@witchofwarmth wrote:
Olruggio had never felt such scorching rage towards his friend before. Never a time he remembered, anyway.
Which is exactly the fucking problem, isn’t it?
He’s glad to be wearing his cloak. The heavy fabric hides how much he’s trembling with the force of his anger, and how his fingers buckle the shape of Qifrey’s hat in his hand. The brim is unpinned; glyph beneath stark against the white fabric.
What did you do to me? What did you take from me?
It had been an accident. Or inexplicable curiosity. Something about the pin holding Qifrey’s hat together had started bothering him, kept drawing his attention whenever the man took off his hat - like he expected him to pull it out - a shiver of anxiety crossing his chest. Which made no sense at all, then. It was only a hat.
Except, when Qifrey had left it unattended and Olruggio had decided to sate this strange urge to pull it himself...
He hadn’t even known memory glyphs could be reversed, not by simple recall - hadn’t that been what Qifrey had discovered in the Tower? But how could he even trust his word on that anymore. The sight of it brought back flashes, segments of a memory he couldn’t fully retrieve, of Qifrey... forcing the hat onto his head. More than once. Expression something fearsome, visceral, deaf to his own pleas for Qifrey to stop.
The memory had started his body quaking - some emotion between fear and betrayal washing over him - and by the time Qifrey had found him, still staring at the glyph beneath the brim, it had crystallised into agony.
Perhaps the worst part about his anger is that it’s for himself. Against Qifrey. And it felt selfish.
“We... need to talk,” he’d said, dangling the hat by the ribbon. “About what you did to me.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”
What a joke.
“Then how did you mean to hurt me, Qifrey?” he spits, “You of all people... I thought you at least knew the value of memory.”
You could argue Quifrey had been cornered all his life. Had always just been an animal desperately pacing a cage, whether he knew it or not. But not like this. The way Olruggio holds his old tassel so carelessly, hat hanging from it like something vile, makes Quifrery’s stomach turn to ice, and he’s frozen there in the kitchen, this slightly too small room that has been their safe haven in the world for years now. And Quifrey is cornered, his feet glued to the floor. Even in the moments when he took Olruggio’s memory... It was never because of this.
His heart is stuttering and his expression is blank because he knows but doesn’t want to know that this is the moment when he finally loses him. He didn’t want it to be like this. Hurting Olruggio was inevitable but if Quifrey had just managed to sneak away...
And yet a voice at the back of his head twists horribly and says You would’ve taken the cowardly way out and run away rather than face his rightful anger.
And: Isn’t it better for him to hate you?
Yes... Quifrey wants to protect Olruggio, of course he does, but wasn’t his habit of still clinging on to him through all this always selfish? Perhaps the most selfish thing he’s ever done in his life.
And it has hurt Olruggio. Immeasurably.
Why did I think I could have this?
“...” His mouth opens and then falls closed again hopelessly.
There aren’t any words that can make it better, that’s the thing. Not even lies.
“Olruggio, I...” I can’t tell him the whole truth. It will endanger him. If I told him I’d have to take it away again. “I cherish you more than anyone...”
He has nothing to offer. He’s cornered with nothing.
He deserves so much more than I can give him.
“I would never... change you. I was so careful not to change you. But...”
These words aren’t helping. He has nothing to fix this. He’s losing him.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
He can’t deny anything. He has betrayed the trust of his dearest friend. Over and over.
