WHO: Orym (+ cameo of sleeping Dorian) WHERE: Orym and Dorian's room in the Bells Hells house WHEN: Morning of September 11 WHAT: Vallo gives Orym a gift and it leaves him contemplating feelings. WARNINGS: Spoilers for Orym's backstory, spousal loss. ART CREDIT:Here
Orym woke slowly, something that had become a bit of a habit since he had settled into life in Vallo. Though he still woke early, he rarely needed his alarm to get up early enough to do his morning Zeph'aeratam exercises before he started his day fully; if he did need an alarm, it normally had something to do with alcohol consumption the night before. The night prior had been a relaxing one, though, and instead Orym came to consciousness at his own leisure. It felt good to be in a position where he felt comfortable enough to do so, no longer needing to trade watches or sleep lightly out of fear that he may need to get up and defend himself or his people at a moment's notice.
And yes, maybe he had claimed the side of the bed that was closest to the door out of that same deep-seated need to protect, but some habits were hard to shake.
After all, it was a small concession to make, particularly when the person he was attempting to protect was Dorian. Dorian, his best friend whose back Orym was currently curled up against and whose hair was currently in Orym's face--something he noticed first through the strands tickling his nose, then when he fluttered his eyes open to find that the genasi's braid had moved to cover his face at some point in the night when the two had inevitably gravitated into one another's space.
Blowing out a small huff of breath and quickly finding it wasn't nearly enough to push the wayward braid, Orym accepted his fate and rolled to the side. He immediately regretted the sudden loss of warmth, no matter if the amount of early morning light filtering into their room through the crack in the curtains told him that it was about time he got up anyway. Still, a part of him cursed his morning person self as he looked over at Dorian's sleeping form, an all too familiar fondness sparking to life in his chest.
He didn't know if it was strange that they had kept up with the bed sharing habit after Fearne's return to Exandria. What he did know, though, was that he really didn't care if it was. His complicated feelings for Dorian aside, it wasn't hard to compare the security he felt with him to when he had been traveling alone for so many years before stumbling upon the other Crown Keepers and eventually the rest of Bells Hells. Yes, his feelings for Dorian were complicated and occasionally distracting, but this felt simple. Orym wasn't about to put a wrench in it, not when he was fairly certain that he wasn't alone in the thought.
Forcing himself to look away from Dorian, a feat he wasn't ready to admit to himself got more difficult every morning, Orym stretched his arms up above his head, wincing as everything popped back into place after hours of stillness. He then reached for his phone to confirm his suspicions on what time it was and froze as his eyes landed on the piece of jewelry that was set on the bedside table. It was a ring, a ring that was looped through a leather cord. It was a very familiar ring, one he had thought lost to the distance between himself and Exandria. It was Will's wedding band, sitting there as innocent and innocuous as any ring of metal was.
Keeping his movements as fluid as possible in an attempt to not wake Dorian, Orym slid across the bed and picked up the ring. To most, it didn't look like anything all too special. It was a simple band, silver in color and textured, and threaded onto a plain black cord. The ring itself had sat on Will's left hand as often as he could get away with wearing it, then around his neck when he couldn't due to their work. Orym had done the same with his own ring, much smaller but otherwise identical.
Holding the ring, Orym shifted to pull his legs up to his chest. Will hadn't been that burly of a man, but most anyone was in comparison to the small, wiry halfling. Without realizing he was even doing it, the ring slid onto each of his fingers, as though he was measuring to see if it might fit. He ended with his thumb--still far too big and not at all snug, but there. They had been young when they'd gotten married, barely into their careers and only a step away from the financial support of their parents, but they had still wanted a token, a reminder of the promise that they'd made to one another below their favorite tree, in full cherry blossom bloom, with their friends and family around them. The rings were simple, but they were theirs and they stood for something real and beautiful.
Will had been buried with his, Orym having been torn between wanting the keepsake and feeling wrecked by the notion of Will being separated from that token. Orym's was in Zephrah as well, he assumed, left with his mother for safekeeping until he returned after his wandering journey of self-discovery. Both rings were likely still there in Exandria, this a gift from Vallo and not a theft.
As he looked down at the ring, Orym felt the bed shift behind him. Turning quickly, he found only a still fast asleep Dorian, having simply turned over in his slumber. The warmth that he inspired was still there in his chest, but now accompanied by a sharp twinge.
Orym knew that Will would be pleased to see him having developed these feelings. They had conversations about it--they would have had to, having gone into their lives and choices with their eyes open and knowing the possibilities of how everything could dovetail with no warning. It came with the job of being a Tempest Blade, protecting one of the most powerful people in all of Exandria. Though there had been hope that they would live out their long lives together and it hadn't necessarily provided comfort when the worst did happen, they knew the possibilities and neither of them wanted the other to put their lives on hold indefinitely out of mourning. They deserved happiness, no matter what that looked like. If he could ask Will what he thought he should do, Orym knew what he would say.
But his mind wandered back to the conversation he had with Imogen. She was right, of course. (She normally was, in Orym's opinion.) He was fairly certain that these feelings that he had were not unrequited; he didn't know the strength and to what extent, but he knew that there was something that existed between himself and Dorian that was more than just a friendship. It was hard for him to understand, sometimes. Dorian was, after all, Dorian and he was just, well, himself.
And that, he supposed, was part of why he hadn't done anything about what was brewing between them in either direction. Yes, there was the fear that any shift in a new direction could mean that the very good thing they already had going could come to an end, but Dorian, Orym was absolutely positive, deserved so much. They had been through a lot together and his friend had gone through so much transformation and growth since they had met in Emon and Orym felt so fortunate to have been lucky enough to witness it. He deserved good things, uncomplicated things--and Orym wasn't sure, with everything he carried, he was either of those things, at least for Dorian.
It was an argument he'd had with himself time and again these last several weeks. He prided himself in being practical and this, he thought, was exactly that. It was little comfort, though, when Dorian would meet his gaze across the room while playing at the Crossed Quills and smile or when they would have a silent conversation amongst their friends through nothing more than head tilts, eyebrow raises, and shoulder shrugs or when Orym would wake up with the genasi's hair in his face or arm slung over his body or some other sleepily unconscious movement that brought them close together.
The gift of this ring was a kindness, he thought as he placed it back in his palm, his small hand closing around it, but also a reminder. What that meant, Orym wasn't sure of yet. It was one more thing to think about.
Letting out a sigh, Orym looped the cord over his head, pressing the ring to his lips once before he let it fall against his bare chest to provide a weight that he was glad to recognize as comforting. A handful of moments after waking up wasn't the time to let that thinking overtake him, that much he knew. Later, he could try to work through this, if there was anything to work through at all.
Now, Orym simply slid out of their bed, giving one final, long glance toward Dorian, then resolved himself to begin his day.