WHO Dorian Storm and Orym WHERE Their bedroom in the Spooky House WHEN Evening of September 29 WHAT The boys have a long overdue conversation and come to a very sensible conclusion. STATUS Complete ART CREDIThere WARNINGS Brief mention of spousal loss, otherwise Yearningā¢.
How you feel very much matters. That's what Gilmore said, and Dorian had, more or less, taken it to heart. His feelings weren't something to be pushed aside by his own hangups and insecurities, and they certainly weren't ones that felt fair to keep from Orym. Especially if they started to be obvious, or worse unreciprocated. No, that wasn't worse. That was a scenario Dorian had talked himself through a hundred times. It was one Gilmore had more or less guided him on.
So then why did he look like he was about to spontaneously combust? His reflection in the mirror, even after he had splashed, what felt like, a bucket of water on his face was making his normally calm blue skin look like a patchy shade of purple from blushing. He was fine, this was fine, it was Orym. There was nothing to worry about.
Dorian knew that Orym was going to ask if he was okay if he spent any more time in the bathroomāand the hypothetical embarrassment was making his anxiety work itself up even more. Dorian wasn't sure if he could sleep another night beside Orym and consider it purely platonic. It was unfair to not say something. So he was going to say something, he was going to just sayā
"Hi," Dorian said, throwing open the bathroom door. The ensuite in their house was a blessing and a curse. He wished he had a few more seconds to walk down the hall to their room instead of being right in it. But he had already started talking and he couldn't stop now without it becoming extremely awkward. Like it wasn't already with Dorian braced in the doorframe.
"Can we talk? And it's a serious talk. But not a bad talk. I hope it's not a bad talk. It might be a bad talk to you. Or a good talk. It's just a talk, I don't know how to say what it is before you agree to it." Dorian was out of breath, before he added. "Hi, can I start that over?"
Sat upon the floor, Orym's gaze lifted slowly from where he had been looking at his shield to instead survey Dorian in the bathroom door. His shield was resting on his legs, a cloth in one hand as he buffed and polished the metal. It wasn't something that he had to do every day since coming to Vallo thanks to the lack of near daily combat as Orym put himself between his friends and their foes, but he still took the time and found it calming when he did. Normally, it was something that helped him clear his mind, almost as calming as his morning Zeph'aeratam.
It had been harder to clear his mind lately, though. That wasn't all too uncommon; as calm as Orym was, he had an active mind and plenty of things on it. This time, though, it wasn't a mission from the Tempest or mysteries from his friends' pasts or jello monsters in Vallo that were plaguing his mind. The subject of that wandering had, in fact, just burst through the bathroom door and rambled in a way that made Orym's chest warm from easy affection.
Though Orym had spent a lot of time with Dorian, he wouldn't have needed that experience to know that something was clearly up. He had to keep himself from immediately spiraling into possibilities. Dorian was nervous, that much was obvious, which meant that whatever it was that he wanted to talk about was important--and therefore it was immediately important to Orym, too.
"Okay." Orym set his shield aside, letting it come to rest against the wall in the place it usually resided when it wasn't being used, and pushed himself to his feet. Approaching the bed, he hopped up and sat cross-legged near the edge, looking back to Dorian. "Start over and let's talk, yeah?"
Visibly, Dorian exhaled, though not a muscle in his body untensed. That was due to the fact that every part inside of him was internally screaming. He was warring with two frontsāfear and worry that he could crush this friendship with a few words, and anticipation of what if I didn't? What if he could have the very thing that was stirring up all sorts of wonderful, glorious, heart-bursting butterflies inside of him? Hope was a terrible, terrifying thing. But the way Orym had not balked, simply allowed Dorian to flail, start over, and waited for whatever it was he had to say? Hope was impossible to ignore.
He needed to step out of the bathroom first, though.
Calmer than before, Dorian took one step, then another, gliding to assume a spot beside him on the bed. It was better to be sitting down, but it was difficult to look at Orym without feeling like he was going to ruin all the practiced words in his head. Dorian frowned, then smiled, then smiled at Orym, then frowned again, before looking away.
"I went to talk to Gilmore the other day," Dorian said. It would seem random, but it made sense to Dorian to start there. "He asked how I was doing. How everyone was doing. How you were doing. And I said you were fine, because you were. But Iā" His hands curled into the fabric of his pants, some kind of grounding.
"I always wonder how you're doing, if you're safe, and if you're happy, and how you're feeling when you sometimes get that far away look in your eye when you think no one is looking. I'm looking. I'm always looking. I think about you all the time."
Now this, Orym realized, was a conversation that he had been anticipating. Despite that, he went on to realize further, he was surprised.
Orym knew his feelings. He knew exactly how much he cared for Dorian and that those feelings had long since developed beyond friendship. Friendship was there, of course, it was the foundation and so much more, but at some point it had changed into what it was now. Because he, too, thought about Dorian all of the time. He worried after him, watched him, wanted nothing more than to see him happy.
And, even before Dorian voiced the same, Orym had a feeling that this wasn't unrequited. Even so, he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in the hope that would let his thoughts linger beyond that understanding. Even with some of his friends confirming what he thought might be the case, the last thing he wanted was to be wrong. He could push his feelings down, if it meant preserving their friendship.
But they were here, right now. They were having this conversation and, a voice in the back of Orym's mind couldn't help but remind him, this was a risk.
"Dor." Orym leaned to the side, doing his best to try to catch Dorian's gaze without fully toppling off the edge of their bed. His voice was almost always quiet, but it felt especially so in this moment. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Orā¦?"
Oh, that was worse. The way Orym said his name so softly felt like dipping into a cool river on a hot day, and his whole body relaxed. In some strange way, it almost made the most sense to be having the most intense talk about his feelings with the one person he felt the most comfortable with. The only confusing part was that those feelings were about him, too.
"I don't even know what I'm saying," Dorian said, with a bitter nervous laugh. And then his expression was a bit more panicked, and he turned to look at Orymāno need for him to almost tumble off the bed. "I do know. I know, I just don't know, if that makes sense?" He almost left it at that. Let Orym come to his own conclusions and either stay or leave, but that wasn't like Dorian. He didn't want Orym to wander incorrectly into the wrong idea. Wasn't that the whole point of this conversation?
With a dramatic exhale, Dorian slowly, hesitantly, put his hand on Orym's knee. Touching him nowāas if they hadn't spent nights curled together or twisted in one another and not said anything moreāfelt monumental. "I like you Orym." You did it, you said it his mind was cheering him on, and Dorian took with it and ran. "Not just as my best friend but as more than that."
He went to move his hand back, feeling suddenly inappropriate. "But I don't expect anything, I only wanted to tell you how I felt. Because it's better to be honest with one another, right?"
With a deftness that was normally reserved for when Orym was maneuvering about in combat, he reached out to stay Dorian's hand. Not for the first time, he noted their differences; one hand blue and larger, the other pale and halfling sized. The difference was rarely so stark as it was in that moment, with Orym turning Dorian's hand in his as though it was normal, as if it was instinct.
"I appreciate you telling me," Orym said to their hands, needing to pause a moment as he kicked up the courage to raise his eyes back up to Dorian's handsome face. There was a little squeeze in his chest as he took in this moment, which seemed to be just what he needed to admit, "I like you too. You're my best friend, but it's been far more than that for a while now. Maybe even since back home."
This wasn't the first time that Orym had been part of a conversation like this, of course. It was not the same, by any means, because Will and Dorian were very different people and, though his feelings for them both ran deep, Orym's relationship with each was unique. But for as familiar as this might have been and for as much as Orym knew he cared about Dorian, that worry and feeling of inadequacy that he had been wrestling with was hard to ignore.
"I worry, though," Orym continued, dipping his head just a bit. "I don't--I care for you so much, Dorian, and your friendship is so important to me and--" He paused, blowing out a quick breath. "I'm not making any sense."
Dorian had known, somewhere in his heart, in his mind, that these feelings hadn't been new. Just something that had lingered in their own personal atmospheres until it became untenable to keep separate orbits. Hearing Orym say it out loud made Dorian nod his head in agreementāyes, yes, me too, mine tooāand his fingers curled tightly around Orym's hand. How this point of contact had made all the difference, how tethering himself to Orym made what came next easier, even if it was the most difficult to voice.
His other hand came to touch Orym's jaw, thumb swiping ever so gently over the rough lines of his cheek. Here is where Dorian found their differences; a life of battle and courage etched on Orym's features, juxtaposed with the soft nobility of his own. Somehow they had managed to come together long enough to make a mark on one another. Maybe it was a little doomed to begin with; too much baggageāand yet. Dorian let himself have this, just this, before it all changed. For the better, this was for the better.
"I worry too," Dorian echoed, somehow making an encouraging smile look sad. "I don't want to ruin the things I have. That we have. You are my best friend too, Orym. There is no one else I would rather go through this wild adventure with than you. And I can't, I won't jeopardize that. It's why I waited so long to say something. I didn't know if it was worth making thingsā" He huffed a little sigh, clearly the emotions of being built up for so long getting the better of him. All the words were trying to spill out at the same time, tumbling over one another.
Dropping his hand from Orym's face, Dorian sat back a little. It was hard to let go of Orym's hand but he would, eventually. One step at a time. He sounded pained, as he said, "And there is. That is, if you're not ready. I'm not trying to replace. Or, you know, push if." Will's name was left unsaid but Dorian was awkwardly dancing around it.
Unbidden, Orym felt his body follow Dorian's retreating hand for just the briefest of moments before he caught himself. He missed the warmth and tenderness of the touch almost immediately, a luxury that he hadn't allowed himself to want for over six years. A part of him even missed the feel of Dorian's hand in his, despite that they hadn't broken that contact--not yet.
But still, he followed Dorian's lead and sat back a bit himself, straightening as he considered. Orym knew how the topic of Will wasn't always easy for others to approach with him; he had only recently found a new ease in speaking of his late husband and an appreciation for keeping his memory alive in doing so. There would always be a part of him that would feel an ache when he stared at the moon for too long, even this moon in Vallo that was similar to but not actually Catha. There would never be a time where he wouldn't mourn Will and wonder what their lives might have been had they not been guards, had they not been on duty that day, had shadow people hadn't torn apart his family.
There would never be a time when Will was not a part of him, but that didn't make his feelings for Dorian any lesser than. If anything, hearing Dorian talk around the subject only strengthened those feelings. There was a respect there, of both Orym and his past, and he appreciated it more than he could put into words. He was not, as he had said time and again, the wordsmith of the pair.
"It means a lot to me," Orym started, his thumb making a slow brush over Dorian's own, "that you're thinking of that at all. When he died, I thought that was it, you know? I'd had my happiness and it was cut short, but that's life. It was real good, but... that's life." He swallowed, then smiled--small, sad, and a little resigned. "And then you came along.
"You've changed my life in a lot of ways." Normally when Orym said that sort of thing, he was quick to tag on that all of their friends had; it was true, they absolutely had, but it was different with Dorian. "And, I guess, it's like you said. I don't want to jeopardize it, either."
"I don't think your happiness should have an ending. That's not a way to live life, expecting a good thing to stop but never knowing when. Happiness, your happiness, is infinite, with so much possibility." There was an apology implied between the lines, the one that had no real basisāDorian wasn't there to help save Will, they didn't even know each other then, but it was an empathic apology. The kind that said I know: he knew that hurt would always be with Orym was not something he could fix, only ease so that it wouldn't be so bad.
Maybe that was the happiness Orym needed.
Later, when Dorian had time to consider his options and replay this conversation, he'd realize he should have clung tighter to the words and then you came along. What that meant, and how he missed the point so precisely. But for now, he watched Orym stroke a thumb over his, and soaked up the affection for what it was. And for what he was inevitably giving up because the closeness they had built already as friends was more important.
"So now what?" Dorian asked. He usually had the answers, or some kind of plan that he could improvise as things happened, but this felt like something that required thought. Discussion. A way to move forward so they didn't sit in this uncertainty forever.
"We both have feelings for one another," Dorian began, laying out the facts that had just been uncovered. He should have been happier, knowing that there was reciprocation from Orym, but somehow he still felt sad. Momentary sadnessāit's not goodbye, it's see you laterābut happiness in the long run. "But we both value our friendship more. We have been through so much, not just here, but before, in Exandria, that I don't know if I would even be here, having this conversation, even contemplating thisā" Dorian gestured weakly to the air above his head. "Without you."
"I know that I wouldn't, without you." Orym's head listed to the side, watching Dorian as he considered the adventures that the two of them had shared. It was, after all, somewhere between the protective moments and the gifts of healing magic all over Exandria and the patching up of injuries and the rescue from a dance party in Vallo that Orym's feelings had morphed into what they were now. It was also where their friendship had developed, starting as near strangers in Emon and surviving tense moments thanks to a vestige of the Spider Queen to become this.
Orym took in another deep breath, releasing it slowly before trying to put his warring thoughts into words. "I don't know if it's totally possible, but I don't really want things to change between us. I still want us to hang out and talk about anything and just--be friends."
A queasy feeling washed through Orym, slow and full of worry. Like Dorian, part of why he had never approached this topic was out of fear that just speaking it into existence would cause an irreparable shift in their dynamic. Could they just go back to normal? Could they share their space as they did, knowing what they knew now? Could a friendship like theirs continue to flourish when they knew that there might have been potential for more, if they had chosen a different path in this moment? Orym didn't know. They were stepping into a territory that he just did not have experience in.
"But," he continued, that doubt creeping into his voice, "that's just if you want it, too. I would understand if you needed space, instead."
"Nothing is going to change," Dorian said, knowing full well everything would change after this. Not obviously, maybe not even right away, but it would. New thoughts that hadn't occurred before; what if scenarios if this conversation went differently; brief hesitations that would stack on top of each other until Dorian second guessed the gesture all together. But for now, he vowed he wouldn't. He'd push all of that aside and keep doing what he always didānow with the knowledge that Orym felt the same way. It hasn't been all in his mind.
Dorian placed a firm hand on Orym's shoulder, for comfort and for proof they weren't going to change. He most likely wither away without this friendship; the steady presence of Orym of the Air Ashari, who chose to be his friend.
"I would like to stay, if you'll have me." He glanced to the empty bed, the one they shared platonically. The one that was harder to share when it was just two of them and not three. But he could hear that creeping uncertainty in Orym's voice, and he didn't think he could bear to be responsible for it if it continued. "I think if I took some space now it would be awful." He laughed a little, brighter and lighter than the tension that had built. Dorian, always unintentionally, breaking the awkwardness in a situation. It was his sixth sense and perhaps part of the ability he had learned from his station in life.
"I'd probably pace around the hallways, drive everyone nuts. Then find a quiet place to play on the lute instead. Nothing out of the ordinary, actually. But I thinkā" Dorian shook his head. "No, I'd rather stay."
"Okay. I'd rather you stay, too." Orym smiled, small and probably more relieved than he would have liked to express, but a smile nevertheless. There was a reason that he had never been much of a liar and that reason was his inability to keep his feelings from his expression; in this moment, though, he was glad for the natural honesty.
Just as he was glad for Dorian being honest and bringing this all up in the first place. He knew that it couldn't have been easy and along with all of the many, many emotions that this conversation had sent spinning within Orym's mind and heart, there was a sense of pride for his friend for doing the hard thing. It wasn't that he hadn't seen Dorian make tough choices before, but just that he kept doing it. It had been, and would still be, he hoped, a delight to see the other man's journey.
"Thank you, by the way." He lifted his free hand, letting it rest on Dorian's at his shoulder. It made for two points of contact that would almost certainly hurt to break when the time inevitably came, but Orym was a little selfish, it seemed. "For bringing this up, I mean. It's something that has been on my mind for a while and I just kept finding reasons to not bring it up. So--thank you."
"Don't thank me," Dorian said, blustering immediately. It was a polite brush off in the same way he small talked all the big names in Jrusar at the party. Something ingrained in him from the moment he was born, second nature. He never needed to be thanked, and certainly not for this. Being brave about his personal feelings was what Dorian should have always been. The fact that he took so long made him want to apologize.
"Truly, you don't need to, but I will take it because I have a feeling you won't allow me to get away with not." Dorian smiled then, a little nod to their friendship. How well they knew one another and how they would react to situations. This was what Dorian was preserving, this was what Dorian had spilled all his feelings out for Orym for, only to now clean them up in a slow and deliberate way.
Side to side, touching shoulder to shoulder, Dorian drew Orym into a gentle embrace. He had done this a hundred times beforeāsome out of joy, some because they were saying goodbye, and he wasn't quite sure what this one represented. "Thank you then, Orym. For listening. I have wanted to bring it up too, but it never felt like the right time. I'm still not convinced it was the right time, but I'm glad I did because there never is going to be one. I'd wait forever."
He squeezed him tighter, before he loosened his embrace. "I unintentionally went to Gilmore for advice."
At the squeeze and then gentle pull away, Orym's eyes fluttered shut and he had to utilize more self control than he was prepared to admit to not just bring Dorian back in again. Touch was not something he had necessarily been starved for, particularly not between the two of them, but he felt as though he needed to relish this for as long as he could.
Unwilling to make it awkward, though, he likewise loosened his arms around Dorian and let out a soft chuckle. "He has a lot of wisdom to give, intentionally or not." Orym lifted a hand to push his fingers through his hair in an attempt at nonchalance. He suddenly wondered exactly what Dorian had said to the sorcerer and just what he had been told in return, but he also wasn't sure it was any of his business. Whatever it had been, it had led them to this moment. "It's funny to see how that really didn't change, thirty-some odd years younger."
Finally, Orym pulled back more fully, his hands his own and with a little more space between them both. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. They had made the right decision.
Letting go had been difficult. Much like his last parting with Orym in Jrusar to head on an airship with his brother, Dorian felt the same similar pang of loneliness. He didn't understand why, but he didn't dwell in it. There was too much emotion stirring in this metaphorical pot and anything resembling doubt that he threw in there would ruin this place of balance that he and Orym had reached.
"I blame Gilmore's tea," Dorian added, trying to keep this new thread of conversation going. Mostly because it was something they would have talked about before, gentle ribbing and teasing andāoh, flirting. It was flirting that they had done before. He could think that now, say it now that he had acknowledged both their feelings for one another. But that was just part of their friendship now, right?
Dorian stood, brushing invisible dirt off his pants, his hands anxious. "Speaking of, would you like some? I think I am going to make a cup, or a pot. I'm sure someone will hear me downstairs and come looking."
As always, Orym's eyes lingered on Dorian, watching him as he stood and observing his posture, his body language. There was little that he missed, particularly when it came to those he cared about, and Dorian was no exception. He recognized the anxiety rolling off of Dorian--not only because he felt some of it himself, but because he'd known the genasi long enough to recognize the signs and Orym wouldn't be Orym if he didn't try to relieve that.
Normal. They could be normal. (Right?)
And so, mentally, he took a deep breath and then nodded, smiling and taking care to try to look as nonchalant as the ruffling of his hair had been a moment before. "Tea sounds great."