Chapter Text
Qifrey knows that mixing pleasure and pain is dangerous, but he also knows that he cannot have the former without the latter. At least not for a long time. Not for as long as his problem persists.
Still, he yearns for the physical kind of pleasure in his life. Asking Olruggio is out of the question. He has seen his friend’s looks and suspects that he secretly wants more than to be his friend but his potentially messed up love life is not something he could burden Olly with on top of … everything else. It wouldn’t be fair.
Right?
Which leaves … who?
“So, I hear you’ve found an atelier in the countryside.” Easthies’ piercing red eyes look down at him. He is not wearing all of his usual Knights Moralis uniform, but what he does wear is a smirk.
“Why would you care about that?”
“Because I care about you upholding the law, Qifrey. I’ve had my eyes on you since the day you arrived in the Great Hall. And as happy as I am to see you go …” He trails off as Olruggio shoulders his way past him to sit next to Qifrey. He shoots Olruggio a mean glare who beams back at him.
“Good news, Qifrey!” Olruggio says as he turns towards his friend, ignoring Easthies existence completely. “I’m gonna be your Watchful Eye.”
“Impossible”, Easthies blurts out, his brows knitted furiously. “They would never allow that. Making you his Watchful Eye would be about as sensible as a brushbug running a magic ink shop.”
Olruggio laughs, a loud, boisterous, happy sound that makes Qifrey flinch, as pain shoots through his empty eye socket.
“Look Eas, I’ve got the permission slip right here. If you wanna complain, go ahead and complain to your superiors.”
“That’s exactly what I am going to do.” With these words Easthies storms off, leaving the two of them alone at their table.
There is a man I could hate, thinks Qifrey.
Of course, he cannot deny that Easthies is what many people would call attractive. His cold demeanor keeps admirers away but every now and then Qifrey sees him break the heart of a hopeful young witch. He takes himself and his job very seriously, which probably doesn’t leave time for any kind of pleasure.
“So, what do you say, Qifrey? I think we should celebrate!”
Their celebration involves a lot of alcohol. Qifrey doesn’t drink as often as Olruggio, but he does seem to have a higher tolerance for alcohol. So, when three a.m. rolls around and Olly’s head hits the table with a bang, he heaves up his friend and hauls him back to his room.
The Great Hall is quiet this deep in the night. Qifrey hates the soft light of these hours that makes him feel unbearably claustrophobic. They don’t meet anyone and Olly is silent, occasionally slurring nonsense, which makes him feel even worse.
They round a corner and Qifrey curses. He’s lost. They’ve only had their new accommodations for a few weeks ever since they both passed the fourth test. Qifrey immediately started making preparations for the fifth test so he could leave the Great Hall as soon as possible but until then they are in a kind of bachelor’s wing.
He’s never had a great sense of direction and usually Olly knows the way but right now his friend is all but useless. He could have sworn that this was the right alley – one left, two right. Or was it two left and one right? He sighs, as Olruggio slips to the floor and leans against the wall. He’s mumbling something about “being very watchful” and then he starts to snore.
Exasperated, Qifrey straightens up and looks around. Even if his memorized directions are wrong, he should at least be in the right neighbourhood. It shouldn’t be that hard to find his way from here. Right?
He peeks into the alleys to his right and left and when he doesn’t recognize any of the buildings, he goes a little further. He really shouldn’t have had that last glass. His thoughts are all over the place. Olly should be fine where he left him. It’s not like it’s cold and there is basically no crime here and –
He bumps into something soft and warm that responds with a “Hey! Watch it.”
Confused, Qifrey looks up and turns his head. The man he has bumped into is on his right side, his blind spot and in the confusion, it takes him a moment to recognize him. When he does, he groans. “You again?”
Easthies looks at him like he’s tried to murder his mother in his sleep. “What are you doing here? And where is your Watchful Eye?” It’s very obvious what has become of his complaint in the way he says the last two words. “Aren’t you two normally attached at the hips?”
“I’m … I’m lost. I just set Olly down and now I’ve gotten turned around.” Qifrey bites his lip. He hates having to admit it. And he hates the pitiful look Easthies gives him.
The Knight is silent for a moment. He seems to think hard about something and then he sighs. “I can’t exactly leave you out here.” And then he does something unexpected – he grips Qifrey’s arm and turns him around, dragging him with him. “This way.”
Qifrey stumbles after the man. His grip hurts, but he doesn’t feel like complaining. At least the pain distracts him from the suppressing atmosphere of the Great Hall at night. They walk silently and the awkwardness of the situation makes Qifrey’s face burn more than the alcohol. Qifrey doesn’t know how, but Easthies magically seems to find his way back to the alley where he has left Olruggio who is slumbering peacefully.
“You two are quite the pair,” he says with a snort and releases Qifrey’s arm who immediately rubs it. “Up with you.” Easthies drags Olruggio to his feet and sets off again, this time expecting Qifrey to follow him. They continue their journey in uncomfortable silence until they reach a familiar door.
“This is it, right?” Easthies practically shoves Olly in his arms and straightens his robe. The disdainful look is gone and his face is unreadable. He cards his fingers through his long hair and looks up at the non-sky. Qifrey begins to wonder what the Knight has been doing outside at this time but before he can ask Easthies turns to go.
On an impulse, Qifrey reaches out and grips his hand. It is surprisingly soft and warm, the fingers slender like his own. So unlike Olly’s calloused hands that are constantly black with ink and soot. “Thank you,” Qifrey says.
Easthies tugs his hand free. He leaves without another word.