Chapter Text
Sitting on the floor and scrubbing some dirt from his shield, Orym glanced over at Dorian, who held his lute in his lap, tapping gently at the body with his left hand. With his right, he was repeatedly twirling a section of hair around his finger, tucking it behind his ear and before pulling it forward again and combing through the strands. Orym kept his hand steady, moving back and forth over his shield, but he kept his eyes on Dorian. After a near-sleepless night, there was nothing quite like cleaning his armour to relax him, but usually Orym was often treated to a few minutes of music from Dorian as he worked; today, however, the inn room was filled with quiet as the two of them sat and got on with their respective tasks – although Dorian didn't seem to be doing much.
After a straight five minutes of observing the genasi, Orym had not seen a single difference in his behaviour. He was still fiddling with his hair, moving it about into different positions until he apparently decided it was comfortable – then changing it again. Orym watched him for one more moment before deciding to interrupt.
"Dorian?"
Dorian's head snapped up. "Hm?"
"What the hell are you doing?"
Dorian looked down at himself for a moment, then immediately let go of his hair. "Sorry," he said, looking embarrassed. "I just can't get it to sit right..." he mumbled, giving one last tug at his hair before dropping his hand to his lute, making an ugly sound against the strings.
"Hey, hey." Orym got up, leaning his shield against the wall. He walked over to his friend. "What are you trying to do with it?"
Dorian shrugged miserably. "I just feel like it looks... wrong."
"It looks fine, trust me. But if you keep pulling at it like that, you're gonna mess it up. Don't you want something practical for today? We're probably gonna be rushing around a lot."
"You're right, I guess. I just like having it look nice. It doesn't feel right to just treat it like it doesn't matter." He chuckled. "It doesn't make much sense, I know."
"It makes total sense. You should be proud of it; it's gorgeous. But you can make it look nice while still keeping it out of the way. I can help, if you like."
Dorian hesitated. Orym knew it might've been a risky thing to suggest; the genasi was incredibly proud of his hair and rarely let other people touch it. Orym didn't want to pressure him into anything, but it looked like Dorian was genuinely considering the offer.
"Okay. Sure, why not."
Orym smiled, and Dorian got up and put his lute on the chair. "Shall I... sit?
"Yeah, that would be useful."
Dorian went to the bed and sat down next to it, letting Orym stand behind him in order to reach his hair. As soon as he touched it, he felt Dorian shiver and shift slightly. "You good?"
"Yep, yep, just been a while."
Orym nodded, then remembered Dorian couldn't see him. "Of course."
Once up close and actually given the opportunity to touch it, Orym was mesmerised by Dorian's hair. It was perfectly soft despite him having worried at it for the past ten minutes, and every inch looked as if it had been taken care of its whole life. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes. I want you to help."
Orym nodded a second time, wishing he wasn't just doing this for practicality. He wanted to be able to brush and tidy and put Dorian's hair into whatever style he wanted it to be; he wanted to help Dorian relax every night by letting his hair down for him, figuratively and literally, and he wanted to craft flowers into his hair in every shade of blue in existence. But that was a dream for another time, when he was free to be distracted. Right now he was a little too preoccupied, and he didn't want to accidentally get carried away with Dorian's hair. A simple ponytail was the objective, something foolproof that would keep his hair out of his face.
Even so, he tried to put as much care as possible into gently gathering the locks of hair together and pulling them up into a knot on top of Dorian's head, making sure not a strand was out of place. The genasi was still a little tense, but noticeably more relaxed. His shoulders had drooped and he wasn't twitching every time Orym's hands moved through his hair. The blatant trust in Dorian's posture gave Orym an oddly heady feeling, like floating the same way his hair sometimes did.
When he finished, he combed through it one last time time to check he really had caught every last strand, and, satisfied that he had, he druidcrafted a small bunch of forget-me-nots into the top of the ponytail. He wasn't even sure if Dorian noticed, but he was more doing it for himself than for the bard.
"There. All done."
Dorian came back to focus and tried to look over his shoulder. He couldn't quite turn his head far enough, so Orym walked from behind him to in front with a light laugh. "That should keep it out of the way."
His friend smiled. "Thank you. Let's go, then?"
Orym nodded and Dorian got up. As they made their way downstairs to join the rest of the group in silence, Orym thought about all the opportunities he might get to repeat the moments he had shared with his friend today; he hoped they'd be soon and he wondered how different or similar they would be. He knew it would be wise to tell himself not to think about every little detail of the morning, to replay every second in his head, to imagine how it would be in the future – but he did it anyway, for the entire day and possibly the night too.
While they had been out and about that day, moving from spire to spire as they usually did, Orym had noticed Dorian reaching up to his hair every now and then, and had been worried that the new style upset him, but then Dorian would simply move his fingers over the tiny bunch of flowers in his ponytail and Orym's worries would disappear and be replaced by a nervous fluttering in his heart. The hope the forget-me-nots symbolised bloomed in his chest and warmed him for the rest of the day.