sweet dreams

“Do yuh need help?” Olruggio asks. Both men and the girls are already seated, talking amongst one another. His comment goes unheard by them. 

“Please,” you say, your voice somewhat raspy. You clear your throat. He’s beside you before you finish plating and reaches for your hands. They tremble, it’s barely noticeable but Olruggio picks up on it immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks. He tries to catch your eyes but you shake your head and smile, turning back to the counter and rubbing your hands along your spring. “Nothing, just a little tired.” You say. You can tell Olruggio doesn’t believe you but he says nothing as he moves to hand the meals out.  

Lunch is sluggish and the wonderful food you’ve prepared is less and less appealing as you take more bites. 

“My love,” you look up when Qifrey calls out to you, you’ve been moving the vegetables around on your plate for the last few minutes, “are you feeling alright?” 

You straighten, eyes stinging when you stretch a sore muscle in your back, and nod, “mhm, just not hungry.” You say. The nausea is a new development. 

You don’t clear your plate but no one makes a comment on that. Olruggio takes up the dishes, and the girls scurry off to the front room to play. You’re stacking placemats when Qifrey’s gentle hand falls on yours. “Maybe you should rest?” He suggests. His eyes are full of concern, his lips pursed as he tries to persuade you to take a break. 

“I’ve got the clothes line to clear, then I will rest. I promise.”  It will only take a few minutes to finish, it was a simple task. You pull away, not quickly or with harshness, and leave Qifrey standing at the table. You press your lips to Olruggio’s cheek, thanking him. You leave faster than intended and you don’t notice both men watching you carefully as you step out the door, laundry basket in hand.

“She has been acting strange…” Qifrey muses as he joins Olruggio at the counter. He leans his hip against it as Olruggio returns to his cleaning.

Olruggio grumbles, “she’s not telling us the truth.”

“Hm, we haven’t asked her to do too much have we?” 

Olruggio snorts, “Her? Doing too much work because we told her too? You know we’d never let her lift a finger if she’d allow it. Stubborn woman thinks she needs to do extra things to be useful.” 

Qifrey chuckles, “we would not have married her, I think, if we didn’t find that stubbornness charming.”

Olruggio’s lip twists upward, “I suppose.”

Qifrey leans over and plants a delicate kiss to the dark haired man’s cheek. “I’ll be in the garden, herbs need to be pulled.” 

“Don’t stay out there too long, it’s hot.”

“Yes yes,” Qifrey says.

“And keep an eye on her! She’ll pass out before she admits she doesn’t feel well.”

It’s hotter than you’d care to admit but you’re nearly done with your chores. You tug the last sheet from the line and catch your first husband’s eye across the yard. He’s bent over the small garden patch that is planted every year. You admire him from afar and how he carefully works each plant to pull the crop for harvest. When he moves to place a bountiful bundle of lavender in the open basket next to him his eye catches yours. You smile sweetly, and he smiles back. You bend down and collect your basket. You’ll have to fold these inside, the sweat on your brow trickles down your temple and the sun’s rays suddenly pierce your skin. You’re itchy.

When you straighten you stumble, catching yourself right as you tilt. You hear Qifrey call to you and you quickly reassure him, “I’m okay! I just tripped.” Your head is swimming. 

You just need to get these folded and you’ll go lay down. The thought of your bed fills you with bliss. 

You shoulder through the front door, steps heavy. Your lower back is tight and the tension at your temple doesn’t leave despite the burst of cool air that rushes over you. 

“Look!” you look down at Coco who’s beaming up at you with an open palm quire right in your face. You have no idea what the spell says, your vision is blurry. 

“I finally figured it out!” She said proudly. Agott is standing behind her muttering something about uneven lines and Tetia is claiming her place as Coco’s tutor. It’s all very sweet but if they talk any louder you worry your head will explode. Olruggio sits quietly on the couch, book in hand, but he’s focused on you and your movements. 

The world suddenly turns to liquid and you can’t make out any of the shapes or sounds around you. You squeeze your eyes shut and prop your basket against your hip as you press your fingers to your temple. You shudder at the sharp pain that shoots past your eyes and down your neck. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

“Oi! Hey!” The girls scramble away from you, Olruggio’s cry of concern drowned by the ringing in your ears. You sway, collapsing into the side wall when a loud, thunk, wall art and portraits rattle and ceiling charms sway at the sudden vibration. The rug under you slips as you try to straighten, the basket crashes to the ground, sheets spilling across the floor in hazardous waves. 

Everything is blurry and you're suddenly spinning in place. You groan and dig the heel of your palm into your eye, trying to chase away the sudden ache that the light has created. An arm, that is not your own, wraps around your hip and steadies you. You recognize Olruggio by his smell and heat and immediately lean into him. He uses his other hand to pry yours from your face. You whimper at the intrusion. “You idiot, Ah asked you earlier if—Qifrey!” The windows to the atelier are wide open. You cry out at his pitch, the yell stabbing you just behind the ears. 

It doesn’t take long for your other lover to come barreling through the door, his steps are quick, and you're immediately surrounded by another wall of comfort. He smells like thyme now. “What happened?” he asks. When he sees you flinch he lowers his voice, his finger tips brush lightly against your cheek. His brow furrows as he looks up at Olruggio. 

“I told ya she was lying to us.” 

Qifrey sighs and turns swiftly to the children. “To the side girls, please.” They still look anxious so he adds carefully, “She is okay, I promise. Just very tired, she’s done a lot of work today. Too much, I would say, and didn’t take any rest. ” 

“Like when Coco was sick?” Tetia asks.

Qifrey smiles reassuringly, “Yes, exactly like that.”

The comparison seems to sooth their fear and they soon flit away to do other things. Qifrey is grateful. 

You curl further into Olruggio, who dips low to gather you in his arms. He lifts you with ease, cradling you under leg and back as you burrow into him. 

“She’s burnin’ up,” He mutters as he follows Qifrey to your shared bedroom. When you enter, Olruggio gently deposits you on the bed, while Qifrey moves to the wardrobe, pulling out a thin night gown. 

You groan when Olruggio sits you up, “Arms up,” he says. You lift them weakly, wincing as your muscles strain. He shimmies your shirt above your head before methodically untying the rope of your skirt and pulling it free from your hips. You shiver as the air meets your skin, suddenly hot and cold all at once. Qifrey approaches with your change of clothes and slides it over your form swiftly. There is no lingering in their moments, no ogling or suggestiveness. 

Qifrey leans you back and settles you against the sheets. You remember little of what follows, just the lights dimming and their soft muttering as you fall to sleep. 

Qifrey sighs as he watches you drift off. There is a soft knock at the door and both men turn to see Coco standing there holding a tray topped with a glass of water and a damp cloth. Qifrey invites her in with a smile, “thank you, Coco.” 

“W-will she be okay?” Qifrey plucks the tray from her hands and slides it onto the bedside table. He then cups her cheek affectionately, “she will be okay. I promise. She just needs rest.” She nods and trails out, one last backwards glance to make sure you were still in bed before letting the door click shut behind her.

Olruggio sighs when you restlessly shift. “First time she’s done this.” He mutters as Qifrey moves to press the cool cloth to your cheeks. You subconsciously lean into it. 

Olruggio reaches beneath the bed, grunting as he pulls a small wooden chest out. He plops it on the small round spare table in the corner of the room and begins sifting through medicine provided by the Healing Spire. They kept it on hand for emergencies. So many kids typically came with unpredictable ailments. They needed to be prepared.

“Our stubborn girl.” Qifrey says, bemused. He’s already preparing his lecture for when you wake up.

You wake for the first time in the middle of the 2nd night, throat parched and headache only a dull throb now. You groan softly, and the sound of shuffling parchment and the scratch of an ink pen stop. You crack your eyes open, blinking them into focus. 

You remember things in grasps. Falling into the wall, dropping your basket. You don’t remember falling asleep but you recall waking periodically. Qifrey leaves to work on a lesson with the girls and returns with food, replacing Olruggio as he exits to go aid a client. It’s cyclic. One stays to care for you. Feeds you something akin to soup, soothes your brow and walks you back and forth from the rest room, while the other goes to work. Each time you're just awake enough to acknowledge that it’s them before you melt into their care. 

The canopy is dropped around you save for your right side. You’re at the edge of the bed, when you typically sleep in the middle, and based on the weight to your left only one of your boys is in bed with you. Your head turns toward that weight, and you blink slowly as Qifrey observes you. His knees are up, supporting a small pile of papers that you only assumed were the girl's assignments. He has a cup of tea in one hand and his marking pen in the other. “Hello, darling,” he says gently. You blink, slow and disoriented for a moment before humming in acknowledgment.

“Hi…” you croak.

“Hey,” you slowly turn your head to the right when Olruggio calls to you. There are only two candles lit, one hovering over Qifrey and the other planted on Olruggio’s rolling work station that sits at his side. A few unfinished contraptions resting atop top of it. How long have they been sitting here? 

“Water,” you whisper. Olruggio reaches for the glass and you whimper as you try and sit up. You feel a bit better but you’re sore. Qifrey rests his work on the bed before twisting to help you, Olruggio stands and holds the glass up to your lips. “Drink,” he says. You do. The water immediately calms the raw scratchy feeling and you sigh in content. 

When you pull away the glass is empty and he sets it beside a pitcher you assume is full of more. Qifrey is pressing a handkerchief against your skin. 

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask.

“Since yesterday,” Qifrey says as Olruggio sits on the bed. The dark haired man places his hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. 

“What time is it now?” Your voice cracks and Olruggio is already filling you with another glass, guiding it to your lips for a deep drink. He answers as you finish it, “a little after midnight.” 

“I’ve been asleep for over 20 hours?” Olruggio hums, “ more or less. We woke you up to eat and bathe. I’m surprised you didn’t sleep longer.” 

“Bathe?” You don’t remember that. 

Qifrey chuckles, “your fever broke and you were drenched. You gave us a bit of a fight, but we managed.” 

“Fell asleep during that too,” Olruggio says. You’re sure the sight was amusing, the two of them awkwardly keeping you from drowning during a fever riddled nap. 

“Why did you not tell us you were feeling unwell?” Qifrey interrupts. You look at him sheepishly. 

“I just…wanted to get things done, is all.” You really did but clearly your stubbornness was defeated by a fever and a pile of laundry. Ugh, you’d probably have to wash those sheets again. 

“You didn’t need to get shit done,” Olruggio says, “we would’ve done it.” You can’t argue, because you know it’s true. All you had to do was say, ‘I don’t feel well,’ and the two of them would have dropped everything to help. 

“Never do that again, please.” Qifrey pleads, his hand finding yours. He brings it to his lips and presses them gently to the back of it. “We were all very worried.”

“The girls?”

“Perfectly fine,” Olruggio says, “they’ll be happy to know you’re feeling better.”

“I will see them in the morning,” you decide. Olruggio looks at you as if you have grown two heads and scoffs. “You’re not leaving this bed.” You blink. 

“You think we’re going tah let you walk around the house after all this? No, you need more rest.” You look at Qifrey for some back up but his gaze mimics Olruggio’s. Darn, you’re stuck here until they deemed you healthy enough to move. 

“We’ll bring them to you,” Qifrey bargains, “but I agree. I do not think it wise for you to roam about just yet. Another day, okay? Let us take care of everything.” 

You weren’t pouting (you most certainly were), “...fine.” 

Qifrey gestures to a small green vial and Olruggio picks it up. You smell the bitter scent of bark and leaves and know it’s for your pain. He holds it out to you, “Come on, one more dose. You’ve been taking it just fine so far.” That explains why your tongue tastes like dirt and feels like cotton. You bring it to your lips, throwing it back like a shot and grumbling as the horrible flavor shudders through you. “Ugh, disgusting.” Olruggio offers you water to chase it down.

“But you’ll feel better soon,” Qifrey muses. “Now, let’s rest.” He looks over at his companion, the other already rolling his working cart to the side, “Bed, Olly?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin'.”

You shuffle to the middle of the wide bed, burrowing into the blankets. He isn’t dressed for sleep, unsurprisingly, bare beneath a robe you’re sure he’s worn since bathing. You watch him change, unabashed in your observation. You hear Qifrey snort beside you and mumble something playfully about indecency but you know he’s staring too.

Dressed (how disappointing) and comfortable Olruggio climbs in next to you. Qifrey leans over you and you watch from below as your men share a rich evening kiss.  Olruggio makes sure to lean down and capture your lips against his, like he does every night. He better positions himself behind you and you turn to your side, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you flush against his chest. His hands come to rest on your stomach and you feel him burrow his face in your hair. 

Qifrey puts his things away and blows out the candle, the moonlight from the window the only thing illuminating the bedroom. He lays down and faces you, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your cheeks. Your lips meet delicately, the separation lingering. You reach for his hand, twining your fingers together and letting them rest between your bodies. His thumb brushes delicately against your skin as he whispers, “Goodnight, darling.”