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covenant of salt

witch hat atelier ✧ 6.5k words

series tags: canon-compliant, no explicit spoilers but be careful if you aren’t caught up to chapter 93 sf tags: character with kink, common cold, fever, handkerchiefs, bless you complex other tags: voyeurism, praise kink, jealousy/possessiveness, desperate pining, doctor stuff, in-universe sociopolitical issues mentioned, unreliable narrator lol notes: shout out to all the horny people saying qifrey seems like he’d have some crossed wires aka giving me permission to bestow my fetish upon him <3

✵☆✧✵✧☆✵

Word spreads fast among witch society, especially in the Great Hall. The isolation and strict rules make them all bored and restless, which in turn makes them eager to exchange new information with disproportionate immediacy. The more mundane, the better.

This week’s symposium should be rich with opportunities for gossip, given the volume of attendees from across several continents eager to chatter about their collaborative efforts and innovations, not unlike a worse, restrictive version of Silver Eve held entirely underwater. But rather than anything relevant or consequential to the world of magic and all of its ongoing, upcoming changes, the hottest news gripping every witch under the sea is that Olruggio has caught a cold.

Which is really none of their business.

All it takes is an offhand mention at the start of the welcome banquet, an offhanded apology to one of his patrons and a warning not to get too close, and everyone he’s ever met is suddenly very interested in how Olruggio is feeling and how hard he must be working and whether they can get him anything for his throat or sinuses. They’d love that, wouldn’t they, thinks Qifrey each time Olruggio declines. Residents of the Hall are always trying their damndest to take a bite out of him.

It’s hard to watch even on a good day. Olruggio can’t seem to help engaging patiently, which means his trips and conversations take forever unless someone gives him an out. He’s lucky to take a few steps before some client or admirer approaches him to talk about some non-urgent personal trivia. Qifrey would go insane. He’s already going insane from his spot on the periphery, extenuating circumstances aside.

“Just a few days,” Olruggio is telling somebody who asks how long he’s been sick. He bows his head to cough into his fist, looking tired from so much of everyone patting and pulling and making him shout against his sore throat just to hear him shrink from their compliments and make small talk. “Somethin’ going around, I think. Assumed I could fight it off ’til after all this, but…”

Olruggio pauses. From too far away, Qifrey braces himself and watches Olruggio squint against the most devastating symptom of all.

“RGXZSHHHhuh…”

Because despite all of his suffering, Olruggio sounds so, so lovely when he does that.

As the stranger at the table begins to dote on Olruggio with concern and commentary, Qifrey struggles with forbidden arousal and the sad sympathetic fondness he’s used to feeling whenever Olruggio has to work through a cold. It’s all too much for him to feel at once, in public, out of his element when he can’t do a thing to help either of them.

“HGZTSHU!”

While Qifrey has contended with knowing he wouldn’t be able to interact with Olruggio’s sneezing every time, he’s still taken by the sight of him nearby: Olruggio with his arm bent and posture twisted, bashfully unable to control the means of which his cold displays itself. Nobody around him seems to mind at all; in fact, the person he’s talking to only moves closer to touch his arm and bless him again.

“You poor thing,” they’re saying as Olruggio, still bent away to the side, sniffles against his wrist. Did he even bring a handkerchief? Or has he already run out of clean ones? “Sounds like you could do with a good night’s sleep. And a hot drink made with… with, oh, what’s it called? The medical spire has those little herbs on hand sometimes, the white and green ones…?”

It’s millflower, and Qifrey has been serving its tea to Olruggio all week.

“Dunno. I’ll give it a mention if I stop by,” is Olruggio’s hoarse response, comparatively mellow and polite. “You’d do well to pick some up for yourself.”

“Oh, no, I have plenty! You know, we wouldn’t mind bringing some down to your rooms. You’re staying at the castle with your apprentices tonight, aren’t you?”

“They aren’t technically my apprentices. My friend, Qifrey…”

Qifrey takes his cue to tune the conversation out. He can’t handle hearing Olruggio talk about him while sounding stuffy and sweet like that, especially not to one of the many witches in the vicinity who would just love to devour him whole. It’s too much for Qifrey to think about, even privately, so it’s best he hears as little as possible.

He surfs through the blurry clusters of his peers standing in his path to the nearest open doorway, placidly excusing himself with an occasional modest wave at those he does remember. Only a moment goes by before he’s nearly escaped, and Qifrey is one step away before he receives an irresistible summons.

“Oi! Qifrey!” Olruggio is using what must be the last of his voice, just to call out to him. “Quit avoiding us, will you?”

How ridiculous to think he’d ever be able to sneak away from Olruggio.

Once Qifrey makes eye contact and smiles to confirm he’ll make his way back, Olruggio returns a satisfied nod and then bends down to cough. Even drained and subdued, his commanding friendliness manages to soar right into Qifrey’s center.

Olruggio is still getting his voice back when Qifrey gets there, not because it’s gone on for long but because he’d only been a couple tables away. Strange how even a pinch of despair can make such little space seem like treacherous expanses of land.

“Here, Olly.” The handkerchief Qifrey pulls from his pocket is still warm from his own body heat. He passes it to Olruggio before greeting his not-companion. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, but I’ve heard plenty about you!” Unlike Olruggio, this person’s friendliness is shrill. Qifrey is careful not to wince as he takes a seat. “You live somewhere in the countryside, don’t you? You’re a teacher?”

An easy question that prompts a natural smile. “For a few years now. I’ve got four apprentices at the moment.”

“Yes, yes, Olruggio was telling me you’re very good with them.”

It’s not easy to concentrate with Olruggio making these little squeaky snuffling sounds and breathing through his mouth between them. Qifrey is about to fluster him in return with a comment about his kind words, but he devolves from distracted to speechless when Olruggio turns his way and sneezes clumsily beneath his sleeve.

“HAH’GZSHHiU!”

“Bless you,” Qifrey says with an immediate hand on Olruggio’s shoulder, steadying and reassuring, smoothing out a shiver as he recovers. “My goodness, Olly, your poor throat.”

The handkerchief is belatedly put to use as a shield and then as a mop, with Olruggio only straightening up once the thing has nearly gone translucent.

“I know, I know,” he mutters with a gruff swipe of cloth against the skin under his nose. “’S fine. Scuse me.”

“Cold’s got you good, hasn’t it, dear?” says his acquaintance, as though they’re stuck on the topic. How embarrassing, how sexy, how awful, terrible, delightful. Against Qifrey’s recommendation, Olruggio evades having to keep talking about it by calling over a server to top off his chalice with wine.

As the evening continues, Qifrey watches Olruggio’s symptoms progress upward in an inevitable quest to settle right in the middle of his face. That’s how it always goes for him, with chills and a sore throat leading to the congestion setting in for a day or so, and then all of the sneezing starts and compromises them both.

It looks like he’ll be in the thick of it tomorrow, when everything overlaps miserably. Qifrey won’t have a choice but to ride through it with him, collapsing within himself over and over, unable to desensitise himself to Olruggio no matter how much of him he experiences. He’s not sure if it’s worse that they’re together this time, or if he’d be better off not having to watch the swarm of strangers putting their hands all over Olruggio and asking him for a dance.

At Olruggio’s request, the two of them leave early. He never finishes his second glass of wine, complaining about it being a waste when he’s unable to taste it, but Qifrey sees it already starting to make his bright eyes heavy and his clever mind slow. It still takes quite a while for the two of them to escape the ballroom as he apologetically says his hellos and goodbyes.

They take the long way through the corridors to their rooms, and the comparatively fresh air, humid and salty as it is, perks Olruggio up enough to keep pace as he sobers up.

His company helps, but Qifrey can’t keep the dread from building in his chest as the reality of the week starts to set. He’d rather spend the night anywhere but the Great Hall, but there’s no getting around the schedule this time. Dust will gather and chores will pile up at home while he grits through the loneliness and lack of privacy that comes with an unpredictable environment full of people he vaguely knows and doesn’t particularly care for. From the first step through the windowway, he itches to turn right back around to the quiet of his own home, where he’s not surrounded by things that don’t make sense.

At least the girls don’t mind it here, so long as they’re together. Solace finds him when he and Olruggio step into the far end of the guest wing and pass by the set of rooms they’d dropped them off in earlier that afternoon.

“Pretty sure this is me,” Olruggio says with his thumb jutting toward the door just across from Coco and Agott’s. He points at the corner room next to it, then tosses a smooth, heavy key for Qifrey to catch. “And that one’s you, if you’d like it.”

“Oh.” Usually they keep those suites reserved, even when nobody’s staying in them. “Did you arrange this?”

“Yup. Nice ’n private.”

I love you, thinks Qifrey, but out loud he says, “That’s very thoughtful, Olly, thank you.”

“Yeah well,” replies Olruggio in a hurry, bristling, hand on his neck, “figured it’d be easier to sync up if we shared a wall.”

Qifrey doesn’t ask him how he managed it. More than likely, he had some sort of connection through work.

“The girls have a key too, just in case.” Olruggio busies himself with unlocking his own door, then freezes in place just before he turns the key. Qifrey tenses along with him, watching as Olruggio twists and leans away from him with a tremendous shudder. “HAHDTSHHiU!”

His body language is so urgent that it reads as protective, like he’s trying with all his might to keep his suffering to himself. But Olruggio’s heart radiates from his sleeve, always earnest whether he likes it or not.

“haAH’YZSHHHhhuh…! Ah, geez…”

How?

How on earth could anyone not fall in love with him?

“Bless you,” Qifrey says with a tempered smile, voice hushed, touching Olruggio only though his robes to guide him inside. “I’d like to get a look at your room, too, if you don’t mind.”

Qifrey finishes up with the lock and opens the door. Heat branches from his ear in a diagonal line downward toward his middle as he listens to Olruggio sniffling behind him.

Someone has already brought their things in for them. A bag of miscellaneous supplies, likely for demonstration, has been set up near the desk by Olruggio’s window, across from the wardrobe and bed. Qifrey notices a petite, rounded gift box sitting atop the bedside table, displayed neatly without its top to showcase the assortment of sweets and remedies inside.

“How nice,” says Qifrey as he picks up a bottle and turns it over in his hand. “Someone’s left you a get-well basket, Olly.”

“Hm?” Even the little hum sounds sore as it resonates through his nose. Olruggio hangs up his cloak and looks to see what’s the matter. “Ah. No use lyin’ to me, Qifrey, I know it creeps you out.”

“You say that as though I’m the one reacting strangely.”

“Just leave everything where it is. I’ll donate it or somethin’ when I get a chance.”

“Are you sure? This one is meant to help with sleep.” Qifrey sets another tincture aside, just herbs and water, nothing medicinal in a way that could get someone in trouble. “Could be worth a try, don’t you think?”

“Sounds more like you could use it, then. I’ve got a couple of things to touch up before tomorrow, so…”

“You’re joking.”

“Besides,” Olruggio adds, “the guy who sent it will probably ask how I liked his gifts, and it’s best if he thinks I was too busy working to take a look through them.”

Jealousy prickles in Qifrey’s hands as they search through the basket for any sort of card or label. “How do you know who it came from?”

“There’s this one guy who always sends stuff like that. Tries to personalise it by askin’ around.” Olruggio begins to unpack the nightclothes he’s brought, voice weary and sighing with the effort of moving about. “He sends things up to get me to thank him and then talks my ear off ’til I volunteer some advice, then he tries to put my name on his work like we collaborated. Rather he’d just send a letter, to be honest.”

“I see.” Qifrey only witnesses parts of Olruggio’s job from home, the parts that make sense for someone being paid to use his hands and mind to solve puzzles. He forgets how much of Olruggio’s work is social, figuring out games and having to dodge them without causing offense. “That sounds a bit sinister, trying to trick you like that.”

“Nah, just got a bit of a head on him is all. He means well.” Olruggio hangs up his cloak, then unloads a couple of handkerchiefs into the miniature washing barrel by the door. “Works mostly for a noble family up north, but he was an apprentice himself barely two years ago. Hey, I’m keepin’ this, by the way. I’ll wash it again after.”

“Oh. Right.” Qifrey sees Olruggio holding the handkerchief he lent him earlier. It strikes him at the core, numb and hot, pleasant and paralysing, reminding him to stay on his toes and hold his mask in place. “I’d assumed you would. You’re going to need it much more than I will.”

Heavens forbid Olruggio runs out of them and ends up a mess, inadvertently inviting someone else to help him out so intimately in a way that they wouldn’t even appreciate.

“For now, maybe.” He folds up Qifrey’s handkerchief and sets it on the table next to the manipulator’s set of gifts. “None of you lot’ve got any inkling of self-preservation.”

“No need for you to worry about me,” Qifrey says as a reminder to them both, then he sets the tincture back after all. “Please do get some sleep if you can, though. I’d feel a lot better seeing to it that you won’t be up at your desk all night.”

“What’s that?” Olruggio grins. “Gonna tuck me in, Qifrey?”

“Yes,” Qifrey answers, satisfied by the pink in Olruggio’s cheeks, “if I must.”

“Go,” grumbles Olruggio. “Get to your own quarters already, costin’ me a fortune…”

I love you, thinks Qifrey again, and he says nothing else this time. Like a tendril of smoke escaping the vent of a furnace, he peacefully waves himself out.

✵☆✧ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ᯓ★

The first thing Qifrey learns when he finds Olruggio the next morning is that the walls had been soundproofed. He really does despise the Great Hall.

“Oh, Olly…” he says when they meet at the staircase near their breakfast spot, unable to sound anything but dismal as he soaks up the sight of his friend. “Did you even make it to bed at all?”

Olruggio hangs his head and rubs at the spot above his eyes, letting Qifrey stare at him as though he deserves to. The signs are all there; one glance at him would tell anyone he’s unwell, but the most miserable part is how put-together he looks otherwise. Neat hair, crisp clothes, clean skin, smelling like fancy soap and leather. It means he’s had to sacrifice even more rest for appearances alone. It also means he looks very classically and immediately handsome and sounds very terribly sick.

“I did try,” Olruggio promises, and then he says something unbelievable. “I even took out that sleep dropper you found, but it had me sneezing up a storm for a good hour afterward. You try to lie down properly after that.”

It takes all Qifrey has in him to keep from tumbling down the stairs. “It what?”

“I think it was some sort of aromatherapy,” complains Olruggio. “Point is, I had to give up eventually and take a head start on gettin’ ready instead. Good thing, too. Started up again when I was in the baths, but it was so early, nobody else’d even come down yet.”

What is Qifrey supposed to say to that? Where has his bloody head gone? That’s right, down south is where, and he needs to pick it back up fast.

Olruggio sighs because the conversation is normal to him, and then he gestures at his own face. “One to ten, Qifrey, how bad is it?”

Oh, don’t make me answer that…

They stop at a landing between floors. It’ll be a while before they have this much quiet, empty space again.

“You look like you’ve been working very hard,” Qifrey answers automatically, numbly, as he comes back to himself. He feels his mouth smiling gently and decides it’s fine. This would be easier if Olruggio wasn’t so cute. “And like you might have a fever coming on.”

Olruggio grabs Qifrey’s wrist when he’s halfway to checking his forehead. Qifrey feels Olruggio’s grip tighten as he wrenches to the side without letting go. “hhAH’EZSHuh!”

At least there’s nobody else around to hear him out in the open like this.

“And there’s…” Olruggio relaxes his grip, takes his own hand back and bends deeper at the waist as he turns away fully. “GZZXSHhhuh! …haATZSHHhhuh! …And there’s that, still. Doubt it’ll be stopping soon.”

“I know.” Qifrey pours the intensity of arousal into the natural sympathy in his voice as he watches Olruggio tend to himself with a handkerchief. “You sound awful, Olly, bless you.”

“Damn it. Maybe it’ll give some of the others more incentive to go easy on me,” says Olruggio quickly. Apparently he’s reached his sincerity threshold for the time being. That, or Qifrey’s attention is already making him shy. “I’m sure it’ll be fine after some tea. Think the girls’re up yet?”

They certainly are, and all four of them are waiting in the cafeteria with breakfast already gathered and arranged at a table large enough for six. No; a grouping of three smaller, circular tables pushed together into a triangle so they can all sit facing each other, just like at home. They’ve even arranged the tableware in their usual spots.

Meetings and classes start soon, so they rush through an exchange of plans and commentary. Qifrey’s dear apprentices embarrass Olruggio by setting his place at the table with an entire pot of tea made only for him, and he thanks them before drinking most of it while it's still too hot. Tetia insults him compassionately, comparing the parts of him that look particularly terrible to the parts that are polished for the event. According to Richeh, it’s worse than if he’d let himself go entirely, and according to Coco, that isn’t a very nice thing to say to a sick person. Agott asks to borrow whatever product he’s used in his hair.

Some of them share food, or they trade based on how they feel about the new recipes on their plates. Qifrey focused on cataloguing their preferences as they discover them, and the commotion of traveling witches bustling around them doesn’t seem so noisy.

The meal ends too soon because it ends at all, and then it’s off to meeting number one.

Only witches who have passed test number four and reached a high volume of public service acts were called to attend. The reasoning behind its qualifiers could be anything from proof that one could be trusted with confidential information to a focus on high achievement and good standing. The room is small and in a high tower, lined with multi-seated desks all facing a drawing board up front.

Of course, someone calls to Olruggio as soon as he steps through the door, eager to invite him to sit at their table. Olruggio gets to decline because of his cold, promising that this person will thank him for it when they wake up tomorrow still able to breathe through their nose. Hearing that from him is so erotic that it borders on overstimulating, and Qifrey follows him to a section in the back, where he can sit with the wall on his right side and Olruggio on his left.

“I’m his Watchful Eye,” Olruggio tells whoever it was, as soon as they ask why he’s not as concerned about passing any illness onto Qifrey. “Dunno if he’s got a choice in avoidin’ it like you do. Consider yourself lucky.”

Not everyone is so deterred by Olruggio’s warnings, unfortunately, or perhaps those who choose the seats surrounding him anyway have got perversions similar to Qifrey’s. It’s not so implausible when the state of him is so obvious and obscene.

Stop looking at him like that, Qifrey demands of the other guests silently, ridiculously, just as much as he demands it of himself despite finding it impossible not to stare. He doubts he’ll retain a thing from this morning’s session. Something about volcanic towns he’ll never get to see, and the types of contraptions their villagers are requesting to keep one another comfortable and safe in the case of eruption. It’s the kind of assignment Olruggio could design on his own, likely after talking to the villagers themselves as opposed to a third party team of witches with rewards on their minds.

But instead Olruggio is here, playing nice with them anyway, breathing through his mouth and making cute little clicking sounds by accident when he tries to swallow or clear his throat. His eyelids droop as he tries to stay awake, and every once in a while, he blinks particularly hard like something’s startled him. Soon enough he’s got a half-opened handkerchief in his lap, waiting as he squints forward with his expression vacant.

Like last night at the banquet, he doesn’t have anywhere safe to turn. Unlike last night at the banquet, there’s no real ambiance to decenter any of the noise he’s about to make. All he can do with the sneeze is try his best to smother it.

“MMPXTgh…!” Back up for air, then down again. “AAH’MMPTshhih!”

“Bless you,” murmurs Qifrey amidst the others doing the same. Olruggio doesn’t look at any of them, just ducks his head and waves a hand up to dismiss the attention.

He presses on his septum with the handkerchief, nostrils twitching dampness onto the fabric each time he sniffles, then he pinches and tugs downward as though he’s trying to drain out the irritation instead of blowing his nose in a quiet, well-mannered room.

It would make sense if it worked, but all of his fussing with it is only making the situation harder on him. Olruggio isn’t usually so careful about tempering himself.

“ha’EHZSHhhiu!”

He’s no good at it, either.

Just about everyone in the room is excited to say bless you to him this time, so Qifrey waits for them to have their fun before passing a new handkerchief over and receiving Olruggio’s thanks in the form of a brief, twitchy smile.

Olruggio waits until the moment has passed and the presenter has recaptured the spotlight, then slides an empty page from his notebook to the space on the table between them. He uses his left hand to write while keeping his eyes centered forward.

Let’s leave early

Qifrey makes eye contact to communicate his understanding, then writes his own message.

Would you prefer to step out first, or shall I take the lead? he writes back. As soon as Qifrey withdraws his hand, Olruggio hastily jots his response.

Me

They share another look to confirm. It’s brief; pressure builds behind Olruggio’s eyes before they snap shut for another sneeze.

“EHJZSHhhu!”

Even the speaker up front interrupts their own presentation to throw a prompt, pleasant bless you to him all the way in the back.

bless you! :) writes Qifrey as he watches Olruggio go pink. Beneath it, Olruggio doodles a caricature of himself, looks Qifrey in the eye once more, then scribbles on top of the middle of its face and writes Thanks

When he excuses himself from the room, Olruggio doesn’t bother making a show of it. He leaves all of his things on the table for an impression that he’s planning on coming back, and he holds off on making any significant noise on the other side of the door. Qifrey gathers Olruggio’s pen and notebook as the presentation shifts to a new section, holds still until a guest begins asking a question, then slips away on his own.

They used the same trick when cutting class back in the day, at least before their teachers caught on and began separating them. Whoever follows the other out of the lesson would wait a rough quarter mark first, then find his friend by taking two lefts through the hallway. The logistics worked regardless of the building they were stationed in, and they work now just the same.

Their meeting spot ends up being somewhere dark and empty. Olruggio is leaned up against a wall, easy to find by sound alone as he blows his nose. Qifrey is grateful at least one of them knows their way around, especially so because it doesn’t have to be him.

“Qifrey,” calls Olruggio hoarsely. The echo of his cough is starting to squeak a little in his chest.

“Olly. Seems you’ve forgotten a few things,” Qifrey says as he hands them over.

“Awful nice of you to bring them to me.” Olruggio takes his pages back, playing along. “Sorry for the trouble.”

I love you, Olly, thinks Qifrey, so much I can barely stand it.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asks out loud, because it’s the most he can manage.

“Well, no. That meeting pissed me off plenty.” Olruggio taps Qifrey on the arm and starts walking. “I know that island they were talkin’ about.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Or I guess I know of it, because nobody lives there.”

“Nobody lives there,” repeats Qifrey. That can’t be right, can it? “That meeting was focused on commission requests from the villagers.”

“Right, but they don’t exist. Some nobles are interested in buildin’ a village for themselves to holiday out there, but nobody nearby will help with it because of the volcano. It’s too dangerous.”

“They left out that first part, didn’t they,” agrees Qifrey sourly. “And do you think it would be possible to accomplish with magic?”

“Maybe. But I’ve got a feeling they’re using the village names to pose their project as a public service for witches, and if nobody bites, to get away with underpaying someone for work they didn’t consent to doin’ in the first place.”

“Sounds like something that happens often.”

“Yeah, plenty. Been tricked a few times myself, but some of my own clients are wise to it.”

“Of course.” It’s much easier for people on the surface to talk about goings on that actually matter, after all. “Do you think you’ll say anything this time?”

“If I do, it won’t be down here,” sighs Olruggio. They reach a point where the hallway splits, and he stretches his neck toward Qifrey. “Anyway, enough with that for now. You up for a snack?”

The cafeteria is much less crowded mid-morning, but that doesn’t mean they’re safe. Qifrey thinks for a foolish moment that they may get away with taking their food and sitting down unbothered. They’re halfway across when some irritating gentleman offers Olruggio a free set of sweet dumplings, which he ends up paying for and sharing with Qifrey anyway.

“Suppose I should say hi to Sinocia,” Olruggio says as he tucks himself into a chair near the back.

“Check the Medical Spire off your list, you mean?” Qifrey divides the plate in half and sets Olruggio’s portion down in front of him.

“Maybe get an exam so people stop askin’ about it,” Olruggio adds before taking a bite of his food. “Return that thing of medicine, too.”

“Already worn out by your admirers, Olly?”

Olruggio scoffs, rolls his eyes and ignores him. “Come with me. You could use some quiet, yourself.”

“At the Medical Spire...?”

“Got somewhere else to be?”

He doesn’t. Retreating to one’s own dwellings with a full schedule would raise questions and criticisms, which is the last thing their atelier needs.

Qifrey watches Olruggio wince as he swallows, and he takes the opportunity to move the spotlight. “How do you like those?”

Before answering, Olruggio holds his hand out flat, then tilts it side to side like a see-saw. “Fine. Nothin’ like I’m used to at home, though.”

“No?”

“Not even close.” Olruggio nods toward Qifrey’s plate. “Try some.”

Mid-bite, Qifrey realises Olruggio’s sense of taste has got to be gone completely, he’s so stopped up. The thought counts for something, so Qifrey doesn’t bother to mention it.

✵ ☆⋆｡⋆˚꩜｡‧ ᯓ★

The medical spire isn’t far, but certain parts of the Hall are full of staircases that take them up and down for no good reason other than to confuse everybody at best. Today it means even a short distance gives Olruggio trouble catching his breath by the time he’s knocking at the door.

The one who lets them in is Emile, the strapping doctor Sinocia likes. Good. She steps aside into an empty foyer, pats Olruggio on the back when he starts coughing, then takes them to the benches behind the curtain so they’ll have a place to sit.

Sinocia is there setting towels into a basin. She looks over her shoulder and sets her eyes on them, then smiles brightly and spins around.

“I was wondering when I’d see you two!” she says with a wink, tilting her head playfully. “Business or pleasure?”

Olruggio clears his throat. “How’ve you been, Sinocia?”

Qifrey recognises the joke. Witches aren’t allowed social visits with doctors.

“Oh, just fine over here. Busy, though,” Sinocia says. She brings him a glass of water, then hands one to Qifrey as well.

“Thank you,” Qifrey says, making conversation so Olruggio can drink. “You’ve had a lot of visitors, then.”

“Yes, mostly strangers coming in for… Well, for whatever it is happening out there this week. I won’t ask.” She starts to gather something from a cabinet. “Shame we really can’t see each other unless somebody is sick or hurt, isn’t it?”

Someone is supposed to reply in defence of the Pact, something along the lines of Perhaps, but it’s necessary, usually followed by a threatening silence to keep anyone from complaining about it again.

“Yeah,” Olruggio says, still a little breathless. He pulls a satchel from his robe. “If you’ve got some time now, I wanted to check if you might have any use for these.”

“Oh! Let me take a look. I’ll trade you.” Sinocia takes the satchel from him and hands over a tiny metal cup. “Drink that, please. You sound even worse than everybody has been saying.”

“What is it for?” asks Qifrey as Olruggio downs the medicine without so much as inspecting it.

“Just standard cold medicine. Cough, headache, fever, that sort of thing.” Sinocia takes the cup from Olruggio as he cringes with a dry little cough. “Sorry, dear. I know it’s bitter.”

Smoothly, she transitions their interaction into a quick physical exam, palpating the areas Olruggio has been struggling with before he’s even disclosed them. Throat, sinuses, forehead, and right beneath his ears. She takes a look at his eyes, checks his pulse, listens to him breathe. Every once in a while, she’ll hum something to herself or say “that’s not good!” or call him a sweet name out of sympathy. It’s clear she’s familiar with him, and it’s just as clear that he trusts her to treat him properly.

Qifrey likes Sinocia. Her disposition is cheerful and tranquil and her presence is steady; she’s always been kind and professional. It takes a special type of doctor to treat witches, not only in competence but in personality, too. They have to be okay with not knowing, with the relative isolation to their peers on the surface, and with the restrictions on communication between themselves and their patients. Sinocia has managed to be respectful of that without detaching herself, and she’s able to take care of Olruggio in all the ways Qifrey is locked away from.

At least somebody is doing it. And Sinocia hasn’t got an ulterior motive, no reason to care for titles or status. She hardly cares about anything aside from his company and his health. It would be nice for Olruggio to have someone like her for a friend, instead of someone like Qifrey who…

“IHGXSshu!”

…who cares about those things too, but can’t help the rest of his circumstances around Olruggio. Including his own body’s responses to something so… so…

“IHGXZSHHhu! ha–AEZSSHhiu!”

“Aw! Bless you. Oh, don’t worry about— here, honey, just use one of these.”

…so attractive. Sexy. Natural, naive, beyond his control. You’re terrible, Qifrey reassures himself, unable to look at anything but Olruggio, the breath building in his chest, brow taut and mouth open, moisture sparkling at the edges of his features.

“MPHZSHHhhih!”

“All right, you, enough with that,” Sinocia says warmly. “I know you don’t feel good, you don’t have to try and prove it to me. Can I take your temperature, or do you have to sneeze again?”

“Best hang on a few,” is Olruggio’s muggy answer.

“Blow your nose then, dear.” Sinocia gives Olruggio some privacy by looking to Qifrey next. “Usually he staves these things off until after all the work is over, right? I’m curious about what the deal is this time.”

Qifrey crosses his legs. “Afraid I couldn’t say.”

“Have you been well, Qifrey? And the girls? They were in great shape last time they came in. You must be taking good care of them.”

“Think it’s just the season,” interrupts Olruggio. He sniffs and beckons Sinocia back before she can ask how Qifrey has been taking care of him. “Go ahead, Sinocia, give me your worst.”

“Okay!”

Olruggio looks so darling with a thermometer in his mouth, pouting like he does, nose flushed pink from the influx of activity.

“Now, what do we have here…” While she waits, Sinocia has decided to look into the supplies Olruggio brought in. She begins to rifle through the bag without pouring anything onto the counter, holding up and then putting back its contents one by one. “Marktea, pastilles, fancy water, some aromatherapy…? Olruggio, where did these come from?”

“One of Olly’s clients,” answers Qifrey. “He’s supposedly well-meaning.”

Olruggio shifts like he wants to say something, so Qifrey holds his index finger vertically against his own lips.

“The brands in here are really expensive,” Sinocia says. “Ooh, and this one’s been opened already. You didn’t like it?”

The thermometer bounces as Olruggio makes a sound through the corner of his mouth.

“Laceweed oil!” Sinocia laughs. “No wonder you’ve been sneezing like that.”

What in the world does that mean? Is Qifrey even allowed to ask? The reminder of what he missed is going to make him dizzy all over again if he isn’t careful. He keeps his gaze off of Olruggio, just to be safe.

Sinocia closes the drawstrings on the satchel and sets it aside, then takes the thermometer from Olruggio and inspects the number with a frown. “You’re a little warm, but not too bad yet. I’ll give you some tranquileaf to take as needed, okay?”

“Thanks.”

“And this syrup in case your cough gets worse. And a poultice to help you breathe better; apply it before you to go bed.”

“Okay. Sure. Thanks.”

“And… I’ll have to give this back, too. I’m really sorry, I don’t think a hospital can accept something that costs so much.”

“So,” sighs Olruggio, “just take it home with you, then.”

“What?”

“Consider it a gift.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not against the rules, is it,” says Olruggio dryly as he stands up. “It’d be a big help, you know. Keeps me from havin’ to deal with the guy when he thinks I never received it. Probably wanted me to try returnin’ it to him so he’d get a chance to— …Ah. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” echoes Sinocia.

“Forgot where I was.” Olruggio rubs his neck and looks away. “You’d be doin’ me a favor takin’ it off my hands is all.”

Qifrey shrugs when Sinocia looks to him for explanation, so she shrugs easily and brightens right back up.

“If you insist! Thank you, Olruggio, that’s very generous.”

“Like I said. It’s mostly a favor to me. Share it with someone if you’d like, put the bounty to use.”

“Hmmm…” Sinocia’s eyes dart to Qifrey and then up at the ceiling as she taps her chin with one hand and places the other on her hip. “I know! I’ll accept your gift so you can do a favor for me too, and be a less troublesome patient.”

“Much easier said than done,” Qifrey reminds her.

“He’s one to talk,” Olruggio says. “At least I see a doctor when the time comes. I have to drag this guy by the scruff to get him to go at all. Lucky he’s usually too weak to fight me by then.”

I love you, thinks Qifrey. He watches Olruggio gather his prescriptions and tuck them away neatly, like a good patient does.

“Yes, I know,” Sinocia says. “So since I’ve got you both here already, I’m not letting you leave until you’ve slept a clockmark or two. It’ll be much worse on you, Qifrey, when you catch this cold because you haven’t been sleeping either, and then I’ll really have my hands full.”

“Whether that’s true or not,” Qifrey says, as though he wouldn’t love anything more, “I’m not sure we can get away with skipping just to have a nap.”

“Sure you can! Doctor’s orders,” declares Sinocia. “I’m sure whoever you’re standing up would be happy to meet in private later or relay necessary information to you some other way, right?”

“Up to you,” Olruggio adds. “I’m takin’ a cot either way.”

What else is Qifrey meant to do? He follows the both of them to a quiet space down a half-flight of stairs and clenches all the muscles he can access, feeling like a stone falling to the bottom of a water well and scraping the sides of it on the way. He mirrors Olruggio’s crooked smile, perches stiffly on a hard wooden chair and wonders how long he’ll pretend to sleep.

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