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Giving a good stretch to one side, then the other, Orym felt ready to try and fall asleep. The day had been long and tiring and he was a bit out of it going to bed, but the promise of his, Fearne's and Mister's little cuddle pile was enough of a reasurance that he felt safe.
Fearne took up most of the space, as usual, but he didn't mind. He curled up against her, mind already half asleep when suddenly he saw a blue hand close to his face. Without a second thought, he took it in his and squeezed lightly.
"Night, Dor," his voice was half yawn, half whisper when he spoke.
"Orym?" But that was not Dorian's voice.
He opened his eyes, now wide awake and really confused. It was then that he realized where he was: not Jrusar, right. They were in a inn in the Hamlet, Fearne, Mister, Laudna and... A newly blue-colored Imogen.
"Oh, sorry. I– I guess for a second I thought..." He started saying but Imogen only nodded, a pitiful smile on her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, Laudna already fast asleep and curled against her side. "If I knew how to get rid of it, I would. I'm sure it must be... Difficult."
With his sleepy dizziness properly gone, Orym could see better. The little bit of moonlight that came from outside and illuminated their room was enough to see Imogen, bright navy-blue colored skin. It was definitely similar to Dorian's, but at the same time, if Orym had been more awake when he took Imogen's hand, he would've realized right away. Yes, similar color, but not quite it.
"It's alright, Imogen. Really." He smiles at her weakly and a yawn escapes him once again. "It's just a color. I think that, as long as you like it and it doesn't hurt you, it's alright to keep it. No need to worry about it."
Imogen simply resolves to giving him a pointed look, but doesn't say anything else. She yawns too and sighs right after.
"If you say so. Goodnight Orym."
"Night."
Somewhere in his memory, deep inside his heart, a chorus of love, love whispered in the middle of the night make his chest tighten. He tries to ignore it as best as he can.
๑ ｡･ ✿ ･｡ ๑
Of course the flowers were blue. What other color could they be?
Orym was starting to think that maybe he had been cursed. He felt haunted, to an extent. Before he could realize it, he was already looking down at the flower on his belt and softly caressing its petals. He stared at the flowers then back again at his own.
The flower he had was brighter, its color was more vibrant, its petals were softer, even its smell was sweeter. Perhaps it wasn't fair to compare the bunch of blue flowers to one he had found in the middle of a storm, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough.
He tried to ignore that little voice inside his head again, just like he had been trying ever since Dorian left. He felt quite pathetic, if he was being honest. Not even two weeks had passed and he already found himself thinking about his friend (not dead just– temporarily gone) almost every instant of the day. Just like right now, where he found himself thinking how the bunch of blue flowers were no match to the blue of Dorian's skin.
Dorian's hands were soft too, he remembered. When they'd first met he had helped Dorian climb something once and he had had to suppress a tiny gasp the moment he'd taken Dorian's hand. It was so soft compared to his own.
Some days Orym would imagine what Dorian's fingers running through his hair would feel like. He would push those thoughts away just as fast as they came.
"Orym?" Fearne put a hand on his shoulder.
Right. They were in the middle of a mission right now. No time for wishful thinking or daydreaming about impossibilities.
"Let's go." He said and set to walk right by FCG's side to ask them if perhaps there was any sort of 'cure' for Imogen's... Situation.
๑ ｡･ ✿ ･｡ ๑
The sky is also blue, though that feels like a bit of an absurd observation. It was blue before he'd met Dorian, and it would continue to be even after he died. Travelling around the Heartmoor made it easy to forget the sky was blue, with so many trees giving shade, he could almost blame what little blue he saw through the leaves on a trick of the light.
That's why he had to take a second when they reached a clearing. It was around mid-day, the sun shining bright in one of the bluest skies he'd seen in a while. And yet, his first thought was: It is still not as great as him.
He was hopeless.
Once again, Fearne approached. She was smiling at him, the slightest furrow of her brows that would only be noticeable to someone who'd spent a long time around her. Orym definitely had.
"If you're worried about getting sunburnt, I can serve as your shadow." She scratched the place behind his ear absentmindedly. "It doesn't really affect me."
"Thank you, Fearnie," he hummed. "Though it's not really that–"
"Oh! Is it about Dorian?" She asked as if it were the most normal and easy thing to say in the world, maybe it was to her. "Did you spot another cool flower nearby?"
"No– Yes? Well–" he sighed. He motioned at the sky, hoping Fearne would understand what he was trying to say. Hoping he didn't look as crazy as he felt. "The sky."
"Oh, yes. It's very bright today, don't you think?" She smiled at him again, this time with the littlest hint of sorrow in her eyes. Orym was about to agree with her when suddenly she spoke again. "Not as bright as Dorian, though. His skin color is much prettier."
His eyes widened slightly, no quite believing what he'd just heard. When he looked up Fearne she simply giving him this knowing look and he knew he was done for. He hadn't been doing that great of a job at hiding what he felt, had he? If Fearne had been able to see through him then who was to say the others hadn't?
"That flower you found in the storm the other day," she started. He took in a sharp breath. "It reminded me of him. Blue and stormy and just so special. You can feel it too, can't you?"
"It is quite the flower..."
"I find it funny how many of the people here seem to associate the color blue with sadness, don't you?" She chuckles. "Dorian was nothing but a light in my life. I miss him."
And so did Orym. He wished it was that easy to just say it, say he misses Dorian. His sometimes silly routine before and after bed. How he'd ask Orym for help with polishing his armor. How he and Fearne would tend to each other's hair while he simply watched. Sometimes they'd ask him to join their braid train as well, he'd braid Dorian's hair, Dorian would Fearne's and Fearne would Mister's.
He really, really missed their cuddle pile. Their medium spoon.
"Yeah he... He was something truly special." Is all he managed to say and if still felt like so much. Too much to admit out loud. But Fearne was right, Dorian had been like a sun for them. The irony of his middle name didn't escape him at the realization. "Thank you, Fearne."
"Of course, love."
Ashton called for them, telling them hurry up and so they did. Dorian being gone was... Hard. Specially with so many random things reminding him of the Genasi, but at least they had the sending stones. And he had Fearne. He could wait. He would wait, for Dorian to come back, for his friends to reunite, for the mysteries they're facing to unfold. He would wait for Dorian with eyes and arms wide open and tell him just what a beautiful color he is.