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Orym spoke for a long while. Talking about Will far more than he ever had before. And for the first time in six long, long years? It didn’t hurt too much to handle. He could smile through the wetness in his eyes as he told Ashton how Will had proposed while Orym had his own ring in his pocket. He could laugh when he told Ashton about how they’d been late to an official ceremony, their hair mussed and clothes askew and how, while the other officials had glowered at them, Keyleth had shot them each a little wink. It felt good in a way Orym hadn’t expected it to feel. It ached, still. Deep in his chest it still hurt like he knew it always would. But it also felt…cathartic.
So he spoke. Long enough for the moon to be high in the sky before he sighed. Swirling what was left in the bottle before handing it over to Ashton. Ashton hummed out a thanks, taking the bottle. The silence lingered once more, both of them staring up at the sky. Tracing over the bright lights swirling across inky black.Skin warmed from liquor and a loose tongue, muscles sore from both having turned to violence to try to release that tension. Orym leaned his head back against the chimney stack, letting it roll on that point of contact until he was looking at Ashton.
“Thank you.” He said. “For letting me ramble. It’s…been a long time.”
Ashton licked at his lips, taking a sip from the bottle before corking it and setting it beside themselves. They looked down to meet Orym’s eyes, briefly taken aback by the softness in those eyes. Still red and a little swollen from tears, exhausted but strangely sated. Ashton’s chest felt tight, heart beating in their throat. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand how someone who had lost so much, someone who’d had his perfect life ripped violently right from his hands, could look at anyone like that. How he could see how the world could be so cruel and unforgiving and unfair, and just still be like this. Could still be soft, could still offer himself so easily to others, protecting everyone he came across. It was so hard to process, to connect this kind, loving man with someone who’d watched his entire world sift through his fingers like sand.
“You take care of everyone else,” Ashton said, shocking themselves with how soft their own voice sounded. As if afraid of breaking this fragile thing between them. The sound of it far too natural coming from someone so used to trying to break things. “Seemed about time someone took care of you, too.”
Orym tensed slightly, eyes widening just the slightest bit. As if he was shocked by the answer. As if he’d genuinely thought it would have been an inconvenience for someone to look out for him instead of him looking out for them. As if he couldn’t fathom the idea of being looked out for, of someone caring about his well being. And Ashton could understand that. Orym very pointedly took care of others. He was deliberate in making sure he appeared as if he didn’t need them to look out for him the way he looked out for them. It was a distinct choice he made and Ashton wondered if anyone had even tried, before. If anyone had seen him be this pillar of strength and protection and tried to offer the same to him. Ashton wondered if he ever let anyone try. They understood that, of course, it was the same thing they did. Put on that face of not being bothered, not being hurt, of not caring.
Except Orym didn’t pretend not to care, and Ashton didn’t get it.
“You’re something else, you know that?” They blurted out, when Orym just stared at them.
Orym blinked once, then twice. Taking a moment to catch up. Then, his brows furrowed together a bit.
“What do you mean?” He asked. Ashton sighed and gestured vaguely.
“This…terrible thing happened to you for no reason. And instead of hating the world, you just…love it harder.” He said. Orym swallowed thickly, looking forward out over the city.
“The world is…a cruel place.” He said after a long pause. “It doesn’t care about you. You can…do everything right, you can be the best person who never makes any mistakes and the universe doesn’t give a shit.”
Ashton licked at their lips, and for perhaps the first time since meeting Orym, he saw someone jaded. Someone angry and broken so violently he was nothing but sharp edges instead of the soft, kind man Ashton had met. Orym shook his head, hand clenched into a tight fist on his thigh.
“Life is cruel, and unfair and unforgiving. It doesn’t matter how much good you do, how much you try to make the right choices, the world will sometimes just rip it away and throw it back in your face. There’s no such thing as good things to those who’ve earned it. You don’t earn karma, you make it.” Orym took a slow breath, and that hatred and anger in his eyes shifted and morphed into determination. “If the universe won’t bring good to people who need it, then I will.”
There was a finality to Orym’s tone. That intensity he always had wrapping around the words in a way that made it feel like an oath. Or…maybe just a promise to the husband Orym had lost.
“I don’t know if I could do that.” Ashton sighed, shaking his head. “I break things and scare people. I can’t do soft.”
“Of course you can.” Orym answered, immediately. Voice firm, filled with that intense conviction Orym so often had. “People have layers to them. Facets of who they are. Being…hard and tough is a part of you, but it isn’t the only part.”
Ashton’s jaw clenched, and they stared forward still. Refusing to look at Orym, firmly ignoring the way their pulse thrummed at their temple, in the glass in their head, along the streaks of gold over their skin. This felt dangerous. Like those layers Orym mentioned were being peeled away despite Ashton’s desperate attempts to keep them in place. And it was terrifying how easy it was to let Orym continue to tear it all down. Not because Ashton was necessarily letting him, but because even when they tried to stop him, they couldn’t find the strength to follow through.
“Do you know why no one runs around in diamond armor, Ashton?” Orym asked, perhaps a bit suddenly, and Ashton couldn’t help but look at Orym, again.
“...Because it'd be expensive as fuck?” He answered, and Orym raised an unimpressed brow. “But I get the feeling you’ve got another answer, for me.”
Orym shook his head, looking forward once more. And that look came over him again. Distant, eyes glassy. Staring at the city but not seeing it.
“It’s because diamond is too hard.” He said. “You can grind against diamond for years and not have a scratch but the moment you hit it? If you hit it, diamond is so hard it becomes brittle and it’ll shatter. Then those shards will hurt whoever is wearing the armor. The exact opposite reason people don’t wear gold armor, it’s too soft. Will bend and deform with every hit until it doesn’t protect you at all, anymore.”
Orym took a slow, deep breath. His hand lifted up, gripping tightly over his chest, over that ring and Ashton continued to stare at him. He understood the point Orym was making, of course he did. It was difficult to miss it. But it was difficult to apply that logic to themselves, to think of themselves as being too hard and having the chance of being shattered because they’d already been shattered. Quite literally, the memory of it painted in gold over their skin. They had already been broken down beyond repair and how much more broken could they possibly be?
“I wore diamond armor, and it shattered.” Orym’s voice cracked when he said it. “So I had to readjust. Keep myself hard enough to protect myself but soft enough to protect everyone else.”
Ashton tilted their head back against the chimney stack, jaw clenched up so hard it made their head ache. Because of course that’s the direction Orym took. Of course he saw the injustice of the world and strove to right it. Of course he would be hurt that badly and choose to continue looking out for everyone else. A desperate attempt to keep anyone from feeling what he had felt.
“My point,” Orym continued, reaching out towards Ashton. Touching his wrist, and it sent a shock through Ashton’s entire system. “Is that there’s nothing wrong with being a little soft. Even if you’re not ready to talk things out.”
Ashton swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, hand clenching up in an attempt to resist turning over and opening up for those fingers still lingering at their wrist. And he wondered, maybe, if they pulled those shards of diamond out of the gaping wounds the Nobodies left behind then they might finally begin to heal.