!"

"Bless you." Qifrey's hand hovered, unsure, in the air between them. He wanted to touch Olruggio's shoulder in sympathy, to touch his cheek and to feel for fever, but he knew a dismissal when he heard one. He withdrew his hand and sighed instead. "Break a leg, old friend."

—

Olruggio was doing excellently, Qifrey thought from the audience an hour later, especially for someone who was as ill as he was. The first half of the performance was drawing to a close, and he'd only seen Olruggio turn towards his shoulder to sneeze once and cough twice. Most impressively, it hadn't interrupted his playing. He'd clearly practiced this piece enough times that it had sunk deep into his muscle memory, with sheet music hardly required anymore.

It was a beautiful performance. Qifrey was unfamiliar with the concerto, but the rich, full sound of the assembled orchestra was the perfect backing to Olruggio's nimble piano. He played with great éclat, with sparkling flair, and he was hypnotizing to watch as he bowed his head beneath the lights and his fingers flitted and danced across the keys. Qifrey's seat really was perfect, too; he made a mental note to treat Olruggio to breakfast or coffee in thanks the next time they went out.

He was back in his seat before the end of the intermission, and he pulled out his phone to send Olly a quick congratulatory text, though he knew he likely would not see it until after the show.

The intermission was supposed to be fifteen minutes, so when it dragged past twenty, Qifrey began to grow concerned. Who or what was holding up the show? What if Olruggio was too ill to perform the rest of the concert?

But then the lights flickered and began to dim, and he put aside his worries as the orchestra returned to the stage. Olruggio was the last out, and the audience gave him a warm welcome of applause as he took a bow and returned to the piano bench.

Qifrey frowned. Olruggio looked…well, he still looked great — he was stunningly handsome in formal wear, and it always warmed Qifrey's heart to see him wearing the golden lapel chain that Qifrey had gifted him — but to Qifrey's expert eye, he looked tired. His nose had also acquired a faint pink cast around the base of his nostrils, like he'd been blowing it repeatedly during the intermission. He was starting to look unmistakably ill, and it made Qifrey's heart tighten in his chest.

While he was thoroughly enjoying the performance, the end of the show could not come soon enough.

Olruggio only seemed to continue to fade as the concerto progressed; whatever fortitude he had stubbornly clung to during the first set seemed to have deserted him. There were even a few times where Qifrey could tell Olruggio had erred, when the backing of the orchestra grated against the melody coming from the piano, when the conductor glanced over with something like faint surprise. But Qifrey was a professional musician himself, and he knew the rest of the audience was not likely to have picked up on it, just as they were also unlikely to have picked up on how sick Olruggio was.

At long last, the concert drew to a close, and Olruggio took a weary final bow to cheers and a standing ovation from the audience. Qifrey too was applauding uproariously, though concern lurked heavy in his chest, and he was already counting the moments until he could slip backstage and check on his friend.

Olruggio's gaze was flitting across the audience, and as he straightened, it found Qifrey's, and the lines around his eyes seemed to soften.

"Excellent," Qifrey mouthed, beaming, and Olruggio gave him the tiniest of relieved nods before taking his leave from the stage.

—

It wasn't more than ten minutes later that Qifrey had successfully fought through the crowds leaving the opera house and then presented his ID to the venue security, who inspected it closely before letting him pass, but when he found Olruggio backstage in the green room, slumped over his knees with his head in his hands, the other man looked like he'd been there for hours.

"Oh, Olly," Qifrey fretted, one hand already drifting up to touch Olruggio's shoulder, then his forehead. He was definitely feverish now, with sweat beading on his brow, and he was beginning to look sallow beneath his olive skin.

Olruggio's fingers latched gently around his wrist, but instead of pulling Qifrey's hand away, he simply sat like that for a moment, holding onto him like an anchor in a storm. "Fucked that last bit up," he said after a breath, his wrecked voice grating against an obviously sore throat. He couldn't seem to look at Qifrey. "Can't believe it."

"I guarantee no one noticed," Qifrey tried to soothe him, his brows furrowing deeply in concern. "You played beautifully."

Olruggio released Qifrey's hand and turned away from him to direct a hoarse cough into his shoulder. His eyes were glassy and distant. "You're just sayin' that."

"I'm not," Qifrey said truthfully. "I swear it. But you are so ill, my friend. Did you take any of that medicine?"

"Couldn't be drugged up for the show," Olruggio murmured. "I'll take some later."

He wouldn't, Qifrey knew, unless there was someone there to remind him to. Olruggio was terrible at taking care of himself, and always had been; back in grad school when they had lived together, Qifrey had been absolutely astonished that the man had made it this far in life with the complete and utter disregard he showed for his own health and wellbeing.

"Come back to my place," Qifrey said instead, coaxing. "Just for the night. You're in no state to drive home, or to be alone. You can take a hot bath and some cold medicine and then sleep as long as you'd like."

Olruggio turned away from him to sneeze heavily into the crook of his arm. "HIHZZHshuu!" It looked like it dazed him, like he had to wait for his surroundings to settle, but after a moment he felt in his pocket for his handkerchief and wiped it beneath his nose. "I don't want to be a burden," he said finally, but he sounded like he was wavering. He was too tired and sick to be able to turn down an ask like this one.

"Bless you. And I swear you wouldn't be." Qifrey tried another angle. "You know I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it."

Olruggio's expression took on the faint, distant cast that meant another sneeze was incoming, and Qifrey waited until after he had folded forward into his handkerchief again — "hh'IESHZHieu!" "Bless you." — to kneel in front of him so they were on the same level.

"Olly," he breathed. Olruggio still wouldn't meet his gaze, so Qifrey reached out and touched him gently beneath his chin, lifting his face so their eyes met. It was unexpected enough that Olruggio couldn't deflect. "Please let me take care of you."

There was a beat as Olruggio fought with himself, while his pride and his yearning for comfort seemed to war within, until he deflated with a sigh that rattled in his chest and made him cough again. "…Fine. Let me go 'nd change."

—

"I'm goin' to get you sick," Olruggio groused from the passenger seat of Qifrey's car. He had just had yet another sneeze and was stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket. Qifrey thought wryly that it would be better for him to keep it in hand with the rate things were going.

"I've already had what's been going around, thanks to my students," Qifrey said. He only lived fifteen minutes from the opera house, but Olruggio seemed moments away from falling asleep where he was huddled in the seat.

Something about that statement got Olruggio's attention, however. "When?"

Qifrey shrugged. "Two weeks ago?"

Olruggio shifted. "Sorry. I would've brought you some soup or somethin', 'ad I known."

The words prickled across Qifrey's skin like a sunburn, and he forced himself to smile, though his hands tightened on the steering wheel. "There was no need. You seem to have it far worse than I did."

"Still."

Qifrey let that remark go and tried to focus on the road, though his attention remained half on monitoring Olruggio's rasping, whistling breaths on his right. It just sounded like congestion, he decided, though if Olruggio wasn't careful, he'd give himself bronchitis, which had happened a handful of times in the years they'd known each other. Olly's colds tended to linger in his head most of the time, but the occasional winter bug would settle in his lungs and leave him coughing for weeks.

This one could almost be a mix of both, though the coughing was likely more post-nasal drip than true chest congestion. Qifrey had been plagued by a rough and scratchy throat of his own when he'd had this cold, as well as the heavy, extended fits of sneezes that Olruggio was in the thick of.

Speaking of which.

"God hhhdamn it," Olruggio said breathily, and Qifrey's attention flicked to the right to see him rush, and fail, to pull his handkerchief from his pocket in time for the sneeze that appeared to have snuck up on him. He caught it instead in the shirtsleeve of his oxford. "hrR'ISCHZhuu! hhh — hih — IESCHHoo!"

"Bless you, and bless you," Qifrey said.

Olruggio sniffled. "Thank you," he said quietly, wearily, like each sneeze was taking more and more out of him. "You know you don't 'ave to keep doin' that."

"Would you prefer that I stop?"

"…No, 's fine."

—

Qifrey's flat was more humble than Olruggio's, as he was working with salary of a music teacher instead of a concert pianist, but he liked to think that it was cozy and welcoming. Olruggio, at least, seemed to always feel at home here; they spent enough time at each others' places too that they both comfortably knew their ways around.

"Medicine, then bath and bed," Qifrey reminded Olruggio once they'd climbed the stairs and let themselves in to the front hall. The single flight of stairs had left Olruggio coughing into the crook of his arm, and Qifrey wincing. "There should still be plenty left over from when I was ill, it's all in the bathroom cabinet." They had left Qifrey's purchases at the opera house - minus the tissues, which Olruggio had snagged - since Olruggio had another performance there tomorrow night. Qifrey hoped that 24 solid hours of rest and TLC would be enough for Olruggio to start to shake his cold, or if not, that he would cancel the show.

"Yes, Professor," Olruggio said dryly, but the sarcasm was tempered by the hoarse and thready quality of his voice.

Qifrey rolled his eye with the start of a smile. "Get out of here." Olruggio obeyed.

Qifrey's bathtub was the crown jewel of his place: a beautiful, deep, claw-footed tub that was his savior whenever he got his migraines. He swore at times that it had healing powers, which hopefully it would produce for his friend.

Meanwhile, he went to his refrigerator to see what sort of soup ingredients he had on hand. The kitchen was generally well-stocked, but it had been a busy week of catching back up with students after his own illness, and he wasn't quite sure where his stocks of certain items stood. Thankfully, it looked like he had enough to make some chicken-lemon-vegetable soup, so he got out the celery and began to dice it.

He could hear Olruggio moving around in the other room, could hear the cabinets opening and closing, and moreso could hear the other man coughing and sneezing. "HR'IESCH'ieu! HPPTcxhhu!"

The sneezes seemed to be coming in pairs now, like a single one alone wasn't enough to scratch the itch that had settled into Olruggio's sinuses. Olruggio had begun to try and stifle the second one too, which Qifrey knew couldn't be helping his headache.

Bless you, he thought in his direction, then returned to peeling carrots.

Caring for Olruggio was as easy and natural as breathing. Qifrey was only glad that in recent years the other man had begun to let him. Olruggio had spent the entirety of his life pouring his heart and soul into providing for others, to make himself worthy of love by being "useful," but having the vulnerability and trust in another to let the favor be repaid in kind was something that had taken time, even though they'd known each other for fifteen years at this point.

But Qifrey…well, he still felt deeply uncomfortable receiving much targeted affection or positive attention from Olruggio. It made him nauseous, like there was a hole somewhere deep in his chest that would forever lie empty, a missing space that made him unworthy of that warmth from the sky's kindest, most radiant star.

He nicked the side of his finger with the paring knife, breaking his focus on the maudlin fog beginning to settle over him, and he swore under his breath, then immediately put his finger to his mouth. Ouch. That would teach him to brood while he was cutting vegetables.

"IESCHHoo! hh'czchhuu!

A productive nose-blow and a watery sniffle from the other room, then the sound of running water. Qifrey hoped Olruggio could finally relax for a bit; he'd likely been tense and wound up about his performance all week. The bathtub would work its magic, and there would be a hot bowl of soup waiting for him, and then he could crash for ten to twelve hours and hopefully wake up less miserably ill. It was a winning combination that Qifrey had used many times, both on Olruggio when they'd lived together and on himself. He had half a mind to check after a while to be sure Olruggio didn't doze off in the bath, in his current state.

But about half an hour later, by the time the soup was simmering, Qifrey heard the water begin to drain. He moved to the cabinet and got out some dishes, then filled his tea kettle with water and set it to boil. Having some tea on hand couldn't hurt either.

He was ladling the soup into the bowls when the bathroom door opened again with a rush of humid air, and also one Olruggio. He was pink-cheeked from the warm bath, and his dark hair was damp and stringy at the edges.

"Soup's ready," Qifrey said cheerfully, and Olruggio rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes with a squint and a series of blinks.

"You made soup," he said blankly, like his mind was still catching up with his vision. To be fair, Qifrey noticed, he also wasn't wearing his glasses.

"I did. Tea should be ready soon too."

"Y'didn't 'ave to," Olruggio said roughly. He was clutching the box of tissues that Qifrey had bought (now at least half-empty) like it was a beloved possession, which appeared to be for the best when his nose gave a distinct twitch and he had to hurriedly grasp for a sheet. "hhHrIISHHoo!"

"Bless you! How are you feeling?" Qifrey settled in one of his kitchen chairs and gestured for Olruggio to do the same. Olruggio did so, sniffling.

"All right," he said vaguely, then gave his nose another irritated wriggle. "I can breathe now, 't least. Headache's gone too."

"That tub works miracles on headaches," Qifrey said. "I'm so glad. The soup," he added when Olruggio took a spoonful, "is chicken with lemon and vegetables. Another quality cure for a cold."

Olruggio tasted the first bit, and his eyes widened. "It's very good."

Qifrey preened. He'd spent the bulk of their graduate student years trying new recipes on Olruggio, but it was always a delight to get him to make that face. "I'm glad you think so."

They chatted for a bit over dinner, mostly Qifrey telling Olruggio about the upcoming recital his students were preparing for, as well as updating him on their progress.

"I'm still workin' on that duet for Agott and Coco," Olruggio said. He took another tissue from the box in his lap and blew his nose delicately. The steam from the soup and tea also seemed to be helping him breathe better, though his nose appeared to be running now instead. "I know Coco isn't quite up to Agott's skill level yet, but she plays so cleverly, I'm goin' to see what it's like if I give 'er the melody."

"Wonderful." Qifrey rested his chin on his folded hands. "They'll be delighted to hear an update. Thank you again for doing that."

Olruggio shrugged. "'f course. I'm lookin' forward to hearin' the others at the recital too."

Olruggio had never taken students of his own, but he'd shown great interest in Qifrey's current roster, particularly the three girls he'd been working with the longest and Coco, the newest of his students. It had been a surprise to all of them when he'd offered to compose some pieces on their behalf.

"It will be a great honor for them to get to debut your work," Qifrey said. "They're really quite excited about it."

Olruggio coughed into his fist. "It's nothin'," he said. "Any time."

He was starting to look exhausted again, rubbing at his eyes and drooping like a plant in need of water, and Qifrey decided to take pity on him. He stood and took the two bowls away, leaving the mugs with tea.

"Give me a moment and I'll have the couch set up for you."

Olruggio pulled yet another tissue from the box — it was running quite low; Qifrey wasn't sure if he had others on hand or if he'd need to run to the pharmacy again while Olruggio was sleeping — and held it between tented hands as he bent forward to sneeze into it. "hh'IRHShieu! R'ISCHZhuu!"

"Bless you."

"Thank you." Olruggio scrubbed at his nose through the tissue and sniffled roughly. "An' thank you again for…ya know. Lettin' me crash 'ere."

"Any time. Truly," Qifrey said seriously, making sure Olruggio met his eye. "My home is yours, as well."

It didn't take Olruggio long to fall asleep once he'd nestled into the blankets Qifrey had laid out on his couch. Qifrey could hear him snoring congestedly, and he smiled.

Can't believe he's not waking himself up with all that racket, he thought, trying to clean up the kitchen as quietly as possible. Thankfully it seemed that Olruggio in this state could sleep through just about anything. He snored on while Qifrey put away the leftovers, then retreated to his bedroom to start his own nightly routine.

Qifrey did not sleep well, as a rule; it had always been a struggle. Things had been better when he'd lived with Olruggio, but in the years since, he'd grown used to lying awake for hours or waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, or on some nights not sleeping at all.

He felt tonight might be another one of those nights, with Olruggio snoring and occasionally coughing, but for whatever reason, he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. He slept deeply, unburdened by nightmares, and when he woke the next morning, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so well-rested.

Olruggio was still snuffling out on the couch, and Qifrey stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom for a few minutes, smiling faintly, before rising for the day.

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