Xanadu Weyr - Weyrling Barracks
A long and roughly oblong cavern. About a third of the space is open, used for classes or chores as required. The rest of the space is filled with couches of varying sizes, all with plenty of space between them. Some couches are obviously intended for the very young weyrlings while the largest ones at the back are for the older weyrlings.
There are supplies for the care of dragons tucked back against the walls. A barrel of oil sits with scrub brushes and soft clothes, and a thick hardwood table is used to prepare meat in bite-sized pieces for the young dragons. There's also a few supplies for the weyrling humans, like bedding for cots or extra pillows for those sleeping on their lifemate's couch.
The hour is early yet. It's so early that dawn has barely broken and many of the dragon pairs are still asleep. It's true that in this fourth month of weyrlinghood, though still in the early days, that there are more obligations for both halves of the weyrling pairs. But, the dragons are also still babies in many ways. There's only so much discipline that can be forced, only so much routine that can be coaxed into baby bodies that simply are still tired when they're tired, growing when they're growing and hungry when they're hungry. Glorioth is supposed to be waking up just about now, and instead, F'yr is just finishing oiling the enormous baby passed out in his wallow. The man is humming a quiet song, but has a fairly up-beat look to his face as he finishes the most delicate parts of the bronze's helmed head. That done, the oil-slicked man pads toward his press where rags were left to help rub in the greater part of the oil, or rub it off as the case may need to prove. One's skin can only take so much oil, even in these drier days of winter. It just so happens that the tune F'yr is humming is one of the traditional pieces often done in the Xanadu region to celebrate turndays. Could it be the barracks has a turnday boy on their hands?
Being one of those annoying bastards who actually likes to run, craves it even, V'ro is awake and on his way to the training grounds to get in some time to himself before other people can judge him. Or bother him. Or tell him to do things. So color him surprised when F'yr is not only awake, but also humming to himself. For a moment V'ro is probably panicked that a turn has passed since their dragons hatched. But, no, that can't be right. "What are you doing?" he asks, outright, but without much specificity.
Seeing F'yr up at dawn is probably not that rare when Glorioth's schedule allows it. It's when he was rising all through candidacy and even before. The humming isn't even all that rare, but that song does impart a special meeting. The song breaks off at the sound of the green weyrling's voice and the big blond turns away from his job of cleaning up from the oiling to face V'ro. "Finishing up. You going for a run? Mind if I join you?" He's already turning toward his press as if he expects to be welcomed (or maybe just for clean clothes regardless). It's a quick and unselfconscious work of only a handful of moments for F'yr to strip and swap into clothes more appropriate for a run in this winter weather and slide his feet into his boots once more.
"Uh," is how V'ro starts out his thought, almost like he doesn't understand the question, but since F'yr is already changing, he just says, "Sure." That's probably what he was going to say anyway, to be fair. Probably. He won't even stare at the bronze weyrling while he's between clothes. He doesn't even stand there the whole time, he starts heading out toward the training grounds, expecting F'yr to follow when he's ready.
And follow F'yr does, using his extra inches and long stride to catch himself up to V'ro. It's a nice warm up, really, if too brief to really be useful. "You sure this is okay?" He asks as he falls into step with the curly haired weyrling, his head tilting just slightly as his blue gaze searches the slighter man's profile for signs that his demeanor might not match his words; it wouldn't be the first time V'ro said one thing and meant another, after all.
"It's fine." His answer is quick but not too-quick. He sounds, and looks, sincere, anyway? "So is it someone's turnday or do you just like the way that sounds this morning?" Because, frankly, he wouldn't put it past F'yr to just hum anything at any time that gets stuck in his head.
It's really a fair assumption because he does. F'yr hums, F'yr sings, F'yr even whistles. Some of them might be familiar, nothing ever too complicated, but some are probably just whatever he learned at home on the farm, from whoever happened to have a song to make the time pass, the work go more easily. "Oh, sorry. Yeah, mine." Unlike other people who might get that special sparkle or extra hop in their step on a turnday, it really seems like the only impact F'yr's turnday is having on him is that idle humming, so it must have at least occurred to him that today's date meant it was the anniversary of his womb escape.
"Yours?" V'ro probably doesn't have much right to sound indignant about that, but he kind of does a little bit. "I didn't— Why didn't you warn anyone? Or am I—" He cuts himself off, probably not wanting to know if he's the only one who didn't know beforehand, quasi-loner that he tends toward. "I didn't get you anything." Obviously, since he didn't know. "But… happy turnday?"
The indignance on V'ro's voice sort of brings F'yr up short, even though he keeps walking. His brows draw down, slightly perplexed. "Was I supposed to?" It's a real question, V'ro. "I mean, thanks, I guess. I don't celebrate?" It sounds like a question, but then he does look very confused by all of this. "No one knows. I mean, except Glori." But the bronze is in his head, so. "I thought about having a party next turn, maybe? I've never had a —" Only maybe the former farmer is realizing that the issue is his non-standard upbringing. "Uh," he stumbles in his words and his feet at the same moment, but catches himself on both accounts. "Sorry. It was never a thing at home. Youngest of twelve, middle of the pack of more than thirty." The former is siblings, the latter has to be general relations. "No time for turndays on a farm." He shrugs. "Do… traders do something special? Do you? When is your tunday anyway?" All these things could be becoming of immediate importance to F'yr now that he thinks about it and his eyes might have become a little too intensely focused on the greenrider's. "Did I miss yours?" They have known each other over half a turn at this point; the question is not unreasonable.
"No," says V'ro about whether he was supposed to know like he guesses not, but still might not love it. But as F'yr continues, it doesn't seem to bother him as much that he might be missing out on some important aspect of the bronzerider's life. "Depends on the traders, I guess. My family always liked an excuse to have a good time. But I haven't really done anything about it since I left." It takes him a few moments to remember what month it even is before he can answer, "No. It's soon, though, I guess. A couple months?"
"And when it's your turnday," neverminding that it's presently F'yr's, that's not what's important here, "what should I be doing for you? Do you want a present? A… picnic?" It's clear from the deeply furrowed brow that the bronzerider is out of his depth in even beginning to broach the topic of turndays and how normal people spend them. "Katailea had a turnday and I told her she should have a good time. She made out with Jaynas," the candidate with whom F'yr use to spar, "and said it was an alright time." He glances at V'ro, looking at him thoughtfully. "How many months?" Maybe he's trying to count, too, but probably it's in vain because he almost definitely doesn't remember the weyrling training calendar that has to be posted somewhere in the barracks for all these sleep deprived people. "How would you like to spend your turnday, if you had your way?" He adds more broadly after a moment, still watching V'ro's face as he walks beside him, though F'yr's pace has slowed and he might be at risk of being left behind if it gets much slower. Thinking and walking at the same time might be hard when he's been awake for hours, though.
V'ro looks at F'yr like he's not sure why he would bring up making out. What kind of sadist are you, bronzerider! "I don't want anything, don't worry about it. Two months, I guess." He even says a date since that's easier and doesn't really require advanced math like addition. As F'yr slows, the greenrider pulls up with him, turning to look at the other man with a furrow in his brow. "I don't know. Suppose I'll just… have a normal day. Be glad I made it another turn." Okay, he gets it, he overreacted. Is anyone surprised?
Since Glorioth is not up out of sound sleep to roar about it, talking about making out doesn't seem to be bothering the bronzerider, as if that wasn't in evidence already. That's why the look V'ro gives him meets with a perplexed shift in his brows like F'yr knows he missed something, but isn't quite sure what. "Okay," he does say after a moment, a long moment. "I understand not celebrating. I mean, I'm not." He shrugs those broad shoulders. "But if you change your mind and there's anything that would… help you have a good day, let me know?" It's a fairly broad offer to be sure, and who know what things will even look like in two months or so with all the new changes and challenges the weyrlings will have to face before then, but at least he offers?
By now V'ro is used to F'yr looking at him like he's making no sense. He's probably not making sense, to be fair. "Sure," is his much quicker response. "But today is for you. Is there anything I can do to make your today good? Better?" Not worse, at least, which he's probably starting to feel is the case.
What it probably is, ultimately, is that V'ro is complex, and F'yr… well, he's complex too, but a lot less often than V'ro. Right now, F'yr is really quite simple. His brows go up then down as it he's trying to find the right answer somewhere in his head. "I'm looking forward to running together? Just… being together." Is that the right answer? The bronzerider does look a little abashed. He gives a quick glance back toward the barracks and then to the greenrider. "I'm pretty wanting for hugs these days, but that's not really about my turnday. That's just…" He shrugs, a little helpless gesture at his sides probably indicates the big baby bronze he's attached to and the whole weyrlinghood thing.
V'ro's weight shifts like he's considering moving off again, but he doesn't quite step out. Instead he's looking at the bronzerider uncertainly. "Can I hug you?" He knows it's not up to the bronzerider, but he's the only one who can gauge whether or not it's a thing even worth attempting. But V'ro starts to second guess it even before F'yr has a chance to answer, "Sorry, maybe we should just run."
"Yeah. He crashed hard and it's bothering him less now," F'yr hopes, F'yr dreams, F'yr wishes. "But if you don't want to…?" His blue eyes scan the greenrider's face cautiously. "Or if it's not okay with Koth… I just thought… I mean, since we hugged that time in the barracks that maybe…" It's an awkward stumble through the brambles of vocalizing wishes for platonic physical contact, but that was probably inevitable when next something like this came up. "It's okay if you don't." F'yr is quick to add, although his brow is doing that perplexed puppy pucker. Who doesn't like hugs? (Other than everyone who doesn't like hugs.)
There's no answer to F'yr's stumbling, V'ro just steps into the bronzerider and wraps his arms around him, the side of his head pressing against the side of F'yr's. "Koth doesn't mind," he murmurs, just in case that's important to the other weyrling, even if that's probably implied in the fact that he's hugging him at all. "I wish we'd done more of this before the hatching," is added a little wistfully. "Suppose it would've made not being able to do it harder, though."
The welcome of F'yr's arms is so seamless that it would be hard for even V'ro to doubt the truth of it; then again, maybe F'yr just welcomes hugs from everyone. His arms go around the other weyrling with no hesitation and the embrace is tight, with enough feeling to cause F'yr to relax against the slenderer man with a sigh that's not only relaxation but probably several more complex pent up emotions. "I'm glad. That she doesn't." Because it does actually matter to F'yr, but his hips shift slightly closer, for more body to body contact in the gesture, deeper maybe. "Me too. It's nice." He might not be picking up on some of the nuances of V'ro's statement but given his dragon's reaction to F'yr's attraction to people, it's probably for the best if he stays a little in the dark. The bronzerider does press his head gently into the curls of the other man, cheek against cheek, stubble little more than a tickle. "It's hard enough now." Maybe if F'yr had a dragon who appreciated his rider's needs as a thing to actually be observed, allowed, or otherwise to exist, like thoughtful Koth, it wouldn't be as hard, but… it is what it is. Yaaay.
He definitely welcomes hugs from everyone, as far as V'ro is concerned. But for right now the green weyrling will just be happy that it's his hug right now, all for himself. And F'yr. Whatever. V'ro could probably stay in the bronzerider's embrace for an uncomfortably long time, but he won't. "Something to look forward to," he notes before he's drawing back. "Are you ready?" Why were they even out here again? Maybe V'ro just likes running so much because it helps to burn off all that extra stuff he doesn't want to deal with.
When V'ro starts to move out of F'yr's arms, the bronzerider keeps him. Not forever, of course, but for a few heartbeats longer. V'ro is wanted here, in this embrace, in this moment, with F'yr. The big blond's cheek presses lightly to the greenrider's cheek and a breath is released close to his ear that might be just a little bit of a sigh, too wistful to not be just a little painful to one or both parties. But he does let go of the greenrider lest those thoughts go from wistful to something that would wake the guardian of F'yr's innocence. Thankfully, Glorioth doesn't care for those reasons or F'yr might never get laid. Still, getting laid is months off and for now this hug remains what it's meant to be - a solid turnday hug. "Yeah. Let's run." Running is good for more than one of them when it comes to dealing with stuff, and though it's not F'yr's go to, it's as good as any other intense physical exertion as any other for blanking his mind out, and all the better for it being something he can do alongside V'ro. Ready? Set? Go!