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Orym doesn’t know who first starts teasing him. If he’s pressed to think about it, in the low afternoon light of the tavern with his face deep in his drink, it must have been Opal. She’s the only one that has any sort of ideals in the - in that department. Well, the only one that has the wherewithal to notice the way that he looks at you. Dorian and Dariax must have followed her lead and Fearne, blessfully, hasn’t picked up on why poor Orym is being teased to Rexxentrum and back during lunch. Thankfully, neither does the barkeep.
The barkeep that’s kept his attention every night they stop before heading to their rooms for dinner. The barkeep that smiles at the way he speaks and wipes down the handles on the mugs before handing them to him. The barkeep... That is frustratingly attractive and nice. The barkeep that he can’t keep his mind off of even when he’s in the middle of a fight with his four new friends.
The barkeep that is… Well, you. He knows that you’ve only worked in the tavern for only a few years, deep in the slums of Emon but your smile is still strong. You laugh with the patrons of the bar, serve them food with a cheery attitude and… When you talk to Orym, you do your best to look him in the eyes. Perhaps he’s just used to being a guard, faceless and nameless behind the Tempest of all people - but it’s nice. He doesn’t shrink away from your gaze, or your kind words. In fact, he leans a little too far into them. It’s like… When you talk to him, you want to. You’re not just doing it because it’s your job, or because he’s giving coin to the place that pays your bills. He likes to believe that you enjoy talking to him, despite his hesitant social skills.
Orym sighs into his cup of juice. Maybe that’s why his little rag-tag group of chaotic idiots had started teasing him that morning. At least Little Mister can’t talk - Orym’s not sure that he could handle the monkey mocking him as well. Speaking of - Opal returns from where she had been chatting with you and slides his lunch toward him. He hadn’t touched it when she had teased him that she was going to talk to you to be his wing-woman, nerves twisting in his stomach. “I think that you should buck up and ask ‘em out,” She nods at Orym like she’s following his train of thought and takes a large bite of her food.
He simply grunts as a response, stabbing a sausage with more force than necessarily required to eat. Opal quirks an eyebrow at him and he scoffs, draining the rest of his mug after he swallows the meat. “I think that you should mind your business.” Like the way that he always does, he chooses his words carefully. Speaking slowly, keeping his eyes on Opal and off of you - who he can see just over her shoulder talking to one of your coworkers. He wonders if you… If you see him in that way. If you look at him and see him and feel the thrumming inside of your chest like he feels. If you have dreams of him - of kissing him - like he has of you.
If you don’t, he wonders if you could. If you could come to love - to feel about him the way he feels about you. Because it’s not love. He can’t have room for love in his life. Not when his job is what his job is, when he’ll eventually have to return to the Air Ashari, when he’ll have to leave Emon as a whole. Orym sighs again when Opal replies, speaking even though he’s clearly not paying attention. She’s still talking when Orym begins to tune her out, turning back into his spiral of thoughts - what if and if it wasn’t this way and in a perfect world...
A tug at his tunic brings his attention from his thoughts to Little Mister, who is standing at his side trying to get his attention. For a moment, Orym is stunned because Little Mister really only clings to him in the heat of battle. It’s strange to be sought out by the monkey, especially when the monkey looks like he’s on a mission. Still, he leans over and smiles softly at Little Mister. “Yes, can I help you, sir?” The little fire elemental is cute, despite the fact that when he opens his mouth to smile, the burning in his stomach makes his face shine like a jack-o'-lantern. Orym likes Little Mister, and Little Mister seems to like him, too.
Well, that's what Orym thinks until the monkey takes his outstretched hand and points the other one at you and screams. Little Mister is nearly as smart as he is so there’s no way that the monkey doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. Especially as he disappears when you make your way over, a small smile and laugh building in your chest as Orym pales to a point where he’s almost worried. “He is insistent,” You address everyone at the table, but Orym wants to believe that you’re looking at him more than anyone else. “But so cute.”
“Yes, he knows what he wants,” Orym supplies, maybe too transparent in his hopes to monopolize your attention. Opal is laughing into her hand across from him, and when you realize you flush a little bit - high on your cheekbones. It’s cute. Orym flushes in response and tries to unscramble his brain. “Although, none of us know what he wants.”
“Oh, well I might have some idea,” Dorian is hiding his grin behind a thick mug, hair pulled back into a bun. Your eyebrows raise and you lean on the table next to Orym as he tries to focus on anything but the heat he can feel off of you. He’s infatuated - that’s the word! It’s not love, it’s a silly infatuation. “Sometimes Little Mister just wants what’s best for us, really.”
“Please,” Dariax cuts in, glaring at the monkey on Fearne’s shoulder as he grinds his teeth - no doubt thinking about his spear, “I think he just wants to eat the plants in this place some more.” Mister hisses at him which makes you laugh brightly.
“I don’t mind, really,” You shoot Orym a look that says you do mind, but you don’t want the group to stop coming to the tavern and his face warms impossibly more. The change from pale to flushed is going to give him whiplash. “Plus, Fearne always makes my plants look so much better than they were before Little Mister got his hands on them. It’s never looked better here. If only my plants at home looked this healthy.”
“Maybe you just need help picking out plants,” Opal leans forward on her intertwined hands and Orym gives her a Look. He knows that she’s planning something, plotting something that he certainly will not like - because that seems to be the common theme in the group. Plans that either start awry or stray off the path somewhere in the middle. Dorian, though, is not on his side this time. She simply smiles at him, cocking her head. Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Orym braces himself for what Dorian is about to add.
“Orym is great at picking out plants,” He supplies with a hand swept out to the side, barely missing the top of Dariax’s head, “He could take you to the market after your shift today. When do you get off?” His phrasing makes Opal and Dariax snicker, but you glance over it and turn your eyes to him. Orym begins to sweat, the back of his neck going very suddenly clammy as he tries his best to force a smile to his face that doesn’t look like a grimace. Seeing you everyday when they eat and drink in your bar is one thing, but being alone with you in the market? Surrounded by flora that smells sweet and pales in comparison to you? He’ll surely combust.
“Oh, would you?” He nearly jumps out of his skin when you grab at his forearm - it’s been so long since he’s had such a casual touch from someone that he hasn’t had to fight beside. It’s nice - so nice that Orym doesn’t realize you’re waiting for an answer until your smile grows a little bit larger and you tilt your head. Opal, Dorian, and Dariax chuckle at the table. In his defense, your hands are soft.
“I would love to,” He tries to level his voice and keep his pace measured so that he doesn’t tip you off that he’s suddenly filled with nervous, excited energy. Your face brightens like the sun has come out after a long day. You make an unidentified squealing noise and jostle his arm a little bit, informing the table that your shift is over now so he can take you to the market right away. Orym turns to the table after you’ve disappeared into the back, a turbulent expression on his normally clear face. “I don’t know anything about keeping plants alive. I’m a guard, not a botanist.”
Fearne laughs, reaching out for his hand. Orym allows her to take it just so that he can have something to ground himself with. Little Mister reaches down and mingles his fingers with theirs. “You’ll do fine, Orym. If you struggle too much, choose a sickly plant and use your druidcraft.” She smiles, one of her ears twitching around as you bumble around in the back of the shop, “You shouldn’t be nervous, just be yourself. It certainly has impressed us.”
His face heats again, and he halfheartedly curses his friends under his breath. “I suppose,” He glances over Opal’s shoulder to where you’re doing your best to get away from your coworkers in a timely manner. There’s a grin on your face as you make your way back to the table and Orym scrambles. He disengages from Fearne and Mister, tripping over himself as he slides out of his chair. “Are you ready for the market?”
“I’m so ready,” You say, reaching for his hand, “Come on, let’s go! I’m terribly excited to pick plants out with you, Orym.”