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Qifrey had never seen so much silk, velvet; so many frills and ribbons, or gold and silver. He had never seen so many people wearing fancy dresses in one place; so this was the festival Beldaruit and all the apprentices at the Sanctum had been talking about…
He scanned the crowd of capes that concealed the secrets of magic, and the tents filled with strange contraptions. His eye flickered over the magical lanterns scattered around. And among them, he eventually found his best friend Oruggio.
He enjoyed roaming around the adorned streets in the late afternoon; to look to his left and see Oruggio chuckling back at him, while they hid from their professors among the huge skirts of the visitors. They tasted every treat they could get their hands on, and Qifrey thanked the gods Oruggio was good with directions because everything looked the same to him. He felt giddy with joy.
After the sun went down, however, there was a shift in Qifrey’s surroundings. The whispers about him and the eyes on him became clearer, the laughter of the kids louder. He kept following Oruggio, still, though with heavy steps and his eye now focused solely on the familiar back, as he bumped against bodies radiating hostility one after the other.
Then a hand grasped his, and Qifrey let it pull him. They ran through the magic shops, past the crowd in the central plaza, underneath the flags hanging above the main street, until they reached the riverbank and Qifrey felt tears of relief quivering between his eyelashes.
The festival was still near, perhaps a few hundred metres away.
“It’s better to see it from here, isn’t it?” Oruggio told Qifrey with a grin, resting a hand against the bark of a huge tree.
Sitting on a root, Qifrey moved his damp stare away from his best friend to scan the streets of Ezrest which all seemed to lead to its huge castle. They were lit up, and he could see the flames of the jugglers from a distance, and the flags he saw earlier were flapping to the rhythm of the wind.
Oruggio was right. From the riverbank, there were no stares, no whispering: people looked so harmless. He nodded.
After some time spent watching the lights of the celebrations, Qifrey heard people cheering and then music. First, a violin, then the song got louder and merrier with the addition of a squeezebox, and finally a percussion instrument. He saw the crowd split in two groups, standing on opposite sides.
“What’s going on?” He asked, curious.
“It’s a popular dance here, I had to learn it years ago!” Oruggio explained, scrunching his nose a bit. Qifrey wondered if it was something his best friend had disliked learning or if he just hated being forced to do it.
With a sigh, Qifrey grasped at his own fancy cape. “Oh, I see. I don’t really know any dances…” he admitted. Maybe he’d known them once, but not anymore. Not sure why, or perhaps for shame, he avoided meeting Oruggio’s eyes.
To his surprise, after a few moments Oruggio giggled, earning Qifrey’s attention, then spinned dramatically and bowed, holding up the hem of his gown. Pretending to be dancing with an invisible partner, he hopped twice, then switched place, turned; Qifrey lost count of the steps easily.
But he smiled, warmly and comfortably. And thus Oruggio carried on with his performance.
“Such a delightful evening. Don’t you agree?” He mocked in a low voice, then leapt around and replied in a different tone, “Never as delightful as yourself!”
It made Qifrey giggle, and Oruggio paused his performance for a second to look at him. Qifrey wasn’t sure what face he was wearing, but in response to it Oruggio took a step closer and pulled him up.
He swayed Qifrey’s arms and showed the right bow and Qifrey did his best to follow, in spite of his heart beating loudly. How could Oruggio always be so kind and friendly to him?
Even more incredibly, Oruggio seemed to like him more than others: Qifrey was observant enough to notice the extra effort his friend put in making sure he was happy or at least comfortable in every situation.
“It’s easy. It’s just like this!”
Neither of them cared much about dancing, but it felt nice. To be guided, supported, smiled at; to be accepted.
Following the rhythm of the song, Oruggio gave Qifrey a basic, quick lesson. Perhaps quicker than they would have intended, for Oruggio suddenly tripped on a tree root and they both toppled over.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you hurt?”
They worried in unison.
And on the ground, with their hands still lightheartedly twined, they laughed until Qifrey’s cheeks hurt.
“So Richeh is choosing Agathe’s clothes, and Tetia is choosing Coco’s…” Oruggio sums up, fiddling with one of the antique clothing boxes.
“And vice versa!” Tetia shouts.
“And vice versa…” He repeats with a hum, as their brushbuddy hops on his arm. “Hey, Qifrey, our students will surely have fun this year.”
They are set to travel to the festival the next day, and the girls have just announced their latest idea.
Meanwhile, Tetia opens one of the boxes with a “ ta-da!” but the real size of the dress is twice her height. “Aww, I think this entire side is for adults! There must have been a mistake.” She whines dramatically with a pout on his face.
“Maybe professor Qifrey and professor Oru could wear fancy clothes too!” Coco suggests, her eyes shining.
Oruggio scratches his nape, embarrassed. “Girls…”
Qifrey, who has been savouring the scene in silence, chimes in: “I think that’s a wonderful idea! You see,” he says amused, resting a hand on Oruggio’s shoulder, “professor Oru here is a real fashion enthusiast!”
“Then why doesn’t he pick your clothes, professor? Just like we’re doing!”
“Awesome, this embroidery is so pretty!” Coco admires in a fascinated tone, crouched at Oruggio’s side, staring closely at the stars stitched on his skirt.
He bumped into the four girls while they were running outside, but they were all stopped in their tracks by his appearance. It took quite a bit of ohs and wahs before they began to offer intelligible comments.
“These clothes really suit you Professor!” Tetia adds with a dreamy expression, her hands pressed on her cheeks.
Oruggio tries to conceal his embarrassment with a huff and some grumbled words.
Honestly, he feels quite strange in them, almost undeservingly precious: a cloak of black organza with stars embroidered around his shoulders, and tassels dangling from it. Underneath, a dark blouse and a skirt whose outer layer is shorter, and made of a starred brocade cloth that is cut in a few corners hanging down, each ending with a tassel.
He feels enveloped in elegance that has been embossed with devotion; in such fond, delicate fabric that he would treasure for the most valuable present in the world.
“Professor Qifrey did a splendid job with them!”
Oruggio softens at the words, affection springing in his chest. “You girls don’t think they’re too much for a festival?” He asks, turning to Agathe and Richeh for more critical opinions.
“Professor looks very happy in them, so it doesn’t matter,” Richeh answers.
Agathe, instead, gives him a raised eyebrow. “They’re clothes, and they look nice. You and Professor Qifrey are acting way too nervous about this… Come on, we’re missing the performances,” she says, pushing the rest of the pupils outside.
Oruggio lets out a chuckle and, curious about that last remark, decides to grab the doorknob to the main bedroom, along with the cape destined to his partner.
He finds Qifrey standing in front of a mirror, inspecting the details of his sleeves. It’s a pattern of branches and leaves in green lace that extends to his palms and matches his collar. His fingers hover on the fabric, his expression distant.
Oruggio props the cape on a stool and clears his throat. Qifrey instantly jumps up, turning to him.
There are a few moments of silence as they stare at each other, and Oruggio would be utterly embarrassed by the way Qifrey’s eye trails all over his figure, if he weren’t too busy contemplating the splendor before him.
It was Oruggio who put together the ensemble, he knows. He picked the lace pattern, and the belt of knotted strings that form a leaf stem around his waist, with tassels pointing down. He meticulously searched for a gown embroidered with beads which gradually take the shape of roots as they fall down the skirt. He knew they’d look nice.
But now he realizes they would be nothing but pieces of cloth and strings and threads without Qifrey wearing them.
Surprisingly, it’s Qifrey who speaks first, stepping closer and reaching to fix the collar of Oruggio’s cloak. “I chose well,” he declares, and then caresses the moon charm of his earring. There is a light in his gaze, a thrill in his touch that sends heat to Oruggio’s cheeks and chest.
“You pass the fashion test,” he jokes. “What do you think of yours?”
“Oh, Oru, these are magnificent. Perhaps they are too pretty for me…” He answers, looking down to iron his skirt.
Heavens! This witch is ridiculous, Oruggio thinks, and instinctively, gently, takes Qifrey’s hand. He presses its clothed back against his cheek and feels the texture of the lace, smells the soap from Qifrey’s skin. When Oruggio’s breath brushes against it, he notices Qifrey’s eyelashes flutter. “Nonsense.”
“Still, I got this for you.” He takes the cape he was carrying, and wraps it around Qifrey’s body, securing it with the sun-shaped brooch Oruggio handpicked. He tidies the ribbons falling from it and smiles, ready to take his love outside.
Oruggio squeezes Qifrey’s hand, a bit secretly to keep the gesture between them only. Despite the hostility towards him has subsided throughout the years, Qifrey still draws the witches’ attention, particularly today.
He’s stunning, that’s why. He has to bite a doting smile back.
In front of them, a performance is occurring in the main plaza, and their disciples on the other side of the stage are clapping at the entertainers. Qifrey brings his free hand to his heart with a fond smile.
“They’re having fun,” Oruggio observes.
Before his companion can say something back, a whisper reaches Oruggio’s ears. “Isn’t that Oruggio with Qifrey? I see they’re still together. Unbelievable, right?” Someone says. Someone else hums in agreement.
Oruggio would love to have a good chuckle. Unbelievable? He finds it the most predictable event in history, rather. Natural, perhaps predestined and unquestionably inevitable. Of course they’re still together. Is it odd? Oruggio loves him the same way stars burn in the sky, just like trees soak up sunlight; in spite of the threatening clouds and the times of drought. It’s always been growing within him, thriving.
When he looks up, there’s a blush tinting Qifrey’s cheeks, his eye searching the crowd for nothing in particular, and between their skirts he fidgets with Oruggio’s fingers.
And Oruggio does what he’s done a few times before: he tugs his lover’s hand and takes him somewhere else. Somewhere a bit less crowded. Just between two tents, still close to the plaza but among people busily walking by so nobody pays mind to them. They can even see their pupils chatting.
When he halts and takes a look at Qifrey, his heart cuts a caper in his chest. Perhaps it’s the festive air, maybe his attire, or the way his pretty blue eye is gazing back at him: dazed, thrilled and fond all in one expression. He leaves Oruggio no choice but to seize the back of his neck and capture his lips for a moment.
When he opens his eyes again, they’re still so close Oruggio can feel Qifrey’s kissed skin hovering against his beard, and their fingers are still clutching at each other.
Qifrey blinks a few times, and then grins teasingly, humming and settling his other hand on the fire witch’s waist. “Did you pull me here to get a kiss?”
Oruggio begins to play with the hair on his best friend’s nape. “I just thought you wanted to get away for a bit…”
Qifrey’s expression shifts into a soft, pleased smile then. “You needn’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he assures, and Oruggio feels the hand on his waist moving up to fix his hair instead, only for a few seconds. It makes his eyelashes tremble with tenderness. “Though I have to admit that I like it better here.”
Oruggio is on the point of agreeing when the music playing in the plaza changes, distracting them; the air becomes filled with something sweeter. Someone walking by claps, and Oruggio hears the soft notes of violins first, other instruments following, and a tambourine that sets the rhythm. One, two, three, one, two, three; it’s a cheerful waltz.
With their hands already in a favourable pose, it takes Qifrey one second and an alluring stare to suddenly pull Oruggio’s body one step closer to him.
Oruggio lets out a weak gasp in surprise, but when he meets Qifrey’s gaze his lips naturally curl in an enamoured smile for the way he’s being swallowed in by the blue of his eye. It’s always different and it’s always the same. It has the power to perfectly reflect or conceal everything around him and inside him. There will always be a seabed of melancholy underneath, but Oruggio would still kneel down before the universe and thank fate, for the love he sees in it is deep and immense.
Enchanted, he sets foot into the ocean like he always does, devotedly and fierily. He tightens his grip around Qifrey’s hand and straightens up, beginning to sway for a bit.
By dint of the expectations thrown onto him, Oruggio had the chance to become familiar with dancing at a young age and practice with a few people, while Qifrey has only ever had one teacher and one partner. But he’s learned to follow Oruggio quickly and in the blink of an eye they’ve caught onto the simple pattern.
Oruggio doesn’t have a care in the world. Qifrey’s hand is keeping him close, firm against his back, and their students are having fun. The pale afternoon sun has favoured the celebrations, yet the air is crisp and humid and it smells like pastries and caramelised fruit. “It’s such a wonderful day, isn’t it?” He comments casually, rubbing at the witch’s nape again.
Qifrey chuckles and takes a breath, wearing a bright look on his face. He tilts his head down so their noses almost touch. “You’re just as wonderful,” he whispers.
Oruggio blinks at him once, twice, flustered. He registers Tetia’s voice somewhere scolding their brushbug, feels Qifrey’s fingers holding tight onto his skin and clothes, notices the way the sun-shaped brooch shimmers, hears the sound of their shoes against the cobblestone. And he grins with ineradicable affection, as a warm memory of their childhood comes back to him.