WHO Orym and Dorian Storm WHERE The market at the Barns WHEN November 1 WHAT Dorian buys scarves and the two meander the market as they discuss the current time shenanigans. STATUS Complete ART CREDIThere WARNINGS Orym's late husband has a mention, but otherwise none!
"I've got them, but—" Dorian stumbled over his words as he approached Orym with a bundle of brightly woven knit fabric.
They had come to the market to just come, nothing particularly of need or desire. The last few weeks had been a strange, wonderful, weird whirlwind, and Dorian was doing his best to keep up. This thing with Orym was still so lovely and new, and sometimes he caught himself wondering if the dream was going to end. But there were things—like future children and randomly de-aging people—that made Dorian question his own subconscious enough to deem this reality. The reality that was normal for Vallo.
But attempting to keep their lives going in this forward momentum was important. So doing things like going to the market at the Barns to purchase food, flowers, and fiber arts was ordinary enough to scratch that itch. Going with Orym, sometimes hand-in-hand unless they broke apart to pursue a specific stall, was a perk. It put their relationship, the fledgling version of it on display, and Dorian could appreciate that that too wasn't a dream, kept locked away at their house in the forest with the other Bells Hells.
The weather had started to become cooler, and the warm summer sun disappeared earlier and earlier. Dorian had been determined to get something for Orym while they were here today to combat that, and distinctly avoid the topic of conversation that had been traitorously circling his mind since the first child of Vallo had shown up.
However, knitwear was not necessarily one-size-fits-all.
"But well, I hadn't really been paying attention to the length, only the colors. And I loved this one with—well, it matched your eyes, and I didn't think to ask for something smaller until after I paid her and walked over here with... you'll see," Dorian said, apologetic as he unraveled the two scarves: one, a devastating beautiful sunset ombre, which he draped around his own neck; the other, a handsomely-shaded green one, that was clearly longer than Orym was tall.
It was easy to see the predicament presented--in fact, it was one that Orym probably could have predicted, had he been thinking enough to give a warning when Dorian had left to peruse the scarves. Now, though, he just smiled as he watched Dorian with the scarves, feeling a now all too expected warmth blossom from his chest.
Not too much had changed, in the grand scheme of his relationship with Dorian. They had always spent much of their time together, whether that was running errands together, finding new places to check out and explore, or just hanging out back at the house. Often they were accompanied by one or many of the rest of their friends, but they had always made time just for the two of them. That hadn't changed, even if now that time together tended to include extensive hand holding or, if adequate privacy was given, extensive kissing.
But, despite that not much having truly changed, everything had changed. There were the little things, like how Orym no longer felt like he had to try and hide the long looks he gave Dorian from across a room or blush when he was inevitably caught. It was the bigger things, like how he had been proven wrong and he did get to feel this lightness again, despite being so sure that he had gotten his one chance, that caught him off guard and just left him a bit happily surprised at the turns his life had taken in the last however many months.
That was exactly where his thoughts fell, as he watched Dorian with the scarves, warm and smiling.
"It's beautiful," Orym said, because it was true and a very real part of him was touched that Dorian had gone out of his way in the first place. He reached out to tug on Dorian's jacket, the not-so-subtle sign that he wanted the taller man to come down to his shorter level. "Let me help with yours and then we'll sort out mine."
Dorian wasted no time, and immediately came down with the gentle tug. The soft embarrassment still lingered, even as he leaned in for Orym to take the scarf he bought for himself. "I should have asked. She has so many options, I'm certain she could have found something that would have fit. But then it wouldn't have been the right color and—" Dorian made a tutting noise at himself, while letting his attention shift back to the booth. Maybe he could just take another look; he had been rushing because he wanted to get back to Orym, because he always wanted to get back to Orym and—
He was mentally rambling again, and he could sense that Orym was probably picking up on it. Even when Dorian thought he was being sneakily clever at hiding things, Orym probably saw right through him. And instead of feeling wary that someone could know him so well, the thought managed to warm him through. Maybe he didn't need a scarf after all; thoughts of Orym could keep the bitter chill at bay during winter.
He didn't waste time, and looped the oversized scarf around Orym's neck at the same time his hands came to fuss with his. "There were hats too. Do you think I could convince her to do a custom matching order?"
"If anyone could convince her," Orym said, tone matter-of-fact as he carefully looped, secured, and adjusted Dorian's scarf, "it's you." His fingers brushed over the soft scarf once before doing the same along Dorian's sharp cheekbone, the touch tender and making Orym smile because he simply could be tender if he wanted to. He didn't think the novelty of that would ever wear off.
Once he had finished, Orym let his arms fall to stand a bit still as he let Dorian give the same treatment to his own scarf. "I don't know how cold it's meant to get here," he continued, following the flow of their conversation. "So a hat is probably a good idea, just in case. Our ears are too long to go without protection from the cold." That was very "dad friend" of him, both by way of the joke and his being overprotective. Oh, well. Some things never would change.
Orym let his head tip forward just a bit, watching Dorian and his smile growing with every loop of the scarf. Before long, he knew that the only way his boyfriend would know he was smiling was from the way the corners of his eyes were creased as the scarf would inevitably cover up half his face.
As he continued to wrap the scarf around Orym, it didn't seem to end and Dorian's brows rose higher with each loop. His expression was an amalgamation of concern, amusement, and gentle humiliation. He could feel another market-goer's attention glance off them, and Dorian only briefly acknowledged them with a dismissive hand wave, as if to say nothing to see here.
"Oh, Orym," Dorian said, clearly holding back a laugh as he stepped back. The whole scene was ridiculous: his boyfriend was more scarf than face, buried under knitwear. And while Dorian could see the smile in his eyes, it made it all very difficult to kiss his mouth. He settled for kissing his available forehead instead. "At least you will be warm. There is enough there to cover your head too, as a makeshift hat until I find you a suitable one."
He tried to pull up a bit in the back, but it slid back down. No hat then. "Perhaps I will need to get everyone's sizes before I buy anything else wearable for the winter. They do make lovely gifts though," Dorian said, touching the own ends of his scarf, thoughtful. He obviously had something on his mind, and instead of waiting for Orym to catch him, Dorian thought it best to just say it. "Do you suppose the others—" The children, the ones who had been here a little over a week now, "—will be here long enough that we should get them gifts as well?"
Orym was still smiling from behind his scarf, but for more reasons than he really realized. Amusement from what he imagined he looked like, of course, but also the concern for the newest arrivals, his use of we when getting the gifts, the fact that he hadn't had to coax out of Dorian whatever was on his mind. None of those things, even the last, didn't surprise Orym too much at this point in their friendship--in their relationship--but it nevertheless made him happy to witness.
Reaching up, he tugged down on the mass of scarf just enough so his words wouldn't be muffled when he spoke. It revealed that otherwise hidden smile for a flash before he said, "I'm not sure. It sounded like they were only here a couple of weeks the last time, but who knows with this place. They might appreciate it, regardless." None of what was going on currently in Vallo had touched Orym just yet, outside of the other Exandrians and some other acquaintances having children arrive or ages get played with. He hadn't yet decided if that was a good or bad thing just yet; compared to the loops earlier in the month, it didn't seem so terrible a thing.
Orym let his gaze linger over toward where Dorian had found the scarves in the first place, flickering over the different flashes of color in consideration for a moment before he looked back up. "I think it's real thoughtful of you to consider doing it in the first place."
Like many compliments from friends and loved ones, Dorian took them gracefully albeit modestly. He was always ready to say, well, not exactly or well, not really or some other way to dismiss it. He was not as unselfish as he had been made out to be, but somehow Orym, along with the rest of the Bells Hells, found this untrue. Dorian exchanged a smile with Orym now that he could see it, and didn't well, actually anything.
"Even a few weeks, it might be nice to know that they are welcome any time. I assume they know some of us in the future, right?" Dorian asked, dipping down nonchalantly—as composed as one could be bending over—to take Orym's hand in his. They had other tables to 'window shop' at, and other people to casually watch as they wandered, now appropriately scarved.
But even as they walked, hand-in-hand, Dorian's mind was somewhere else. The future had him think far too much about everything, and Dorian was easily overwhelmed without focus. "Do you think they would tell us if they did? They've been forthright with their parents, but what if we're not here in the future. Or we somehow had a terrible falling out with the other Exandrians and they don't want to speak to us anymore? I know I wouldn't let it happen, but what if? The children have—ah, unexpectedly, made me question many things about what the future holds for the rest of us."
Implied, but not said, Dorian also meant, or lack of one.
Just like that, Dorian was hitting on a few worries that had been percolating in Orym's own mind, even if he hadn't let himself linger on them long enough to be fully realized. With the disappearances of Fearne and Dariax, as well as Beau and Yasha, it had become increasingly clear that life in Vallo wasn't necessarily guaranteed. There seemed to be no true rhyme or reason behind people being returned home, but it was also made clear in the last week that some people would be staying for a very long time. It was easy, then, for the worry to start to set in, even if just in the back of one's mind, when each day progressed without visitors from the future directly related to himself and Dorian or any of their other closest friends.
As much as there were people and things that he missed from Exandria, Orym had laid the foundation to a life in Vallo that he didn't especially want to give up. He had made friends, deepened friendships, and figured out what it was that had been brewing between himself and Dorian. He rather wanted to see where that all was going, especially given the uncertainty that he last remembered from their home.
Orym brought their joined hands in close, so he could press his lips in what he hoped was a comforting way to Dorian's knuckles. "They've made me wonder a lot of things about the future, too. You're not alone there."
With a gentle squeeze, Orym let their hands swing between them once more. "I wish I could tell you, to ease both our minds," he continued, head tipped back to look away from the wares around them and instead to Dorian's handsome face. "I would like to hope that we're all still here and the reason they haven't mentioned us is because it's not too out of the ordinary that we're around in the first place. We could always ask, though?"
"Ah, no, you don't have to have all the answers to ease my mind. I'm just—lots of thoughts, questions that are inevitable, you know, the usual," Dorian said, smiling down at Orym, hiding his unease. The same thoughts had traitorously invaded his mind when Laudna and Orym remembered parts of home that no one else had seemed to recall. It had been jarring, knowing that death was on the table, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. Only hope that home was a distant desire when they had good things here.
Dorian cleared his throat, awkwardly and pointedly, when Orym suggested that they ask. He would have preferred Orym to keep kissing the back of his hand while they walked. Dorian almost regretted bringing it up, but he knew that whatever they said between them was safely kept. "You make it sound so easy, Orym. I have drafted many letters that inquired about futures, and tossed them all. I just, it seems..." Dorian exhaled, then laughed a little bitterly, coming to a stop so he could look at Orym without pretense or distraction.
"I know what I want, what I could want that is, but I don't know if the truth is better or worse. What if it's not good? What if it is actually terrible? There is something to be said about ignorance is bliss," Dorian said. There were so many things he wanted to put to words, but they were too big for now, too grand for anything but in his mind. "I'm curious, but don't want it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy."
It would have been a lie to say that Orym wasn't immediately curious about what it was Dorian wanted out of the future. He nearly forgot at times that the two of them had only been entangled as they currently were for a few short, but very good, weeks, having already done much of the legwork through close friendship in the months leading up to it. Orym had his own ideas and hopes for the future, particularly the future that revolved around Dorian, but he likewise hadn't spoken them out loud.
And what Dorian was saying had a great deal of merit. "I can understand that," Orym said, his thumb brushing over Dorian's as their hands stayed connected. "I very much like the idea of there being good things to look forward to in the future, but I personally also like the idea of just...enjoying the journey. You know?" He squeezed Dorian's hand once more at that, giving him a smile that could be called shy from just over his scarf.
Because, at the end of the day, Orym had been convinced that he would never have this again. He might have friendships and his family in Zephrah, but a relationship? Love? He had been certain that he'd gotten his shot at all of that with Will. And while he may not have used big, four-letter words just yet, Orym knew his heart. He'd already loved Dorian as his best friend, after all. He wouldn't call this a second chance, because what he had with Will and what he had with Dorian was unique to each man, just as he felt it should be, but it was something new and exciting. He wanted to savor it.
Dorian's expression brightened. Enjoy the journey. Hadn't that always been the case? Being adventurers equated to being on the move, and if he didn't enjoy where the wind took him, the journey would be miserable. He knew that wasn't exactly what Orym meant—that this was the intangible kind, the emotional kind, the one that they were tenderly taking one step at a time with. A choice that Dorian had made, perhaps silently, with Orym. There was enough history settled deep in their bones that the journey was more about discoverability in themselves and with each other.
But the sentiment remained the same.
"I know," Dorian echoed, nodding appreciatively. That felt like a good moment to steal a kiss from Orym, and so he leaned down to do so, because this journey had been hard fought in their own silly ways. And Dorian wanted to appreciate all the perks. Like not having to hold back those feelings need and desire because they hadn't quite gotten there. He touched his cheek, kissed the corner of his mouth, threaded fingers through his short hair, and then bumped his knuckles against the mass of scarf. He definitely needed to get him something more halfling appropriate.
"So what you're saying is that you wouldn't ask. Let us linger on in curiosity until one of them trips over their words and gives themself away, and then we have to spend the rest of the time taking apart what they meant about the oranges incident or the lettuce dilemma or that time with the vanilla ice cream—I may be getting my ideas from what I can see at the stands. But there could be an orange incident, dangerous fruit if you ask me."
Orym laughed, because how could he do anything else? "Not quite as suspicious as pears, but let's definitely keep an eye on oranges. You can't be too careful."
Taking advantage of the moment and Dorian being bent over toward his level, Orym reached out again to the sunset hued scarf to keep him in place as he pushed himself onto his toes. This stolen kiss was taken square from Dorian's mouth and was a little lingering--just a little, since they were in public and Orym figured he ought to have some semblance of control, mostly.
Still, Orym brushed his nose a bit playfully against Dorian's before releasing the scarf and returning to the conversation at hand. "I think that's the way to go about it, though. I've got some real nice hopes for the future, but I'd rather sort those out with the people involved--" a meaningful look, combined with that bashful smile, was given to Dorian at those words, "rather than get too much of a sneak peek.
"It'd be different," he continued, head listing to the side, "if there were more, ah. Tangible hints?" A change in age, children calling Orym "dad", of all things. "For now, I guess we'll see."
Dorian, the least observant of the two of them, was still able to catch what Orym was saying. He saw the smile, the bashful look, and found himself mirroring a similar expression. Part of him was deeply curious what sort of future Orym saw with him. Dorian had only allowed himself to wander into those thoughts—maintaining their friendship had been the most important, and still was, so anything more had been subsequently put away out of fear of being too obvious. But to speak frankly about it now, that there was something more that lingered in daydreams and casual ideas was enough to thrill him.
He did keep it cool, and simply raised his brows, pleasantly surprised. "Really? Nice hopes?" Dorian asked, before straightening back up—the kiss had been nice, and Dorian was more than happy to keep doing it despite the public display. But the children.
Oh, right, that's what Orym meant by tangible hints. Dorian's face did complicated expressive gymnastics before settling on something a little more somber.
"Did you—ah," Dorian stopped himself, realizing that he hadn't quite thought through the question and was just blithely inquiring. He started again, stopped, tried again, before he gave up on all civility. Orym had seen Dorian at his worst, at his least propper and ill-defined self, and while that had often been freeing and terrifying, he knew that Orym would understand his meaning. That he was being genuine and not nosy for the sake of prying.
"Are children something you wanted with Will?"
With a soft hum of consideration, Orym laced his fingers a bit tighter around Dorian's--not so much to hurt, just a gentle reassurance that he didn't mind the question--and started them off again in their slow, leisurely stroll through the market. He wasn't uncomfortable talking about Will, of course. At least, not anymore. It had taken being summoned back to Zephrah to finally tell Dorian and Fearne about Will in the first place, but breaking that wall down had been the beginning.
"We'd talked about it. He'd grown up with a big family and it had just been me and my mom until his parents kind of brought us into the fold, so having a family of our own was something we wanted to look into creating someday." He gave a sad little smile at that. "We just weren't in any big hurry at the time."
Orym let the rest of that story fade off, because he knew that Dorian knew it very well by now. It had been those sorts of plans for the future that Orym had continued to mourn, alongside the loss of Will and Derrig. He and Will had spent many late nights just talking about what they hoped for their futures, starting way back when they first started dating as teenagers and weaving stories both fanciful and practical. They'd only gotten to see a few of them through, but those they had were really good.
"I still think that I like the idea," Orym ventured, dipping a toe into a conversation that he only hoped he wasn't jumping into too quickly. "Someday."
Dorian nodded. While he might not have been watching Orym continuously, he was listening. He wondered what it was like to grow up as a single child, then swallowed up into a big family. He figured it was similar to being with the Crown Keepers or the Bells Hells—wonderful and chaotic, loving and mercurial, with different wants and needs and personalities that somehow just worked. When Dorian mentally weighed that against his home life, it was obvious which one he leaned toward.
He squeezed Orym's hand back in good measure. His own reassurance to keep talking, keep going, that he had asked and that conversations about Will were never a burden on him. Orym didn't need to hold it back.
"Well, there is still time. You're young, and in wonderful shape," Dorian said. Paused, realized what came out of his mouth, and promptly turned a furious shade of red—more purple at this point against his blue skin, but it was obvious. Again he cleared his throat, politely. "I know I can say these things without having to wonder if it's crossing some sort of line of our friendship, but I don't want you to think that I have a one track mind. I have two tracks, three even. Multiple depending on the day. But I was simply appreciating your—" Dorian made a gesture to encompass everything, and realized he was only making it worse.
"I—well, you know. But someday is good. That's a journey, right?" Dorian asked, though he knew the answer. "You also have often given off fatherly vibes when we are together, looking out for everyone, making sure we're accounted for, not devolving too much into disaster..."
The scarf shielded some of the pleased blush that colored Orym's cheeks, but his ears were on full display and betrayed him as the tips turned pink. It wasn't that he couldn't accept a compliment, so much as that he wasn't necessarily used to being given them. They were especially good to receive from one's boyfriend, he was discovering, especially when paired with Dorian's own brand of bashful charm.
They were a pair and Orym found it delightful in all the best ways.
"I like it when you appreciate me," Orym said, flashing Dorian a grin. Like Dorian had said, they could say things like that now without worrying about lines of friendship and boy was it freeing. Even so, he took a quick look around to make sure the flirty admission hadn't been too obvious, to spare the children and families, then looked back to Dorian, still very much playfully smiling. The shift in this part of their dynamic had been particularly fun and much easier than he could have imagined. Then again, things had always been easy with Dorian. Maybe that shouldn't have been so unexpected.
"You're right, though," Orym went on with a laugh. "I think the phrasing is dad friend. I've pretty much accepted that as my fate." He leaned as they meandered, nudging Dorian's thigh with his shoulder. "You're pretty good at taking care of everyone, too. Makes us a good team."
"Dad friend. Should I be encouraging this or trying to stop them from saying it?" He could already imagine the Bells Hells overusing it, finding ways to slip it into conversation, making Orym clam up or blush. He could see it now, too, behind the scarf. Even the biggest, most overwhelming knitwear couldn't keep the joy that came off Orym hidden.
"You should be able to change your fate, or shape it to be something that you want. After being here, after—" Dorian sighed, and leaned back against Orym for a second. He didn't have to say much, and that was the point, wasn't it? Being so close as friends allowed Dorian to not have to ramble around and into the words. Orym understood; with them, it was a bond and connection he didn't have quite with anyone else. They were, indeed, a good team. "There are just a lot more things in your control to be different than whatever has been laid out for you. Nicknames and all. But if you like the title, don't let me stop you."
The wind picked up then—nothing unmanageable, but enough for Dorian to immediately feel the sting against his face. The cooler weather was approaching, maybe faster than he anticipated. And suddenly the sun outside wasn't as warm as he would have liked it to be. Only his hand, clasped with Orym's was producing heat.
"Maybe, I can appreciate you back at the house?" Dorian asked. While it sounded innocent, he was purposeful in his word choice, his look, his soft daring smile.
Orym did actually like the title, he'd decided. It stacked up nicely alongside the others that he had collected since the Crown Keepers and Bells Hells had first stormed into his life. Friend, best friend. Protector. Confidante. Boyfriend. Knowing where he'd been for so many years, it felt good--just as good as being on the receiving end of Dorian's smile in that very moment.
"I'm ready to be appreciated," Orym laughed, stepping forward rapidly and pulling Dorian by the arm as he did so. Once more, he looked up to give Dorian a playful grin, the sort that felt unique to him. "Let's go home."