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Orym’s heart rate was steadily increasing as he watched Dorian and his brother disappear down the stairs. His fingers curled around the small stone in his palm. Automatically, he was trying to calculate how long of a walk it was between here and the Corsairs’ hideout, how many minutes could pass before he could justify panicking. It could easily take forty-five minutes before Dorian was back. There was no point in worrying yet.
“So, did you two… know all that?” Laudna asked, leaning across the table towards Fearne.
“Well–” Fearne glanced at Orym. “Not all of it, no.”
“Fuckin’ called it that he isn’t actually named Dorian Storm ,” Ashton remarked. “Did you know that ?”
Trying to pull himself together, Orym gripped the stone harder beneath the table and said, “We knew Dorian is his chosen name, yeah. Didn’t know his full original name, though, just the first name.”
“Do you think one of us shoulda gone with them? Just so Dorian’s not walkin’ back by himself in the dark?” asked Fresh Cut Grass.
“Maybe. Maybe.” Orym looked back over at the stairs. If he ran, he could probably catch up to them. But that wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need to chase them. Dorian had the stone, he would call if anything happened.
And you might be too far away to save him , an unhelpful voice in his head reminded him. He could send a message, but it would be too late by the time you got there.
Alone in the dark.
“I think they really wanted some time without all of us listenin’ in,” Imogen said apologetically. “We shouldn’t go after them, I…I don’t think Dorian’d appreciate that.”
I could follow behind them, just quietly, not listening to their conversation, and they wouldn’t even know I was there. Orym shook his head slightly. He was being ridiculous.
“Yeah, no, he’ll be fine,” Ashton added. “Did you see him take out the wall? Shit was fucking awesome.”
Laudna nodded emphatically. “Truly! He can protect himself.”
They were all directing their comments towards Orym in a way that made him think they probably could tell how anxious he was. He was sure it was obvious–no need for Imogen to read his mind to figure that out. “Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Orym tried. “So, Chetney, tell–tell us more about Gurge?”
It was enough to get everyone to turn back to Chetney and start asking him questions again, and Orym sank back in his chair. He slowed his breathing, tuned the conversation out, and focused on the stone in his left hand and the hilt of his shortsword in his right.
Had it been this bad before Bertrand’s death? Even back on Tal’dorei, Orym hadn’t liked letting his new friends out of his sight. If he couldn’t see them, he couldn’t protect them, and he needed to protect them. Every moment he was away from them was a moment when they could be taken from him. But even though there was always a faint nagging worry about Opal and Dariax where they were settled down for a while in Byroden and guarding the Crown, he didn’t have this blinding, overwhelming fear for their safety. (Though that might have something to do with the fact that Dariax's deity and Opal's sister were far more capable of protecting the two of them than Orym ever had been.)
And–listen, Orym wasn’t stupid. He knew why he was so afraid of losing the people he had chosen to love. People tend to learn fast when pain is the consequence. Like a child who had just realized why they shouldn’t try to catch the pretty sparks flying up from a campfire, Orym was especially wary of getting burned. The smart thing to do was to stop caring, or at least pretend to (like Ashton did), but Orym couldn’t stop loving people any more than he could stop breathing. (He’d have to stop breathing before he stopped loving them–and even then, he didn’t think death could keep that from him.)
He would be panicking just as badly if it was Fearne who had walked off into the night. But there was a different undertone to the panic about Dorian, the kind of undertone that made him tuck a flower behind someone’s ear ( for luck ). He had realized it as soon as it started emerging. Falling in love was as familiar as an old friend, even if it was an old friend he hadn’t expected to ever meet again.
Underneath the table, Fearne put her hand on his knee. She didn’t say anything. Orym was grateful for both the contact and the silence. If he could avoid drawing anyone’s attention to him until Dorian was back, maybe he could keep himself together. Dorian would be back. Of course he would be back. There was no reason to keep thinking about the worst-case scenario.
Except it was possible, wasn’t it? That someone seeking the bounty on Cyrus’s head would find them on their walk? Cyrus had been following them since their visit to the Corsairs’, someone could have easily been tailing him. He might have been hiding for the past couple of weeks, but Dorian hadn’t been, and there was plenty of time for word to get around about a young Air Genasi man being seen in the area. And Dorian wasn’t even wearing a hood that he could hide his face under. Gods, he was the most conspicuous person in Jrusar! 20,000 gold was enough for some serious assassins to go after a target. Dorian could so easily be taking a blade that was meant for his brother. Right now –
Orym’s deliberately steady breathing caught in his throat. Fearne tightened her grip on his knee, probably trying to remind him to calm down and be reasonable. He tried. He really tried.
Orym? Imogen whispered into his mind. She was only brushing lightly against his consciousness, not prying into his thoughts at all. Can I help?
He could see the blood spreading across Dorian’s chest. I’m fine, Imogen, he replied, but he had unconsciously pulled her closer like she had offered him her hand to hold, and he saw her physically flinch as his whirlwind of terrified speculation touched her mind.
“Oh!” she said aloud. Nobody else seemed to notice her exclamation–Ashton was saying something loudly about not needing a wooden replacement for the handle of their hammer, and wood wouldn’t be able to support the weight of the glass anyway–but Imogen shot Orym a sympathetic look. Oh, Orym, do you want to step away? Get some air? I’d come with you, or I bet Fearne would too.
He shook his head, guarding his thoughts again. Orym appreciated Imogen’s concern, but nobody needed to see the things his mind showed him when he was panicking like this. He didn’t need to see those things, and yet.
Alright, just reach out if you need anything. She retreated, leaving just enough of a connection that he could reply if he had to.
How long had it been since Dorian had left? It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. He would come back. He would come back.
Unless he didn’t.
Fuck.
If he could keep his breathing under control, nobody looking at him should be able to tell what he was thinking. Orym could keep a neutral expression through pretty much anything. The rest of the party (besides Fearne, who knew better, and Imogen, who could read his mind) probably assumed that he was being quiet and withdrawn because he was still exhausted and in pain from the fight with the wall mimic earlier. Both of those things were true, and the acid burns on his skin stung and crawled with an intensity that was almost helpful because it kept him from getting lost completely in his unwelcome imagination.
He squeezed the stone harder. He would have bruises on his palm tomorrow.
I’ll know if anything happens, he tried to tell himself. Dorian will send a message through the stone. Even if I can’t get there in time, at least I’ll know.
It worked to calm him down for approximately thirty seconds, and then his mind supplied him with the image of the matching stone getting knocked out of Dorian’s hand and skidding away on the cobblestone before Dorian could activate it to call for help. And then a blade in Dorian’s chest, another body lying in an alley–
So much for that tiny scrap of reassurance.
Dorian could already be dead, and Orym would have no idea.
It was agonizing to keep sitting there, expressionless and still, when his heart was racing and nausea was rising up and all of his muscles were tensed and ready for him to spring to his feet and run , run until he found Dorian and saw that he was alive. But there was no taking back that kind of reaction once it had been seen by other people, and in all likelihood, Dorian was fine and Orym was just being paranoid. The party would undoubtedly think differently of him if he did bolt or show his irrational anxiety. They wouldn't be able to trust his judgment. How could they, when Orym couldn't trust himself?
Minute after unbearable minute stretched on. Orym's mind remained a battleground. He was still breathing slowly and deeply, but it felt like he was holding his breath. As time passed, it just kept getting worse. It was difficult to keep the spiral internal, to not let it show. If he wasn't so well trained in meditation, he was sure he would be on the floor, in tears and hyperventilating. He had certainly ended up in that position in the past when he was less distressed than he was right now.
Come back, Dorian , he pleaded silently. Come back already, I can't take this much longer.
He felt Imogen withdraw further as she accidentally overheard those surface thoughts, giving him privacy.
Fearne's thumb stroked back and forth on his knee. She knew he was worried--she probably was too. But he didn't think that she was feeling the same despair and terror and helplessness that he was. It wasn't...normal. This wasn't something most people experienced every time someone they loved was out of their sight. Orym knew that, but he didn't know what to do about it.
He kept breathing.
Dorian would be back.
It felt like an eternity had passed. Orym was about ready to spill his panic to the rest of the group and beg them to tell him it was reasonable to use the stone to contact Dorian himself, just to hear his voice or the silence that meant they needed to run out into the darkness to find him, when a blue figure stepped back into the inn and started up the stairs, just visible in Orym's peripheral view.
Immediately, the terror dissolved. Orym stood up as Dorian reached the top of the stairs and started towards their table tucked in the corner, finally loosening his grasp on the stone and putting it back in his pocket. He met Dorian's gaze, saw a question form in his eyes, and interrupted before he had a chance to say anything. "Good, you're back," he said, a little hoarsely. Once again, anyone would attribute the tremor in his voice to exhaustion. "I'm going t-to bed, goodnight, everyone." And he pushed past Fearne towards the hall that led to the room they were staying in, before the adrenaline could crash completely and leave him falling to the floor with his limbs all useless and shaky. Momentum alone carried him forward.
"Orym? Are you--" Dorian began.
Just loudly enough for Orym to hear as he stumbled away, Imogen said, "He's not okay, Dorian. Go after him, please."
Orym was nearly shaking too much to unlock the door, but he managed it and pushed into the room just as footsteps caught up behind him. He didn't look back. A few more steps, and he crumpled on the ground at the foot of the bed. The door closed.
"Orym?" Dorian sounded so worried. "Are you hurt, is it...are you just hurting from the hits you took earlier?" He knelt down in front of Orym, hand outstretched hesitantly.
"Yes and no," Orym managed.
Dorian's hand was already glowing as he touched the side of Orym's neck. "There, let me help," he said, releasing the wash of healing magic that took away some of the burning from where the acidic saliva had soaked into his skin. "Was that all? You need to rest. Orym, are you alright?" Dorian babbled.
"No."
"What's--" Dorian made a distressed noise as Orym's eyes began to fill with tears.
Orym blinked quickly, drawing in a sharp breath before he could let out a sob. "I'm just tired, I'm sorry," he lied. "You should go back out to the others."
"I don't want to! Are you serious? The last thing I want is to hear more royalty jokes and--" Dorian broke off. "I want to be here with you," he added.
"You've got your brother to worry about, you don't need to be fussing over me!"
"It's--no, Cyrus is alright, I left him the other stone so he can send us a message if anything happens and he needs help," Dorian said, and it took a moment to sink in, but then Orym's heart practically stopped.
"You what ?"
A bit guiltily, Dorian said, "I know it wasn't technically mine to give him, but it won't be for long, just until we have this figured out, and--"
"You walked back without it," Orym choked. "Without any way to contact us, you just…Dorian, how could you?"
Dorian's eyes widened.
Orym grabbed his arm, his fingers digging in hard. "Don't ever, ever --" And then his tears broke free, and his hand went limp on Dorian's arm. He turned his face away, curling in on himself.
"I'm so sorry," Dorian said, sounding almost panicked himself. "I'm sorry, Orym, I'm so sorry, I didn't think about it like that, and--oh, please don't cry!"
"You have no idea what I was--and you just walked back without it, you fucking-- thoughtless --" The harshness of his words were undercut slightly by the sobs that were forcing their way out of his throat.
"I'm sorry! Truly, I am, and I'm an idiot, and I'm just so sorry."
All of that worry, and the whole way back, Dorian wouldn't have even been able to call for them if he had been in danger. Orym couldn't breathe. Fury and sheer relief that nothing terrible had happened this time fought inside of him, and he couldn't actually manage to feel angry or relieved. Just empty and in pain.
"Orym, please," Dorian begged. He was close to tears too. "Can I get someone? Can I get Fearne? I understand if you're too angry at me right now, but I can't bear this. I'm so sorry."
"Don't leave!" Orym gasped out.
"Okay, I won't! I'm really--"
Orym buried his head in his arms. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again,” he demanded, voice muffled slightly.
“I promise,” Dorian responded.
“Nobody alone , nobody alone without a way to communicate.” He raised his head again, looking Dorian in the eyes and trying not to care about his tears being seen. “Do you understand?”
Dorian nodded faithfully. “I promise,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, Orym.”
The fury was abating and the relief growing stronger with every moment that Dorian remained in his view and every word that he said. Orym hadn’t lost him this time. He was left trembling uncontrollably as weariness and emotion caught up with him after nearly an hour of masking his panic. “I forgive you,” he whispered.
"I didn't mean to upset you, I wasn't thinking." Dorian reached out and then pulled away before touching him, like he was thinking better of it. Orym wished he wouldn't.
"I'm sorry for overreacting," Orym murmured. He shook with a suppressed sob. "Would you…"
"Anything, what can I do? And I don't think you overreacted." Dorian didn't know anything that had gone through Orym's head, hadn't seen the way he could spiral without any control, but that was kind of him to say.
"Just don't tell the others," Orym said. He wiped his face with the backs of his hands. "I...I was just t-tired and not f-feeling well from the injuries, if they ask. Please."
“Alright,” Dorian agreed easily.
Orym stood up, unsteady on his feet but ignoring Dorian offering a hand. He made his way to the basin of water in the corner, stepping up onto the ledge built into the counter so people his height could reach it. The water was cool, and he splashed a little onto his face. It gave him just enough energy to start the process of removing his armor, wiping away the remaining acid (which hadn’t damaged the armor itself, luckily, only his flesh). He took off the shirt he wore under the armor as well, taking a minute to clean some of the blood off of himself. He placed the armor and the shirt aside, grabbed the edge of the basin, and stared down at his knuckles. They were turning pale from the force of his grip. He could feel the sting on his left palm where the stone had dug into his skin–there would probably be a dark red mark there if he could bring himself to look.
“Orym?”
He didn’t respond. He could sort of see his reflection in the water in the basin, his eyes tearstained and haunted. A few tears slipped off his cheeks and splashed into the water. Why did grieving one loss make him feel like he had to grieve every other loss he would ever experience, ones that hadn’t happened yet and that might never happen? This couldn’t be how everyone went through life. Everyone would be falling apart, all the time. What was wrong with him?
“Orym, do you want to talk?” Dorian said.
“I don’t know.”
“It just…seems like maybe this is more than just a bit of worry. Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”
Orym laughed humorlessly. “Yeah.”
“Should I be worried about you?”
He didn’t know how to answer that.
There was a sigh, a shifting sound from where Dorian was still sitting on the floor. “Come here?” he requested softly. It wasn’t a demand. Orym knew that if he chose to stay where he was, Dorian would accept that without a word. He almost did–he could feel more sobs threatening to break him down, and he had a better chance of keeping himself together if he just kept standing there, breathing and staring at the water. But he glanced over his shoulder and saw the look of resignation on Dorian’s face, the way he had one arm extended slightly towards Orym, and he knew that Dorian felt just as helpless as he did in this situation.
Orym stepped down off the ledge, his legs shaking so badly that he nearly collapsed right away. He managed to get within arm’s reach of Dorian before his body gave out, and Dorian lurched forward to catch him, one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder.
“Alright, you’re fine!” exclaimed Dorian. “I’ve got you, you’re alright. Do you want to sit down, or lay down for a bit?”
Instead of answering, Orym reached out and took Dorian’s shoulders, pulling himself closer so Dorian had no real choice besides wrapping his arms around him to keep him upright or letting him fall into his lap. Either would have been fine.
Dorian made a startled noise, supporting Orym’s weight against his chest and holding him tightly. “Oh,” he whispered after a moment. “I…Orym? Is this okay?”
His feet were still touching the ground, but Orym didn’t have to put in any effort to keep himself from falling. That was good, because he didn’t have the energy to do anything but to rest his forehead down on Dorian’s shoulder and let himself be held. “Thanks,” he breathed. He let out a few weak sobs.
“Don’t–no, it’s alright,” Dorian said automatically. “Don’t thank me, Orym, please.” He pressed one arm more firmly against Orym’s back. “We can talk later, I’m not going to ask you to talk right now. Come here, just…” His fingers pushed through the short hair at the nape of his neck, moving soothingly as Orym shuddered.
It had been a while since Orym had cried on anyone like this. He hadn’t really let anyone get close to him, after…after. He thought that it was going to make him fall apart. Instead, his heart stopped racing and his breathing evened out. The fabric of Dorian’s tunic was soft against his skin, and even the cool solidity of the silver metal wings emblazoned across the front was grounding where it pressed against his ribs, not uncomfortable.
"If it's just because of what I did, then I am so, so sorry," Dorian told him quietly. "And if it's more than that...whatever you need, I'm here."
"It's not just because of you. Though don't ever do that again," mumbled Orym. "You...you scared me half to death, but it's mostly not your fault. It's mine, this is my problem, not yours. I'll handle it, I just...couldn't tonight, apparently."
"You don't have to handle it alone," Dorian said. "You never have to do it alone, alright? Whatever it is, whatever is hurting you. I'm here, and so is Fearne, and…"
Orym buried his face deeper into his shoulder. "I know." His tears kept falling, soaking into Dorian's cloak.
"Do you?"
He...he knew he didn't have to handle it alone. He could choose to explain it to Dorian and Fearne (not the rest of the party, not yet, he wasn't ready for that yet) whenever he wanted, and they would both go out of their way to help him and reassure him and protect him from further hurt. But in the end, it was just him and his grief and his fear. There wasn't much they could do against that.
"Well, anyway, I'm here," Dorian said when it was obvious that Orym wasn't going to answer. "I'm here. If this is all I can do right now, then this is what I'll do. Just tell me if you need anything else."
Orym probably needed to sleep. It was very late–well past midnight–and it had been a very long day. He sniffled, gathering himself enough to remember that Dorian had also had a difficult day. “Are you okay? With your brother, and having to tell everyone…”
Dorian paused, running his hand down Orym’s back. “I think so,” he said eventually. “Obviously not thrilled that there’s a bounty on my brother’s head and that all of my secrets have been tossed into the open, but…you know, it’s alright. I’m alright.” He laughed softly. “After being, uh, courted for weeks by an evil goddess, my sense of what I should be freaking out about is a little skewed.”
“Mm, fair.”
“But I’m alright, for the most part. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Good, thank you.” Orym took a handful of Dorian’s cloak, rubbing it between his fingers. “I’m…not alright.”
“I know,” Dorian said, very gently. “I know.”
“As long as you know." With a sigh, Orym pressed even further against him.
"I'm here." Dorian stroked his back again, trailing his fingers along the tattoos on his shoulder blades.
Orym shivered. "I should sleep." He didn't really think he could sleep, but he knew that he should . He reluctantly started to pull away.
Dorian didn't let go. “Hold on, wait, wait.” He leaned back just enough so that Orym could raise his head and they could look at each other. Reaching up to cup his hand around the side of Orym’s face, he said, “You were afraid when I left because you didn’t know what was happening to me and you were too far away to help if something bad happened, right?”
“...something like that. It’s complicated, Dorian. It’s not–” Orym’s voice broke. “It’s not a normal worry.”
“Something like that happened to you before,” Dorian guessed.
It wasn’t a difficult leap of logic, but hearing it said out loud startled him. Orym’s eyes got blurry with tears again.
Dorian wiped away one of the tears with his thumb. “Taking that as a yes. I’m not expecting you to tell me about it, not now or ever if you don’t want to. I’m here if you do, though. You want to go to bed?”
With a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, Orym leaned forward to rest his forehead against Dorian’s. He felt seen, understood, not torn open like he usually did whenever someone knew or could figure it out. Dorian handled Orym’s grief so delicately that he felt safe with it for the first time in a long time. “Thank you,” Orym said. I love you so much , he almost added, and for a moment he considered tilting his head to kiss him, but he refrained. Dorian deserved better than a kiss from someone who couldn’t stop crying. He deserved a much happier kiss, one that didn’t come with so much weight behind it.
“You don’t need to thank me. Bed?” he repeated.
Orym nodded and stepped back. This time, Dorian released him. He was silent as he went over to the other side of the bed, where he changed into the clean, loose trousers he slept in and, taking more effort than he would like to admit because of his exhausted, shaky limbs, climbed up onto the bed. He slid into the middle underneath the thin blankets, leaving enough space on either side of himself for Fearne and Dorian and closing his eyes. “Dorian?” he said after a few minutes.
“Hm?”
“I don’t know if you were planning on going back out to talk to everyone else tonight, but–”
“Oh, I’m not leaving this room,” Dorian replied immediately. “I’m staying here with you. If–if that’s what you’re asking?” There was a flustered note in his voice, probably a worry that he’d assumed too much.
“That’s what I was asking,” Orym assured him. There was a lump in his throat as he debated finishing his original sentence. He didn’t need to, Dorian wasn’t going to leave, but…“I don’t think I should be…left alone, right now, maybe.”
A soft exhale, footsteps, and then Dorian was sitting on the bed next to him. Orym kept his eyes closed. “I won’t leave you alone, but can you tell me why you think that?”
“Mm-hmm,” Orym acknowledged. He rolled onto his side so his back was to Dorian, gathering himself before he spoke. “Nothing… terrible , I just don’t want to give myself the opportunity to panic again.”
“It’s not the same, I know, but I do understand panic. Does it help you to have an outside perspective too? Or just another person there so you remember…not everything is happening inside your head? Oh, that sounds stupid, I’m sorry–”
“No,” Orym interrupted. “No, that’s exactly it. It’s not stupid, that is what it feels like. Doesn’t always work.” He had been surrounded by people this time and it still felt like he was locked in a room alone with the spiral of fear. “But that’s exactly what I meant.”
“Oh,” Dorian said, relieved. “In that case, I-I want you to know, you’re that person for me a lot of the time.”
Orym opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at him. A soft smile touched his lips as he saw the earnestness in Dorian’s expression. “Yeah?”
Dorian nodded. “We can talk about it another time, maybe?” He had already changed into his nightclothes, and his hair was loose.
“Sure, of course.”
“I’m just so tired.” Dorian squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He put his hand on Orym’s side like he was grounding himself with the touch, and then pulled back when he opened his eyes and saw Orym looking at him, still smiling. A slight purple flush rose to his cheeks.
“Lay down and sleep, then,” Orym told him.
“Should I get the lights?”
Orym lifted his hand, sending a small gust of wind at all but one of the small lanterns in the room, making the flames flicker and go out. “I got them.”
“I can do that, too, you know.”
Closing his eyes again as Dorian laid down in bed behind him, Orym said, “I know. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Orym.”
Orym could hear Dorian breathing, the rattle of a cart on the street outside, and a distant burst of laughter that he pinpointed as coming from their table down the hall. Everyone is safe , he told himself. Nothing is happening. Dorian is right here. You can go to sleep. Little tendrils of doubting worry still gripped his mind, though, reminding him that just because things seemed fine right now didn’t mean that they would be tomorrow. Something was going to go wrong again someday, probably sooner than later, and the panic when someone he loved left his sight wasn’t going to resolve with relief but with the agony of having his worst fears confirmed.
But not tonight, he argued, pushing the thoughts aside. I can’t carry the fear of every possible future all the time, it’s ridiculous.
Ridiculous, maybe, but the fear remained. Orym’s breathing hitched audibly.
“Are you alright?”
“No.”
“What’s–”
“It’s too much to explain,” Orym whispered.
“Is there anything I can do?” asked Dorian.
There wasn’t anything that could make the fear go away, not when it had its clutches in him so strongly like it did tonight. But gods , he needed to sleep. “Could you be closer to me?” Orym said.
Dorian was shifting closer as soon as he’d spoken, making the few inches between them shrink to almost nothing. “Like this, or like…closer like, um, holding onto you?”
Orym almost laughed at the sudden shyness in his voice, as if the two of them and Fearne hadn’t been sharing a bed since leaving Zephrah on their mission, usually ending up wrapped around each other by morning. Instead of answering, he reached behind him and found Dorian’s hand, pulling his arm over his waist. “If that’s okay?”
“Of course, just wanted to check,” Dorian hastened. He adjusted his position and held Orym close to his chest.
Orym found that he could let himself relax a little, enveloped in Dorian’s embrace. Like he’d expected, the fear didn’t go away, but it did feel much less overwhelming. He felt more like he could stay in the present, like Dorian’s touch was anchoring him there so he couldn’t float off into the past or the future. “Night,” he whispered again.
“Sleep well,” Dorian responded.
At some point while he was drifting off, there was a light touch on the top of Orym’s head, and he couldn’t tell if Dorian had just brushed against him as he moved or if it had been a kiss. It felt like the latter, but he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to ask. Someday, maybe, when they were more sure of themselves and less emotionally fragile. The thought occurred to him that there wasn’t any guarantee of a day like that ever arriving–either or both of them could die tomorrow. But the thought didn’t spiral and consume him this time. He let it go, and the moments before he was asleep were the calmest moments he’d had all day.