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It was in the things they didn't say.
The stolen glances, the featherlight brushing of hands, the unwavering trust in one another.
It started out like a creek, but now, in an almost agonizingly long buildup, it had reached tsunami strength. Orym had seen the Voice of the Tempest create one once; it had been beautiful but terrifying all at once. The sheer power it held, uncaring for mortal life, a primal force of nature and its elements responding to the ebbs and flows of those other forces around it.
Their love had blossomed like a tsunami. The question was, though, who would it take out first? Them, or those around them?
The connection waned when Dorian left. Like any busy time in one's life, other tasks took priority. And unlike any usual times, when the world as they knew it was at stake, it began to leave his mind almost entirely. But that was before things began to go wrong.
When they began to go wrong, Orym yearned for his anchor. He had friends, yes, he had a support system, yes; but he hadn't seen Dorian in so. fucking. long. Dorian had been with him from the beginning, and here, at the end of all things, he could think of no one he'd rather have by his side.
His call had been desperate. He knew that messaging magic was working again, but who knew where Dorian was, how he was doing, if he still even had the other Sending Stone.
He went to bed that night feeling lonelier than ever.
~~~~~~~~
Dorian. Beautiful, blue Dorian, tripping on the heels of the Tempest, gaze casting about the encampment, taking everything in. He missed Orym at first.
The halfling saw him and stopped dead still. The others hadn't noticed Dorian yet, and paused in concern at Orym's reaction.
In that split second, he took off running. Using every last bit of speed he had, every trick in the book, he raced over and launched himself into his old friend's arms.
Dorian, who had finally noticed him halfway to him, let out a winded *oomph* as the halfling hit him, but held on just as tightly as Orym clung to him.
The others caught up and Orym didn't want to let go, he *didn't*, but time waited for no one and even if he felt like a missing puzzle piece had finally been introduced back into his life, that didn't mean the world was going to wait for him to figure out just where it fit.
And so he pulled back, and they wept, and shared stories, and prepared for the next step on their journey.
~~~~~~
Fearne left them in the rain.
Orym and Dorian laughed lightly. They knew why. They both knew the other knew. They both were content to leave it as it was for the time being.
And yet, they stayed outside. They could have followed her in, rejoined the group. But for a while, it was nice to just sit here in their localized rain cloud.
Horrible things had happened in the time they were apart. But it meant something that out of everything that had changed, they were still okay. Back together again.
Orym found himself curling up against Dorian's side as the minutes passed. Not hiding from the rain, not cold, just... desiring closeness. Dorian adjusted to drape his arm (and cloak) over the halfling's shoulder.
Orym looked up. Dorian was gazing upwards in turn, blinking as gentle drops of rain fell on his face.
In that moment, Orym found himself once again marveling at his beauty.
And what was it that he had been saying about time running out?
"Dorian," he whispered softly.
The bard flinched, as if startled by his words, however quiet they had been. He shifted to look down at the halfling. "Hmm?"
Orym took a moment to admire his visage, before reaching up, ever-so-gentle, with his hand to cup his cheek. Dorian's brow furrowed in amused confusion for a moment before Orym asked, "May I?" His eyes flickered down to Dorian's lips, then up again, his intent clear.
"I- I mean- are you-" Dorian began stuttering, his heart fluttering in his chest. *Stop it, you're making a fool of yourself,* he chided himself. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked down at Orym again, still patiently waiting, a fond half-smile curled on his face. "Always."
Permission granted, Orym closed the distance and finally (*finally*) kissed him.
There were no fireworks. The rain didn't stop. It wasn't hasty, or passionate, or a means to an end.
Instead, it was gentle. It was constant. It was... them.
The two of them. Together.
It was perfect.