Before he can ask about the retiring - Orym seems too young to retire from anything - the other man continues on. A step back. A husband who died. Verity's eyebrows draw together.
"I always hate how small this sounds, but... I'm sorry, that must have been--I understand why that would make you stop."
If dance reminded him constantly of his husband, of a partner who no longer stood beside him, the grief must have made it unbearable. Sorry never seems like enough, but Verity has yet to come across something that better encapsulates the empathy he offers. Before he can stop himself, he quietly adds, "May his memory be a blessing."
It's something he's said to countless others in their time of loss and grief, something that tries to reach toward the impact of the life gone rather than gesturing toward the absence of it. Will might be dead, but his memory very clearly lives. So, Verity hopes it's a blessing, that it can bring Orym joy.
As he finally glances back up at Verity, Orym's expression softens with a wistful smile. "Thanks. It is." It isn't often that he feels like smiling or like sharing more when he first tells someone about Will, but Verity's quiet understanding puts him at ease. "We were teenage sweethearts who got married young. I was lucky to have him for so long. I miss him every day, but I wouldn't trade our time together for anything."
Pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, Orym comes to a stop at the next intersection while they wait for the light to change over. The place they're headed isn't too much further.
"Sorry to bring all of that up so suddenly," he says. "I know it's not something most people are comfortable hearing about." Not people he's only just getting to know, anyway. His friends are happy to listen to him talk about Will when he wants to because they care about him. He can't expect the same from everyone.
"It's all right," he assures. "I think--I think it's nice that you can talk about him, even a little."
Verity's encountered those who shun all mention of a lost loved one, and he's seen how brittle and fragile it can make them. He's glad that Orym can at least acknowledge the happy times through the sadness.
"I'm a monk," he says, a little more abrupt than he means to. Verity huffs a soft, embarrassed laugh and he can feel his face get warm. He looks down. "I mean--I follow Ilmater. I've met a lot of grieving people."
Gods, he probably could say that better. He could say a lot of things better. Verity resists the urge to fidget with the end of his braid. He realizes Orym might not even know who Ilmater is - he's not a common good in Tal'Dorei, he's learning.
At first Orym thinks Verity must be changing subject--and he wouldn't blame him--until he clarifies about his order. The name Ilmater doesn't immediately ring a bell, but from what Verity explains, he can imagine. Before he can respond, the light changes again, and Orym indicates with a nod of his head for Verity to follow him across the street.
"That's...a relief, actually," he says as they walk, glancing up at the flustered tiefling sidelong. "I was worried I'd ruined dinner." His lips curl up briefly, but it's a humorless smile. "I guess you really must have met a lot of people like me, because I don't usually. Talk about him this much, that is."
He can just glimpse their destination another block up, a stone building overgrown with vines nestled between two taller, newer-looking brick buildings on either side.
"So thanks," he says. "I'd really like to, um, learn more about you. I had no idea you were a monk? That's really cool." It explains a few things, too.
"No," he says with a little smile. "That wouldn't put me off. It wouldn't put me off if you wanted to talk about him more, either."
Verity just wants that door open, especially if Orym hasn't had the chance or desire to do that as much as he'd like to. The building they approach is charming, Verity decides. He likes seeing it tucked between more modern buildings, like a stubborn hold out.
And he can feel warmth creep into his face.
"I'm not good at talking about myself," he warns with a wry smile of his own. "But... I'll try. Whatever you want to know. I've been at the monastery since I was a kid."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"I always hate how small this sounds, but... I'm sorry, that must have been--I understand why that would make you stop."
If dance reminded him constantly of his husband, of a partner who no longer stood beside him, the grief must have made it unbearable. Sorry never seems like enough, but Verity has yet to come across something that better encapsulates the empathy he offers. Before he can stop himself, he quietly adds, "May his memory be a blessing."
It's something he's said to countless others in their time of loss and grief, something that tries to reach toward the impact of the life gone rather than gesturing toward the absence of it. Will might be dead, but his memory very clearly lives. So, Verity hopes it's a blessing, that it can bring Orym joy.
no subject
Pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, Orym comes to a stop at the next intersection while they wait for the light to change over. The place they're headed isn't too much further.
"Sorry to bring all of that up so suddenly," he says. "I know it's not something most people are comfortable hearing about." Not people he's only just getting to know, anyway. His friends are happy to listen to him talk about Will when he wants to because they care about him. He can't expect the same from everyone.
no subject
Verity's encountered those who shun all mention of a lost loved one, and he's seen how brittle and fragile it can make them. He's glad that Orym can at least acknowledge the happy times through the sadness.
"I'm a monk," he says, a little more abrupt than he means to. Verity huffs a soft, embarrassed laugh and he can feel his face get warm. He looks down. "I mean--I follow Ilmater. I've met a lot of grieving people."
Gods, he probably could say that better. He could say a lot of things better. Verity resists the urge to fidget with the end of his braid. He realizes Orym might not even know who Ilmater is - he's not a common good in Tal'Dorei, he's learning.
"I only mean... I don't mind."
no subject
"That's...a relief, actually," he says as they walk, glancing up at the flustered tiefling sidelong. "I was worried I'd ruined dinner." His lips curl up briefly, but it's a humorless smile. "I guess you really must have met a lot of people like me, because I don't usually. Talk about him this much, that is."
He can just glimpse their destination another block up, a stone building overgrown with vines nestled between two taller, newer-looking brick buildings on either side.
"So thanks," he says. "I'd really like to, um, learn more about you. I had no idea you were a monk? That's really cool." It explains a few things, too.
no subject
Verity just wants that door open, especially if Orym hasn't had the chance or desire to do that as much as he'd like to. The building they approach is charming, Verity decides. He likes seeing it tucked between more modern buildings, like a stubborn hold out.
And he can feel warmth creep into his face.
"I'm not good at talking about myself," he warns with a wry smile of his own. "But... I'll try. Whatever you want to know. I've been at the monastery since I was a kid."