big fan!

The brushbuddy that Qifrey’s newest apprentice brought home unravels the paper and starts to roll around in the fresh ink, chittering happily, muddying its soft white fur. After a few seconds of this, it drags the failed spell to a nest of others, gathered like fallen leaves at the base of an oak tree.

Resting his chin against his palm, Olruggio adjusts so he can watch it, this funny little creature so delighted by conjuring ink, recognizing as he does so a familiar ache in his joints. Cramping in his wrists, tender spots from sitting in the same position for hours. When he closes his eyes, slight variations of the same glyphs and sigils that he’s been drafting and redrafting all day appear bright behind his eyelids, superimposing themselves in his mind's eye.

He can practically hear Qifrey begging him to take a rest, enticing him out of his lonesome half of the atelier with the promise of fresh stew and easy company. 

Ah, yes. It’s definitely time for a break then, if he’s daydreaming of Qifrey. A quick reset to clear his mind before getting lost in this commission once more will do him good.

His knees crack as he stands to stretch, muscles singing in relief. He crouches down by where the brushbuddy is nested in his discarded work, and holds out an inkstained fingertip. Two wide eyes appear from its parchment lined burrow, and then it appears, clasping his finger in his paws to nuzzle against it. 

“Y’like that, don’t you?” Olruggio chuckles, eyes softening as the brushbuddy starts to lick him gently. 

He’d never admit it unless prodded, but he’s been quick to warm to the atelier’s new pet. He likes to think they have some sort of connection, bound by an affinity for spell work, whenever it weaves its body through the jumbled bottles of ink and additive components messily arranged about his work table. That his door, which has been shut tight ever since Qifrey started taking in wayward young witches, is always a crack open now is no one’s business but his own.

His brushbonding time is rudely interrupted by a loud, sharp sound from Qifrey’s half of the atelier, followed by a rain of tinkling glass. Alert from the intrusion, his eyes narrow and slide to the door.

Immediately, Olruggio is annoyed.

Either one of Qifrey’s apprentices has made a mess that he’ll have to clean up, or Qifrey himself has made a mess that he’ll want to help sort out. Duties as a watchful eye, and all that. 

The brushbuddy springs into action first, bounding over to the closed door and pawing insistently at the wood, chirping and squeaking with great interest. 

Olruggio follows behind, pushing the door open wide enough for the brushbuddy to slip through. He watches it scuttle off across the bridge, turn from his companion to a specter as it disappears into the other side of the atelier, before grabbing a glowstone lantern and following it into the darkness.

-

On first glance, the main quarters of the atelier are empty when Olruggio descends from the bridge. He sees no immediate evidence of any tampering at the doors or windows, magical nor mundane. Of what he can make of the living area from the dim glow of his lantern, nothing is notably out of order. 

“—h’xsshH!” 

Olruggio whips towards the sound, dousing the kitchen area with warm light and flickering shadows. Equally startled, Qifrey glances back at him with his eye half lidded, his lips gently parted, a fist curled tightly at his chin.

Dropping his guard completely, Olruggio lowers his lantern, sets a hand on his hip, and waits for Qifrey to finish sneezing.

Qifrey’s shoulders quiver in time with his breathing, inch towards a painfully slow and — “h’gxt-shh!” — unceremoniously soft climax. His hands fly to the robes hanging loosely around his waist, clumsily bunching what fabric he can grab around his nose and mouth just in time to lurch into it.  “haahH—izshhH’ue!”

The brushbuddy, which had newly settled itself on a nearby counter,  jolts in surprise.

Qifrey stills for a beat, which Olruggio takes as a cue to step forward, only to be left flinching back when Qifrey gasps mightily into his robes. “hh…hhiihhh! ‘Ntshh!” One hand grapples for the edge of the kitchen table, finding it as another set of sneezes bends him double. “hh- hahhH’nGk! ‘Ngtsheww!” 

“Bless you,” Olruggio says, his voice a low rumble, equal parts amused and concerned. He hasn’t seen Qifrey like this in some time, not since they’d taken a backwoods route to a neighboring town some years ago in the fall to forage some seasonal roots and something in the air had left Qifrey a walking, sniffling disaster.

A bit like he is now. Olruggio is assuming that all this desperation to keep quiet is for the sake of the girls, who should be sound asleep, but the way he’s going about it looks painful.

Qifrey glances up at him from behind his pale, tousled fringe, expression finally seeming to settle. Moisture glimmers at his waterline, and something about him seems tender, more pained than a simple bout of sneezing would necessitate.

“D’you want to tell—“

Olruggio pauses when Qifrey shakes his head, clearly in no state to hold a conversation. He should have known better. He wouldn’t describe Qifrey as someone who sneezed any more than the ordinary person, but on occasion it seemed that something took over him, left him sneezing in these spectacular, endless fits. 

“Bless you,” Olruggio murmurs in resignation. Qifrey sniffles, thin, loose, and irritated, an obvious precursor to the sneeze that follows.

“hhAH’ngK!”

It’s a sorry sight. 

Guided by a feeling that’s tugged at his heartstrings for years, Olruggio sets the lantern down so he can run a hand along Qifrey’s shoulderblades. At least, he means to. A strong, sharp aroma of spicebark and starspice gives him pause. He notices then, that there are the various earthen hued powders all over Qifrey’s undershirt. Dried herbs form constellations along Qifrey’s arms, glide along the loose curves of his robe. 

He raises his own robes to shield himself from the piquant miasma, eyes sliding to the floor, where he notes that shards of broken glass and spilled spices are scattered across the tile, reflecting amber light back at him. One of the spice containers, cracked all but for the bottom half, has rolled almost all the way to the stove. 

It’s as if the whole cabinet has come down on him. 

“No wonder you’re sneezin’ so much.”

Qifrey, to his credit, looks like he’s been caught with his tail between his legs. He bashfully lowers his robes so that Olruggio can see his mouth, see the angry pink of his nostrils. By the way that they’re twitching, Olruggio can tell that whatever Qifrey has to say next, he won’t be able to.

“I may have… hhHH! HhHahd…hhH!” Qifrey ducks back into his robes. “h’ndhK! hahHHH—IDshhhiew! a— a bit of a….” 

“I get the idea, Qif.” Olruggio’s eyes flit to the fabric at Qifrey’s side, dotted with dark and irregular patches from its time spent as handkerchief. 

“hAH’ngxT’shuh!” The last sneeze is followed by a pent up sigh. “Oh my goodness. I’m sorry.” Qifrey drops his head, wilting against the kitchen table. “It’s hhh—! hhhHH—!” At the last second, whatever itch has been plaguing him seems to abate. “It’s never ending.” 

“Of course it is.” Olruggio frowns, noticing a subtle wince from Qifrey as he recovers, a pinch to his expression that shouldn’t be there.  “This stuff's all over you.” 

Broken glass crunches underneath Olruggio’s boots as he steps behind Qifrey and sweeps a free hand down the slim length of Qifrey’s back. A small cloud of spices disperses into the air, and despite the barrier of his own robes, tears spring to Olruggio’s eyes. A sharp burning sensation roots itself in the bridge of his nose and he coughs— too much spicebark.

Then Qifrey starts to recoil, arching himself away from Olruggio. Olruggio’s heart sinks. For Qifrey to pull away from him is nothing new, but Olruggio still hates that it makes him feel smaller, that it awakens an earlier version of himself that was never quite sure how to help those he cared about.

Despite having known Qifrey for years, he still can’t seem to get a read on when and why Qifrey refuses his touch. There’s no pattern to it, no rhyme or reason to when his patience for it expires. What’s more confusing is that he’s not sure if Qifrey knows why either. He’s caught his dear friend looking pained to pull back, but for some reason, they’ve never talked about it. 

And for Olruggio, that just won’t do. The building uncertainty, the idea of a chasm forming between them— he can’t stand it, won’t stand it.

He lets his hand hover, and eventually Qifrey sinks back against it. Olruggio says nothing. In the seconds that follow he notices Qifrey hissing out a slow breath through what sounds like clenched teeth. He decides to leave it alone for now, shelve his concern for later, right beside a guilty flash of relief at this small reassurance that perhaps Qifrey’s withdrawal has got nothing to do with him. 

He works methodically after that, starting at the top of Qifrey’s back and making his way down, changing the pressure of his hands to something more comforting. It’s as if he’s tending to a wounded animal. Qifrey is rigid until Olruggio reaches his waist, breathing tentatively each time Olruggio shifts his hands as if his entire upper back is a minefield.

Olruggio can only offer so much. 

His hands still whenever Qifrey’s breath hitches, his thumb running over whatever inch of Qifrey is underneath it in lieu of a blessing. They continue like this until almost every inch of Qifrey’s undershirt is back to its original color. 

By then Qifrey’s sneezing seems to have eased up a bit, only coming back in small one offs and false starts instead of leaving him completely incapacitated.

“Thank you, Olly.” Qifrey falls into the nearest seat and  starts to fiddle with his thumbs, gaze trailing the spices littered all about the kitchen. He’s got the same look in his eyes as when the girls track their muddy boots through the atelier after a storm. “This is quite the mess.”

Olruggio’s heart clenches fondly at the soft congestion rounding out Qifrey’s words. 

“I’ll say. Thought maybe someone was breakin’ in.”

“No.” Qifrey smiles, eye crinkling and still a bit teary. There’s a weariness that clings to him, and the rosy underside of his nose glimmers when the light catches against it, but to Olruggio he’s still as charming, as lovely as ever. “Only me. And I suppose I owe our watchful eye an explanation.” 

The mention of his title has Olruggio’s cheeks heating. Though they maintain the position’s integrity so for the girls’ understanding , it’s become a bit of an inside joke between them, something to poke fun at after a long day. Qifrey invokes it when he’s overcooked their carapace yams, or once, when he’d accidentally knocked a vapor bubble onto a stack of books.

Olruggio settles in beside Qifrey, letting his cheek squish against his palm.

“Go on, then.”

“Well,” Qifrey pauses, looking down wistfully as the brushbuddy climbs into his lap. “It’s a bit silly, but I was looking for… oh, hhhhang onn—“ Qifrey angles himself away from Olruggio, raising a palm to his mouth. His fingernails tap a quick pattern on his knee, and Olruggio can hear the soft click of his mouth falling open before he pulls in a ragged breath. 

“hiH’Dshew!” It seems that the brushbuddy has an opinion on being jostled, Olruggio notes in amusement, because it chitters displeasure and springs onto the floor. It shakes its coat out from head to tail with a huff, then trots off. If Qifrey had it in him to pay attention, Olruggio imagines he’d pout over this.

“Bless you.”

“uH’IISHhhew!... snf!” 

“Bless.” Olruggio frowns, sympathy squeezing at his heart as he watches a fine mist gleam and disperse through the light of the glowstone lantern. Qifrey sounds exhausted. 

“Thank you. Pardon me.” Qifrey sniffles, seesawing a slender finger underneath his nose. He glances down and furrows his brow uncomfortably, leaving the lower half of his face obscured. 

“What was I…? Right, I was… snf! looking for some ground… snf! Snff! …some ground tranquileaf to… snf! to make a balm. I seem to have hurt snf! my shoulder while we were out in the storm. And in the snf! process I…” Tilting his head to the ceiling, Qifrey sighs in exasperation. “Do excuse me, Olly, but I- snrf! I really must blow my nose.” 

He gets up with such urgency that his seat grates loudly on the flooring, spinning on his heel en route to where they keep the spare washcloths.

Olruggio decides to give Qifrey some privacy as he clears himself out. For some reason, hearing the soft rush of congestion into cloth makes him drowsy, as if it signals the momentum of the night coming to a quiet end. He yawns into his shoulder. Without anything to concentrate on, all the sleep he’s put off starts to pull at the corners of his mind.

“h’EDzsshh!”

“Bless you,” calls Olruggio, lolling his head back in Qifrey’s general direction. Qifrey mumbles something indistinct in response, drowned out by the squelching sound of his nose being massaged through the washcloth.

“Hah’EhSCHHH’ue!”

“My god, Qifrey. Give it a rest.” Though Olruggio's words are harsh, his voice brims with tender concern. 

“Dont you think I’d love to?” 

“Right, right.” Olruggio stretches out as he stands, then makes his way towards the broom and dustpan. “I’ll take care of this. Go rinse your sinuses or somethin’.”

“Oh, Olly.” Qifrey’s shoulders sag. “I couldn’t let you, it’s my mehhHeh—!” 

“Uh huh,” mutters Olruggio. He’s already starting to nudge glass shards into a pile as Qifrey muffles another sneeze — “hhH’DSChh’ue!” — into the washcloth. 

“Rate you’re goin’ at it, a’ figure you’ll be done by dawn. Then sneezin’ the rest of the week. Besides, y’said your shoulder’s hurtin’.”

He’s right and Qifrey knows it. Begrudgingly, Qifrey retreats to the sofa in surrender and Olruggio begins to sweep.

As he works at the largest pile of spices, the air becomes hostile, so oversaturated with fine irritants that the back of his throat feels like an ashpit, embers smouldering each time he inhales. Burning irritation concentrates itself between his eyes. He swings the broom handle to the side and steps back, ducking into his shoulder.

“H’RRIISCHH’ue!”

“Bless you,” Qifrey croons from the corner. 

Olruggio nudges his face against his robes, gives his nose a harsh rub. This time when he resumes sweeping, he does so with his undershirt resting on the bridge of his nose.

There are a surprising amount of bottles on the ground. Olruggio spots their stores of thaumaterbe, thistleroot, giltroot, and sournettles, among others.

“Found your tranquileaf,” says Olruggio, poking at the jagged remains of an empty bottle. “Not sure how much is salvageable, though.”

Qifrey drapes his head back against the cushions, one hand still curled around a washcloth, defeated as a woebegone maiden.

“All that for nothing, then?” 

“Aye. Looks like it.” Olruggio finishes up, keeping his face far from the dustpan as he knocks it against a rubbish basket. “I’ve got a commission due in a few days. I’ll stop at the market and get some.” 

He’ll probably have to replenish the rest of the night’s casualties while he’s at it, but he doesn’t mention it. He’s sure Qifrey’s already being hard enough on himself as it is.

Once he’s put the broom away, he approaches the sofa and perches himself on the armrest, near where Qifrey is resting an elbow. 

“Sorry I can’t be of more help to you.”

Qifrey glances up at him with his brilliant blue eye, never failing to convey the depths of his appreciation, “Nonsense. You’ve done quite enough for me tonight.” He sniffles and his gaze goes distant, this time not with the promise of the sneeze, but the lingering weight of something left unsaid. 

Olruggio has long accepted that what he feels for Qifrey is one sided. There are too many secrets enshrouding his dear friend for any sort of healthy romance between them. So his feelings are a dull hum of a companion, a fire with an endless surplus of kindling, satiated merely by the knowledge that his home is here, with Qifrey, is Qifrey. And that perhaps Qifrey’s home is him too.

It’s rare for them to find a moment of silence together, uninterrupted by the bustle of the apprentices or Olruggio’s ever demanding work schedule or Qifrey drowning himself in the upkeep of the atelier and its residents.

So now, in this quiet of the night, it washes over him like the familiar kiss of an ocean wave on a sandy shore, the urge to reach out and skim the exposed nape of Qifrey’s neck. To contort his body into some odd angle so that he can close the distance between them, peel away the casing of leaves that Qifrey hides within and coax him into honesty. 

But Olruggio, knowing better, pats the space beside him and pops up. If he’s going to ask Qifrey how he really hurt his shoulder, he’d like to do so with more than three hours of sleep under his belt.

“If you’re all settled, then I’ll be getting back to work.”

“Right as rain. The kitchen is cleaned and I think my nose is doing better, though I can’t say the same for our cabinet and its components.” Qifrey straightens, offering Olruggio a tired, lopsided smile. “I can manage from here. I hope this didn’t come right as you were making a breakthrough.”

Already on his way back to the bridge, Olruggio waves Qifrey off. “Dont you worry. I’m far from that.” He cups the corner of the wall, giving Qifrey one final glance before he departs. “I needed a break, anyways.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure whatever spell you’re working on is already more than was asked for.” 

Olruggio bristles. It seems his sleep deprived mind isn’t sharp enough to keep up with everything, because now he’s gone and given Qifrey an avenue to compliment him. He quickens his pace, trying to outrun Qifrey’s praise.

“Goodnight, Olly,” says Qifrey with a laugh, his voice growing smaller as Olruggio heads up the stairs. A few seconds later, another soft sneeze tumbles out of him like an afterthought.

Olruggio shakes his head.

“Bless you. An’ don’t let me catch you breakin’ things again. If you really need somethin’, you know where to find me.” And what he means by this is, Goodnight, Qifrey. Goodnight, my dear friend.

Whatever Qifrey says next is too far away for him to make out, but he hopes that Qifrey will take him up on the offer. 

The corner of Qifrey's mouth hooked into a fond half-smile. "Noted." It was doubtful they'd be able to get in and out of there without too much of that, but it was nice to have goals. Qifrey, for his part, was mostly just tagging along, though he did have plans to keep an eye out for anything that could be of use around the atelier.

The day had started out fine. Olruggio had found the jeweler he'd been seeking out, and they had made plans to grab a drink after the woman had packed up her wares for the day. Qifrey had found some stoneware to augment their meager stash of dishes. They'd had a lovely supper overlooking a babbling creek, and even though the local witches had found them by the end of it and insisted on giving a tour of the village, they were a kind group of people who, for the most part, did not act like they were in the presence of celebrity.

But then evening had come, and the fireworks had started.

Literal fireworks — shot from witch-made contraptions, forming glittering starbusts and waterfalls of red and green and gold across the darkening sky. They started as soon as the sun began to set, and according to their local guides, they would go on all evening.

"You sure you don't want to come?" Olruggio asked Qifrey before he left to meet the quartz-crafting artisan. "I know we'll be talkin' shop, but you're more than welcome."

"I'm all right, thank you," Qifrey said. "There were a few more stalls I wanted to visit before the market closes for the night."

"Suit yerself. I'll see you back here in an hour or so."

And it had been fine too, for a bit. But then his eye had begun to itch.

It felt like a minor disturbance at first, like he'd blinked wrong and gotten a lash in it. But the irritation persisted, and worsened, and when he caught the first whiff of smoke from the fireworks, his stomach sank with the realization.

Oh no.

It didn't happen every time he was around fireworks…maybe it was the specific composition of the powder used to ignite them, or something about the chemistry of the explosive itself; Qifrey didn't know enough about fireworks and their inner workings to be able to speculate much more on the matter. But sometimes the stars aligned just right (or just wrong), and the dominos would begin to fall.

The first sneeze came not three minutes later.

"htt'shieu!"

It was only one sneeze, a tiny flinch of a thing into the side of his hand, but instead of accomplishing something or resolving the situation, it seemed to only serve to bring on a new wave of irritation, like it was cracking open a door. His throat felt prickly now, and his eye was beginning to water, but worst of all, he could feel discomfort settling deep, deep within his sinuses, so deep that only an extended sneezing fit could even begin to touch it.

It was truly an inescapable cascade once this began, especially since he couldn't yet remove himself from the source. He checked his pocket watch. Only about forty-five minutes until Olruggio would be done with his meeting; he could make it until then.

Unfortunately, that was still forty-five minutes that he'd be struggling through the grip of an early allergic reaction in a public space.

The second (and third, and fourth) sneeze came when he was perusing the wares of a bookbinder.

It was a sensation that had been building for several minutes, waxing and waning with an infuriating inconsistency. Edging him. He wasn't sure what made it slip-slide from the nebulous category of "urge" into the definitive motion of "action," but when the state transition happened, he knew it.

"KXshuu!"

He caught the sneeze against his wrist, in the length of his sleeve, and the shopkeep blessed him off-handedly. Qifrey didn't have the heart - or the breath - to tell him that that wasn't the end of them.

"ttxsHIEU! HKT'schu!"

Another blessing from the shopkeep, this time with a hint of humor in their voice, as Qifrey took a half step back from the stall and braced his free hand against a nearby tent pole to steady himself.

"Thankyou — " he managed to get out before snapping down into the final fourth. "HKKT'tsieu!"

"Wow, bless you!" He had the shopkeep's full and undivided attention now, and Qifrey felt his ears beginning to burn. He cleared his throat.

"Apologies, thank you," he managed a small smile, trying to ignore the buzzing tingle that was still flitting around the edges of his nostrils like tiny bolts of static. "How much for that small journal, the one in the blue?"

The next fit came not ten minutes later, when he was viewing a collection of cloak clasps at a different stall. He'd sneezed a few times in the interim, but they were ticklish one-offs that felt more reflexive than anything, and while they did little to quell the irritation that was becoming less of a background sensation and more of an active distraction, at least they were unobtrusive.

"hii'tshuu!"

But this one felt different, like a crack forming in a dam, and it did nothing to relieve the sense of pressure and potential in his sinuses. Knowing that there were more on the way, he immediately took a step back from the stall and began to move away from the trickle of people clustered around the art booths, his elbow coming up to catch the next pair of sneezes.

"hkktCHIEU! TSHHIEU!"

He had no handkerchief, of course he didn't, so it was all he could do to use his elbow and the cuffs of his sleeves to muffle the sneezes and clean himself up. It was miserable, and the smooth fabric was all but useless in the face of the irritation buzzing across the entire front of his face. He coughed twice into his fist, then sneezed, surprising himself and catching it against the black fabric on the inside of his forearm when he failed to get his elbow up in time.

"kttCHUU!"

And so it went for the next half hour — itching, sniffling, sneezing, and trying valiantly to keep as much of his dignity intact as possible. He had no misconceptions that he was succeeding, but when Olruggio did finally come to find him, Qifrey's heart still sank when Olruggio saw his face and did a double-take.

"What happened to you?"

Qifrey choked on a laugh and turned from Olruggio to cough into his fist. While the smoke was most irritating to his eye and nose, his lungs too were beginning to protest, and they felt itchy and tight. "It's the smoke from the fireworks," he rasped after a moment. "It…doesn't always agree with me."

"I'll say," Olruggio said, his expression balancing somewhere between awe and concern. "You look awful."

"Thank you," Qifrey said dryly. He had to sneeze again, and before he could think better of it, he reached out and put his hand to Olruggio's upper arm to brace himself as he leaned away for a tight, itchy double caught haphazardly in the sleeve of his shirt, which had long since passed its usefulness. "KSHHuu! ikkt'shieu!"

How he longed for some tissues, he so badly needed to blow his nose. He pulled up his sleeve and used it to dash the tears from his eye, which he knew by now had to be red and swollen.

"Bless." Olruggio frowned and began to fish through his pockets, then the satchel he had slung over a shoulder. Qifrey could see a variety of tools and items packed into the bag, hammers and pliers and scrap metal. "Hang on a moment."

When he pulled out a crumpled handkerchief and offered it to Qifrey, Qifrey thought his heart might stop on the spot.

"That's…very kind of you, thank you, Olly." He took it and folded it over his hand, impressed that he could do so with such composure when the gesture was so loaded, so intimate, so inadvertently sexual. The handkerchief was a simple cream-colored cotton, no frills or decorations. It was a surprise for Olruggio to have a handkerchief on hand at all; normally Qifrey was the one who brought them, and often for Olruggio, but it hadn't crossed his mind at all today.

But Olruggio was still watching him with that tense and curious gaze, like he was cataloguing Qifrey's red and watery eye, his sniffles, the congestion murking up the edges of his voice, and it made Qifrey feel hot and electric and ashamed, especially when Olruggio asked, "This stuff is really gettin' to you, huh?"

Qifrey exhaled something like a self-conscious laugh and looked away. This was not what he wanted to talk about right now, but he knew that was asking too much. Olruggio loved to fret over him. "A bit, yes. I'll be all right once we're home, though."

"We'll get you a cold cloth or somethin'." Olruggio cleared his own throat. "I can feel it a bit too, in my throat and eyes. Don't know what they're shootin' off out there."

"There's really no telling." Qifrey's hand tightened on the handkerchief. He could feel another set of sneezes brewing, pressure settling behind the bridge of his nose, a flickering and irritating kind of tickle set back in the right side of his sinuses that was moving slowly forward, teasing, taunting.

Everything was just so itchy. The handkerchief burned in his hand, an easy solution, but Olruggio was still watching him. If only he'd turn to peruse a stall, or look at the sky, or look at something that wasn't Qifrey.

They were at a sort of impasse for a beat, a tense moment that Qifrey knew only he was feeling as the smoke in his sinuses continued to tease and tickle and Olruggio watched him with a careful eye.

Then —

"Bless you," Olruggio said, a non sequitur, which startled Qifrey and shook his tenuous grasp on his own body and self-control. He turned from Olruggio and brought the handkerchief up to catch the first two sneezes that tumbled out nearly on top of each other.

"chhSHIEU - HKKTshhu! hkk'TSIEW…ktxshuu!"

"Times four." Olruggio shifted at his side, but Qifrey wasn't looking at him. His sinuses were a mess of crawling irritation, and it was all he could do to keep himself from brusquely rubbing at his nose through the handkerchief, like he could scrub out the tickle if he tried hard enough.

"You knew that was coming," Qifrey said after a moment, half-accusatory, and then winced at how thick his voice sounded.

"Your nose was twitchin' an awful lot."

Great. Amazing. Qifrey wanted the earth to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Instead he forced a laugh and dabbed the handkerchief politely beneath his nose, which was running and making him sniffle every few seconds.

"Apologies, I'm a mess."

"'S fine, it's not like you haven't seen me like that before."

Oh, if only he wouldn't remind him. The last thing Qifrey wanted to think about right now was Olruggio in springtime, working through his morning routine with a handkerchief one-handed to his face, sneezing and sneezing and sneezing…

Olruggio seemed to be expecting a response, some continuation to their light-hearted banter, but Qifrey's mind was short-circuiting, his focus split cruelly between his own allergies and the thought of Olruggio experiencing these same sensations, the same prickly eyes and scratchy throat and sniffling nose, and…and…

"hkKTCHIEW! ITSCHHieu!"

"Bless you. Sorry, Qifrey — it was my idea to come to this damn festival."

Qifrey could feel his cheeks warming as he blew his nose again, which embarrassingly enough triggered another sneeze, half-stifled into the fabric of the handkerchief, of Olruggio's handkerchief, a handkerchief that had touched Olruggio's nose and caught Olruggio's sneezes…there was truly no way he'd ever recover from this. He shoved the images away into a box in his mind for…later. Much later, when he was back in the privacy of his own chambers and could touch himself while thinking of the proud and familiar bridge of Olruggio's nose.

"I'll be fine, Olly," he managed through the heady fog of arousal beginning to fill his mind like its own kind of smoke. The sooner they could get home, the better. "Let's just find the windowway, if you're done with your meetings."

"Yeah." Olruggio clapped his hand on Qifrey's shoulder, making him flinch in spite of himself. "'s about time we got out of here."

Qifrey finally gave in and began to massage his nose roughly through the fabric of the handkerchief. He knew it was uncouth, but at this point he was simply so itchy that he was long past caring. He could feel the irritation curling from his nose down into his throat, up behind his eye, and into his ears. It felt like a deep-rooted weed, like a rough plant spiking along his delicate mucosal membranes, making him —

"ISCHieu!"

— making him itch and sniffle and sneeze. When was the last time he'd reacted so strongly to something?

"Campfire smoke doesn't do this t'you," Olruggio remarked as they made their way back through the market. The windowway was a short walk through the woods beyond the city square. "Does it?"

"Not generally. It's fireworks, mostly, or sometimes incense."

Olruggio made a commiserating noise deep in his throat. "Incense always makes me sneeze up a storm too."

I know, Qifrey thought to himself; memories of the time a few years ago that the two of them had been around incense were burned into a deep and guarded part of his brain that he only let himself access when he was alone in the dark.

It became ineffective to lower the handkerchief by the time they reached the windowway; he was so sniffly and also stifling sneezes every few paces, like he was caught in a loop that could not be broken. Olruggio had stopped blessing him at this point, which Qifrey had mixed feelings about, but he did keep shooting concerned glances back over his shoulder and making comments like "Sorry I only have the one handkerchief" that went straight to Qifrey's dick. He was far past light-headed by the time they reached the windowway and stepped through to their home, and it was only Olruggio's steadying hand on his shoulder that kept him from tripping over the ledge.

"Easy there," Olruggio said gently, and turned to close the windowway behind them. "Go lie down or somethin' and I'll fetch you a cold cloth."

Qifrey shivered. The idea of having Olruggio tend to him in this state felt too raw and hot and intimate, like his skin had been flayed from his body, especially when his arousal was already pressing urgently into the fabric of his loincloth. He thought he might perish if the other man were to touch him.

"I think I'd like a bath instead," he tried, "but thank you, you are so thoughtful."

Olruggio shot him a sidelong glance. "If that's what you want," he rumbled. "I'll make some tea for when you're out."

He looked so stalwart, standing in the hallway with one hand on the doorframe and watching Qifrey like he wanted nothing more in the world than to sweep him under his metaphorical wing and care for him. Olruggio had no idea that Qifrey was dizzy not only from sneezing but with shameful lust, that the handkerchief that he had so cavalierly passed over and the words he'd said without thought would be the subjects of months of fantasies.

Qifrey:

Has such breathy, long build ups. Like sometimes they go on so long that he thinks the snz will not come out, til it does and he’s no longer prepared for it :DD will fan his nose if the tickle is teasing him for too long and he’s desperate to get it out

due to the build ups, definitely talks through as much as he can. hitchy, stuttering phrases include: Asking for a pardon as long in advance as he can, apologizing profusely for interrupting whatever conversation was taking place, little gasps of “dear me,” “goodness,” “heavens” or even “oh one moment I need to sneeze” :))))

itchy, soft, vocal, and breathy snzs (think “eww” endings )

chronic stifler due to politeness, but can not for the life of him stifle allergic fits. He also fails to stifle when he becomes sick enough/thick congestion. That’s Olly & the family’s biggest sign that he’s feeling poorly

Always has a handkerchief on him. Or 10 at the ready to clean himself up or loan to his husband (who often needs one)

Allergies include dust, 1-2 mystery plants that take him out while in bloom, cats (which he refuses to kick out the strays from the atelier. They’re cute okay??). I also fully believe he’s photic & generally sensitive

His most common covers are a one handed open palm, his wrist (with a sleeve paw), a politely placed finger/knuckle under his nose, or if his hands are completely tied up he will twist away completely

sneezes with his whole body. Caves in completely, bends at the waist, tilts his head up for long build ups. Because of his habit of pitching forward during a fit, he can snz off his glasses sometimes. Olly always finds them for him and finds this particularly adorable. he needs support after a particularly long/aggressive fit. Will need a chair, a wall, or his favorite, OLLY

on an average day, I picture him being a double snz kinda guy. Never one and done. Add in allergies or a cold and the sky’s the limit lots of fits, lots of false starts. Is snzing or hitching more often than he’s not (poor thing)

can still somehow draw extremely well and accurately cast?? Despite an ill timed fit (outside work, atelier maintenance, settling a fight). It’s part of what makes him so dangerous :))) if he messes up a seal, get that man in bed now

Olruggio:

is most often completely caught off guard by his own sneezes

quick build ups, not given a lot of time to cover or prepare

does not stifle. Olly is a very logical person and finds no reason to do so if he has to sneeze, he’s going to do so properly (always glaring at Qifrey for his bad habits)

not one to talk through a fit, he lets it run its course. Only time he will is if he’s accidentally sneezed on someone, apologizing for unsightly behavior, etc

powerful and vocal sneezes. The kind that reverberate from his chest as much as his sinuses. Olly’s snz can most often be heard anywhere in the atelier, indoor or out in the garden. Do with this information what you will

usually does not have a handkerchief on him. Has to borrow one from Qifrey whether at home or out in the town. If he’s away for work he’ll often have to use whatever is around or purchase one at the market.

usually covers with his wrist, fist, or into his elbow. If his hands are busy, he’ll just accept his fate and sneeze openly

little head bobs forward. Twists away. For how powerful his sneezes are, he usually doesn’t bend as much.

occasionally will get away with one powerful single sneeze. But most often has short fits of about 3-4 depending on the cause

literally allergic to literally everything. This man has hay fever and anything else will likely also make him sneeze. Allergies give him very swollen and irritated sinuses

has to pause casting or stop drawing magic when he sneezes. Since his fits are powerful, he will mess up the seal no matter how careful he tries to be. Qifrey finds it endearing and cute