Ten minutes before class starts, the studio is about half full. Orym is finishing his warmup stretches when a pale figure catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. Rather than turning around to look, he glances up into the mirror spanning the wall in front of him instead and finds, to his surprise, exactly who he expected. Long white hair braided back, dressed in the kind of dark athleticware Orym's become familiar with him wearing, and carrying a mat beneath his arm is Verity, the tiefling who's become his partner for the aerial doubles course he started recently. Entirely unbidden, Orym feels his chest tighten with nervous excitement.
To say that he has a little bit of a crush would be...accurate. Though they've only had a few classes together, he likes Verity a lot. He's easy to talk to, kind, strong, graceful, and a skilled aerialist who's been a pleasure to work with and learn alongside. He also happens to be stunningly beautiful. Orym had gotten his phone number after their second class--to coordinate in case they want to practice together on their own time, of course. Mostly that, anyway. They haven't really done much texting, though. Orym is a bit too shy still to just start a conversation out of the blue. Given how abysmal his attempts at dating over the last few years have been, it's probably for the best that he doesn't telegraph his interest too obviously.
After a guy he'd been seeing for nearly a year broke things off with him, he'd told his friends he was perfectly fine on his own. But of course, no one was willing to accept that, and after a night drinking at Fearne's he'd found himself with a profile on a popular dating app (Sendr) courtesy of the combined efforts of Opal and Dariax, though everyone present had a little to contribute. The profile wasn't as embarrassing as he'd anticipated, mostly because Dorian and Fy'ra went back through and edited it after Dariax was done. Opal chose photos from his various social media accounts, though he had to veto all of them being shirtless. Why not, Nancy? she'd pouted. You're a whole bite-sized snack! When Dariax made the argument that he has a lot of nice ink to show off, he'd conceded to one or two.
Since then, he's received more dick pics and been on more bad dates than in his entire romantic history. It turns out a lot of guys on Sendr are just looking for hook-ups, which isn't his thing. It also turns out that a lot of guys on Sendr are kind of intense about halflings one way or another. If he's lucky enough to find someone who's interested in something long-term and is actually decent to chat with, things inevitably fizzle out when they learn he's a widower. He's had enough decent-seeming men ghost him after mentioning Will that he's taken to bringing it up right away just so he doesn't waste his time.
While his friends have encouraged him to keep trying, Orym has concluded that online dating just isn't for him. He really is perfectly fine on his own. His apartment is homey, he calls his mom at least monthly, he has a job he enjoys, plenty of hobbies, friends who love him--overall, he's doing pretty well for himself. Sure, he probably spends more evenings than he should scrolling back through his Instascry page just to watch videos of Will, to see his smile and hear his voice, his laugh--but who could blame him? He lost his soulmate.
Truthfully, he likes Verity more than he's liked anyone since Will, including his eleven-month ex-boyfriend. But he really hasn't been sure if that's mutual or if Verity is just that nice, and he doesn't want to make a fool of himself, especially when they make such great aerial partners. If he gets a friend out of this, he'll be happy.
Seeing Verity walk into one of his classes, though, he can't help hoping. Does he know he teaches at this studio? (Yoga, aerial yoga, dance fitness, a monthly self-defense class--his name is everywhere.) Is he here on purpose? Or is this a total coincidence? He hasn't gotten any messages today (unless they got buried under the endless notifications from the Crown Keepers group chat, which is always possible), which means either Verity wanted to show up as a surprise, or he didn't know.
One way to find out. He can't not say hi, anyway. That would be awkward. So he pushes himself up out of the walking calf stretch he was doing, takes a second to smooth out his dark green leggings where the fabric's bunched up around his knees, and waves with a small smile. He gets over to him before the tiefling has picked an empty spot to lay his mat out.
"Verity, hey," he greets warmly. "I didn't know you'd be here today. It's good to see you."
"Oh, hello." Verity breaks into a smile when Orym approaches, as if seeing him here is a pleasant surprise.
As if he didn't look at the schedule to find an excuse to spend a little more time with Orym. He has been wanting a new yoga class, so there is other reason for him to be here. That Orym teaches at this hour is... a bonus.
When they exchanged numbers for aerial practice, Verity kept wondering if Orym might call or text about anything else. Verity's roommate keeps insisting that asking for or giving a number is a clear invitation to talk, but it isn't necessarily. Is it? He's never been embarrassed by his lack of experience before this. He refuses to read anything too far into it. Orym's being kind, and he knows Verity is new in the area - he's said as much since they've been partnered up. He'd thought about texting before showing up, but--
"I didn't know I would be, either," he says, and that is mostly true. "I wasn't sure if there'd be room."
It's good to see you.
Verity offers a soft, almost shy smile.
"It's been a long day. I'm looking forward to this."
That smile does does things to Orym's insides that he knows he shouldn't address directly right now. It's just...really sweet. Verity is clearly happy to see him, whether or not he's surprised to see that he's leading the class. A light flush rises in Orym's face. He's been warming up, so thankfully that isn't out of place.
"You showed up early enough. But I would've made sure you could squeeze in anyway." It's true that his classes are pretty popular. That so many people seem to think he's a good instructor is reassuring. He knows he knows what he's doing, but leading classes has only become his job in the last few years.
This might be bold, but considering the nature of their aerial course, they've had to get comfortable with each other physically very quickly, so it already feels oddly familiar. Orym reaches up just to lay a friendly hand on Verity's forearm, squeezing lightly before releasing him.
"I'm glad you're here. And I hope it's what you're looking for. I do this every Miresen, Grissen, and Folsen, same time." Clearly an offer to return, if he likes the class. But he has another offer too, which probably sounds too earnest. But he doesn't want Verity to just slip out in the exodus of people after class before he can get the chance to talk to him again. "If you aren't busy tonight, would you want to grab dinner after? Not, um--nothing wild, just somewhere casual nearby. I know you said it's been a long day already."
Verity's said that he's new to the area, and Orym knows plenty of good spots for delicious yet affordable local food. Why shouldn't he share?
"I'll probably be here as often as I can," he admits with a wry smile. "I need to get back in shape."
He realizes how that sounds, especially given that he's been in aerial classes with Orym, and he clears his throat. He really isn't trying to show off or anything, he means that sincerely, in a way.
"I'm not as flexible as I used to be. Moving threw me off." Verity feels like he's rambling and he stops. Then Orym asks if he'd like to get dinner. "Oh. Yeah, uhm. Yes."
Verity tucks a loose strand of hair into his braid, though he knows it'll come loose again. Some of the hair around his face isn't quite long enough to stay in place.
Orym realizes after he does it that raising a brow like he does when Verity says he needs to get back in shape could be considered rude. But he's seen him do stunts that directly contradict that. They've done stunts together. If anyone has seen just how fit and flexible Verity is, it's Orym. But he doesn't contradict him. It's Verity who knows his own body best, after all.
At that moment, he's just glad that his clumsy offer of dinner isn't being rejected. A smile breaks over his lips as he watches Verity brush his hair back. Gods, he's cute.
"Yeah? That's--that great. Me too." Obviously, since he's the one who asked. Get it together, Orym. "Just hang out after class wraps up, okay? It's a short walk."
They've had such good chemistry in class; he hopes that'll carry over outside of it too. Otherwise he's made things very awkward.
"I'll see you after class," he says softly, just for Orym. Then he nods toward the front of the room. The last few students are filtering in, and Verity still needs to unroll his mat.
The class is everything he needs and wants it to be. He can feel the tightness in some of his tendons as they go through various positions, so he takes it slow. He's grateful for the chance to clear his head as he moves, focusing on only his body and his breathing as they go.
By the end of class, he's quite hard pressed to get up again. So, rather than rushing, he stays as he is, laying on his back with his head turned to accommodate his horns.
Class is good. Though Verity's presence is always in the back of his mind, Orym slips easily into his usual routine, guiding a full studio through a fluid series of poses ranging from relaxing to challenging and helping those who need it. Predictably, Verity doesn't need help, but Orym doesn't shy away from looking over his form just as he does for everyone else.
When it's over, Orym says his goodbyes and waits while everyone packs up and flows out, exchanging good nights with most and providing last-minute tips and reminders for those who ask. It doesn't escape his notice that Verity is not only lingering, but still relaxing on his mat. When the room has emptied except for the two of them, he finally approaches, leaning over the tiefling with a bemused look.
"Sleeping here tonight?" he teases gently. "I'll only be a minute." He just has to do his due diligence to make sure everything is clean and put away properly, and that usually isn't a problem. "But if you're tired, I can take a rain check."
"No, no I still want to get dinner. You know that feeling of quiet you can get after a long day? It's just that." And wanting to linger in it while he can. Verity rolls forward to sit up. "Go ahead, I'll pack up my things."
And as Orym takes care of whatever he needs to do, Verity rolls up his mat and snaps the straps around it. Then he gets to his feet so he can wait for Orym to reappear. And he can't help a small, shy smile when he does.
Orym's expression softens, because he does know that feeling. But he gives an affirming nod and does his usual sweep of the studio and the equipment closet while Verity packs up, then collects his own things. His mat he stores here, he swaps his sneakers for boots, and then goes through a mental checklist: phone, backpack, water bottle, jacket. That's everything.
"What did you think?" he asks when he rejoins Verity, feeling a happy little twist in his chest that's starting to become familiar when he's greeted by that smile.
Slipping on his light jacket over his very typical combination of loose tank top and leggings and swinging his backpack over one shoulder, Orym reaches up to flip off the lights on their way out.
"I liked it," he says as they leave. Verity slides on his hoodie, but leaves it unzipped, and slings his mat over his shoulder, along with the small bag he'd brought with him. "It felt good to not think about anything outside the room for a while. This is easier for me than sitting and meditating," he admits.
At least if he's moving - even if it's slow movement and holding poses like yoga - he has something to focus on that isn't thinking. Maybe it's cheating, but he'll take it.
Orym nods in understanding. "I'm the same way," he agrees. "I can only really clear my mind if I'm concentrating on doing something with my body."
The gym isn't closing yet, so there's no locking up. Orym leaves the equipment closet keys at the front desk, and they head out. It's cool night for late spring, but not cold. Most places in Abdar's Promenade are open fairly late, mostly shops, restaurants, and bars, so the street is still busy. Orym makes a righthand turn.
"Yeah, it's what I do to pay the rent these days." He gives a half shrug, lifting the shoulder that isn't holding his bag. "I like it. And it keeps me in good shape for doing stuff like aerial in my free time."
Verity stays close so he can follow Orym without having to walk behind him.
"What did you do before?" The question is out of his mouth before Verity can stop it. It doesn't occur to him until a heartbeat later than maybe they don't know each other well enough to ask about Orym's past.
He is curious, though. And if Orym doesn't want to say, Verity knows better than to push.
The question doesn't surprise him. It was where the conversation was leading, and it's far from a secret. Keeping his eyes on the street ahead of them, he answers simply, "Danced. I was a soloist with Emon Ballet Company. Retired six years ago."
Professional dance in a company like Emon Ballet is hard on the body; most dancers have short careers once they go pro, so retiring at his age isn't unusual. But that wasn't why he left when he did. I couldn't keep performing after my husband died. He's said that to a lot of people by now. The simplest explanation possible, and it still hasn't gotten any easier. But it obfuscates the uglier truth; he hadn't just lost the drive to perform. For a while, he lost the drive to do anything at all. He still only dances ballet when he's alone.
"A lot of ex-company dancers go on to work at the big ballet schools, but that wasn't for me. I needed to take a big step back from all of it."
Now is the time to say it; get it out there, like he usually does. All it would take to find out that he was married is searching his name or glancing through his social media. Will's imprint remains on every part of his life, and he wouldn't want it any other way. It's best that anyone he's interested in hears it from him rather than discovering it on their own.
"Will, my husband--he died suddenly right before the spring season. Dancing was such a big part of our lives. I couldn't do it without missing him, and it hurt too much. So I had to stop."
That's a lot more than he normally says. He knows it's awkward; Verity definitely hadn't meant to stumble over the biggest tragedy of his life when he asked him what he used to do for work. But it's not something Orym can avoid sharing. Everyone who knows him knows this. The basics, anyway.
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}
a first class
To say that he has a little bit of a crush would be...accurate. Though they've only had a few classes together, he likes Verity a lot. He's easy to talk to, kind, strong, graceful, and a skilled aerialist who's been a pleasure to work with and learn alongside. He also happens to be stunningly beautiful. Orym had gotten his phone number after their second class--to coordinate in case they want to practice together on their own time, of course. Mostly that, anyway. They haven't really done much texting, though. Orym is a bit too shy still to just start a conversation out of the blue. Given how abysmal his attempts at dating over the last few years have been, it's probably for the best that he doesn't telegraph his interest too obviously.
After a guy he'd been seeing for nearly a year broke things off with him, he'd told his friends he was perfectly fine on his own. But of course, no one was willing to accept that, and after a night drinking at Fearne's he'd found himself with a profile on a popular dating app (Sendr) courtesy of the combined efforts of Opal and Dariax, though everyone present had a little to contribute. The profile wasn't as embarrassing as he'd anticipated, mostly because Dorian and Fy'ra went back through and edited it after Dariax was done. Opal chose photos from his various social media accounts, though he had to veto all of them being shirtless. Why not, Nancy? she'd pouted. You're a whole bite-sized snack! When Dariax made the argument that he has a lot of nice ink to show off, he'd conceded to one or two.
Since then, he's received more dick pics and been on more bad dates than in his entire romantic history. It turns out a lot of guys on Sendr are just looking for hook-ups, which isn't his thing. It also turns out that a lot of guys on Sendr are kind of intense about halflings one way or another. If he's lucky enough to find someone who's interested in something long-term and is actually decent to chat with, things inevitably fizzle out when they learn he's a widower. He's had enough decent-seeming men ghost him after mentioning Will that he's taken to bringing it up right away just so he doesn't waste his time.
While his friends have encouraged him to keep trying, Orym has concluded that online dating just isn't for him. He really is perfectly fine on his own. His apartment is homey, he calls his mom at least monthly, he has a job he enjoys, plenty of hobbies, friends who love him--overall, he's doing pretty well for himself. Sure, he probably spends more evenings than he should scrolling back through his Instascry page just to watch videos of Will, to see his smile and hear his voice, his laugh--but who could blame him? He lost his soulmate.
Truthfully, he likes Verity more than he's liked anyone since Will, including his eleven-month ex-boyfriend. But he really hasn't been sure if that's mutual or if Verity is just that nice, and he doesn't want to make a fool of himself, especially when they make such great aerial partners. If he gets a friend out of this, he'll be happy.
Seeing Verity walk into one of his classes, though, he can't help hoping. Does he know he teaches at this studio? (Yoga, aerial yoga, dance fitness, a monthly self-defense class--his name is everywhere.) Is he here on purpose? Or is this a total coincidence? He hasn't gotten any messages today (unless they got buried under the endless notifications from the Crown Keepers group chat, which is always possible), which means either Verity wanted to show up as a surprise, or he didn't know.
One way to find out. He can't not say hi, anyway. That would be awkward. So he pushes himself up out of the walking calf stretch he was doing, takes a second to smooth out his dark green leggings where the fabric's bunched up around his knees, and waves with a small smile. He gets over to him before the tiefling has picked an empty spot to lay his mat out.
"Verity, hey," he greets warmly. "I didn't know you'd be here today. It's good to see you."
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As if he didn't look at the schedule to find an excuse to spend a little more time with Orym. He has been wanting a new yoga class, so there is other reason for him to be here. That Orym teaches at this hour is... a bonus.
When they exchanged numbers for aerial practice, Verity kept wondering if Orym might call or text about anything else. Verity's roommate keeps insisting that asking for or giving a number is a clear invitation to talk, but it isn't necessarily. Is it? He's never been embarrassed by his lack of experience before this. He refuses to read anything too far into it. Orym's being kind, and he knows Verity is new in the area - he's said as much since they've been partnered up. He'd thought about texting before showing up, but--
"I didn't know I would be, either," he says, and that is mostly true. "I wasn't sure if there'd be room."
It's good to see you.
Verity offers a soft, almost shy smile.
"It's been a long day. I'm looking forward to this."
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"You showed up early enough. But I would've made sure you could squeeze in anyway." It's true that his classes are pretty popular. That so many people seem to think he's a good instructor is reassuring. He knows he knows what he's doing, but leading classes has only become his job in the last few years.
This might be bold, but considering the nature of their aerial course, they've had to get comfortable with each other physically very quickly, so it already feels oddly familiar. Orym reaches up just to lay a friendly hand on Verity's forearm, squeezing lightly before releasing him.
"I'm glad you're here. And I hope it's what you're looking for. I do this every Miresen, Grissen, and Folsen, same time." Clearly an offer to return, if he likes the class. But he has another offer too, which probably sounds too earnest. But he doesn't want Verity to just slip out in the exodus of people after class before he can get the chance to talk to him again. "If you aren't busy tonight, would you want to grab dinner after? Not, um--nothing wild, just somewhere casual nearby. I know you said it's been a long day already."
Verity's said that he's new to the area, and Orym knows plenty of good spots for delicious yet affordable local food. Why shouldn't he share?
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He realizes how that sounds, especially given that he's been in aerial classes with Orym, and he clears his throat. He really isn't trying to show off or anything, he means that sincerely, in a way.
"I'm not as flexible as I used to be. Moving threw me off." Verity feels like he's rambling and he stops. Then Orym asks if he'd like to get dinner. "Oh. Yeah, uhm. Yes."
Verity tucks a loose strand of hair into his braid, though he knows it'll come loose again. Some of the hair around his face isn't quite long enough to stay in place.
"I'd like that, thank you."
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At that moment, he's just glad that his clumsy offer of dinner isn't being rejected. A smile breaks over his lips as he watches Verity brush his hair back. Gods, he's cute.
"Yeah? That's--that great. Me too." Obviously, since he's the one who asked. Get it together, Orym. "Just hang out after class wraps up, okay? It's a short walk."
They've had such good chemistry in class; he hopes that'll carry over outside of it too. Otherwise he's made things very awkward.
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"I'll see you after class," he says softly, just for Orym. Then he nods toward the front of the room. The last few students are filtering in, and Verity still needs to unroll his mat.
The class is everything he needs and wants it to be. He can feel the tightness in some of his tendons as they go through various positions, so he takes it slow. He's grateful for the chance to clear his head as he moves, focusing on only his body and his breathing as they go.
By the end of class, he's quite hard pressed to get up again. So, rather than rushing, he stays as he is, laying on his back with his head turned to accommodate his horns.
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When it's over, Orym says his goodbyes and waits while everyone packs up and flows out, exchanging good nights with most and providing last-minute tips and reminders for those who ask. It doesn't escape his notice that Verity is not only lingering, but still relaxing on his mat. When the room has emptied except for the two of them, he finally approaches, leaning over the tiefling with a bemused look.
"Sleeping here tonight?" he teases gently. "I'll only be a minute." He just has to do his due diligence to make sure everything is clean and put away properly, and that usually isn't a problem. "But if you're tired, I can take a rain check."
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"No, no I still want to get dinner. You know that feeling of quiet you can get after a long day? It's just that." And wanting to linger in it while he can. Verity rolls forward to sit up. "Go ahead, I'll pack up my things."
And as Orym takes care of whatever he needs to do, Verity rolls up his mat and snaps the straps around it. Then he gets to his feet so he can wait for Orym to reappear. And he can't help a small, shy smile when he does.
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"What did you think?" he asks when he rejoins Verity, feeling a happy little twist in his chest that's starting to become familiar when he's greeted by that smile.
Slipping on his light jacket over his very typical combination of loose tank top and leggings and swinging his backpack over one shoulder, Orym reaches up to flip off the lights on their way out.
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At least if he's moving - even if it's slow movement and holding poses like yoga - he has something to focus on that isn't thinking. Maybe it's cheating, but he'll take it.
"I didn't realize you taught so much."
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The gym isn't closing yet, so there's no locking up. Orym leaves the equipment closet keys at the front desk, and they head out. It's cool night for late spring, but not cold. Most places in Abdar's Promenade are open fairly late, mostly shops, restaurants, and bars, so the street is still busy. Orym makes a righthand turn.
"Yeah, it's what I do to pay the rent these days." He gives a half shrug, lifting the shoulder that isn't holding his bag. "I like it. And it keeps me in good shape for doing stuff like aerial in my free time."
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"What did you do before?" The question is out of his mouth before Verity can stop it. It doesn't occur to him until a heartbeat later than maybe they don't know each other well enough to ask about Orym's past.
He is curious, though. And if Orym doesn't want to say, Verity knows better than to push.
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Professional dance in a company like Emon Ballet is hard on the body; most dancers have short careers once they go pro, so retiring at his age isn't unusual. But that wasn't why he left when he did. I couldn't keep performing after my husband died. He's said that to a lot of people by now. The simplest explanation possible, and it still hasn't gotten any easier. But it obfuscates the uglier truth; he hadn't just lost the drive to perform. For a while, he lost the drive to do anything at all. He still only dances ballet when he's alone.
"A lot of ex-company dancers go on to work at the big ballet schools, but that wasn't for me. I needed to take a big step back from all of it."
Now is the time to say it; get it out there, like he usually does. All it would take to find out that he was married is searching his name or glancing through his social media. Will's imprint remains on every part of his life, and he wouldn't want it any other way. It's best that anyone he's interested in hears it from him rather than discovering it on their own.
"Will, my husband--he died suddenly right before the spring season. Dancing was such a big part of our lives. I couldn't do it without missing him, and it hurt too much. So I had to stop."
That's a lot more than he normally says. He knows it's awkward; Verity definitely hadn't meant to stumble over the biggest tragedy of his life when he asked him what he used to do for work. But it's not something Orym can avoid sharing. Everyone who knows him knows this. The basics, anyway.
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"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.
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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.
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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."
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"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.
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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."