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Ashton scrubbed at both eyes with the heels of his hands as he trudged down the stairs of the tavern their ragtag group spent the night at with one thing on his mind: a huge cup of coffee to counteract the amount of alcohol the group had indulged in the evening prior. That is, until the smell of something cooking wafted from the kitchen and piqued their stomach’s interest.
Sliding onto the nearest stool at the bar, Ashton said to the middle-aged male half-orc behind the counter, “I don’t know what the fuck smells so good, but I need it in my mouth.”
The barkeep’s lips twitched in amusement at the phrasing and it was clear that there was a smart remark on the tip of his tongue. A look from Ashton that says ‘just don’t’ even more plainly than the actual words on the back of their vest had him deciding against whatever comment had been about to pass his lips.
Instead he said, “Sorry, no can do. Kitchen staff ain’t here ‘til lunch today.”
Ashton didn’t have the energy to do much more than quirk a brow at him. It was a rough night of fighting, then drinking to unwind from the fighting, and they just weren’t in the mood.
“The smell coming from your kitchen begs to differ,” Ashton countered after taking a few moments to remind themself that punching the individual before them for being mildly annoying was a terrible idea.
The bartender shook his head, “Ain’t none of mine making something that smells that good. Some halfling came down earlier and asked if he could use the kitchen. He offered to pay for the food and the wood and said he’d clean up after himself, so I told him to have at it.”
Ashton was headed toward the door to the kitchen before the man finished talking, their interest aroused at ‘halfling'. Sure enough, he opened the door to find Orym standing on a short stool over the wood-burning stove, concentrating on stirring something in a large pot. Whatever it was, it smelled fucking amazing.
Orym didn’t even glance their direction before saying, “Hey, Ashton. Didn’t think you’d be up this early after having so much fun last night.”
Ashton’s arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned back against the wall beside the door.
“You’re cooking," Ashton observed. "What the fuck is up with that?”
Orym did look up at that. He almost seemed self-conscious, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Ashton simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response.
After an awkward moment, Orym set the spoon down and hopped from the stool to grab a small pile of finely chopped herbs from the counter behind him. He was back on the stool and dropping them into the pot when he finally spoke.
“I used to help my mom in the kitchen as a kid.” He brushed the remaining bits of herb from his palms into the pot and started stirring again.
Ashton waited. Somehow they were certain there was more of an explanation forthcoming. And sure enough…
“Cooking gives me something to focus on. It's familiar. Comforting. It helps me get out of my own head.”
Ashton snorted a breath out through their nose, “Yeah, I get that. It’s a shitty place to be sometimes.”
Orym nodded in lieu of a reply. He grabbed a small towel from somewhere nearby and folded it, then leaned down to pull something out of the oven.
Ashton's mouth watered at the sight of fresh-baked bread.
“Would you like to help me finish breakfast?”
Ashton’s head tipped thoughtfully to the side for a second before he pushed off of the wall saying, “Sure. What can I do?”
***
A short time later, Ashton sat across from Orym at one of the small tables in the tavern, a bowl of steaming hot stew and a generous hunk of still-warm bread on the table in front of them. They glanced over at the man behind the bar to see him scarfing down his own bowl of stew that Orym had graciously offered for the kindness of allowing him to use the Inn’s kitchen.
“I think he likes it,” they told Orym as the barkeep lifted the bowl closer to his face when stew dripped onto his tunic from his spoon. Orym’s smile had Ashton reaching for their own utensil, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to duck their head so no one could see the way Orym’s smile had the corners of their lips twitching upward as well. They had an image to maintain, after all.
Ashton shoveled a heaping spoonful of meat and vegetables into his mouth, and a burst of harmonious flavors had him moaning his appreciation before he could catch himself. They chewed, swallowed, then blurted, "This is fucking delicious. How are you not married with 2 kids and a warm, cozy hearth if you can cook like this?"
There was a long pause, during which Ashton spooned two more large bites into their face, savoring each one. Finally, Ashton looked up from their bowl to find a complicated expression on Orym's face. Huh. What the fuck is up with that? They leaned back in their chair, then further until it tipped back on two legs. Their food forgotten in favor of intrigue, they watched the smaller man with curious eyes.
Orym’s cheeks and ears flushed under Ashton’s gaze, and he was flustered in a way Ashton had never seen him before when he responded.
"Uh, I'm not…really attracted to females. So no kids." Orym paused as if he were deciding whether to continue or not before saying, "I was married, though."
Ashton managed not to tip their chair over…but only just barely. He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible when he said, "Oh?"
Yeah, it wasn't exactly eloquent, but words are hard to come by when you're trying not to choke on your own tongue. Because Ashton was not expecting that.
There was another long beat of silence before Orym spoke again, "Yeah. My husband, Will, was—"
Orym swallowed hard, trying to force air past the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat.
Finally managing to draw a deep breath and release it slowly, he tried again, "He was killed…in the attack on Zephrah."
The front legs of Ashton's chair slamming back down to the floor startled them both. Ashton's eyes were wide, and maybe there was a little bit of panic reflected in their expression. They didn’t do emotions. Well, except for anger, he was good at that one.
"Oh, fuck…" Ashton breathed.
One corner of Orym's mouth lifted in a small, wry reaction. "Yeah."
"Fuck," Ashton said again. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think…" Ashton trailed off when they saw Orym shake his head at them.
"You don't have to apologize, Ash. You didn't know—you couldn't have," Orym assured them. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Ashton huffed a breath through their nose, suppressing the urge to tell Orym that not knowing didn't make it okay that they’d hurt him. "Yeah. I just… fuck ."
At least the curve of Orym's mouth was amused this time.
"I'm not good at feelings," Ashton admitted, genuine embarrassment causing their cheeks to darken. Which was weird, because normally their lack of social graces is something they embrace, not get flustered by. This felt different for some reason.
"You don't say," Orym said, his tone teasing. Mirth now danced with the time-worn sorrow in Orym's eyes. The resulting expression had the wall of ice protecting Ashton's heart threatening to melt.
Nope. That was not okay . Time to put a stop to whatever the fuck was going on before they let Orym worm his way into their life in a way they were not ready for .
Like it wasn’t already too late for that.
Ashton's elbows thumped on the table top, and he buried his face in both hands and muttered another 'fuck' under his breath as his brain offered up that helpful thought.
"You really don't have to say anything, Ash. It's still hard to talk about him, but it’s been six years. I’m okay." Orym's shoulders bobbed with a little shrug, "It…felt right to tell you about him. So I did. That’s all it has to be."
Ashton's head came up abruptly, and a new intensity shone in his eyes as he clung to something—anything—besides the warm feeling that had started to bloom in his chest.
"Why do you call me that?"
Orym's head tilted at the abrupt segue. His sharp eyes probably clocked far more in their expression than Ashton would prefer. But all he said was, "Because it's your name?"
"No, it's not." Ashton’s inner monologue chastised him; it was a little blunt, but Orym should be used to candidness from them by now. Besides, it's the truth. "Why do you shorten it like that?"
Orym thought for a moment before responding, "It just kind of slipped out the first time. But it felt right, so I kept using it. I can stop if you don't like it."
" No, " Ashton was a little appalled at how vehemently the word came out, but they're committed now, so yeah, “wasn't a complaint."
Orym regarded Ashton as though they were something interesting—perhaps a puzzle he could piece together from the shattered pieces of who they once were .
Fuck that shit. No one needs the full picture of the fucking mess Ashton has become.
"Nobody’s ever called me by a fucking nickname before. Feels strange," Ashton sids, mostly to distract Orym from whatever he was pondering about them with that sharp mind of his. "But not in a bad way," they clarified, maybe a little too quickly.
A small crease appeared between Orym's eyebrows as he continued to stare at Ashton thoughtfully.
"What?" Ashton asked with a little more exasperation than intended, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.
"I find it hard to believe no one has ever called you by a nickname before I came along."
Ashton snorted, glancing away before meeting Orym's gaze head on, "Well, maybe if you count ‘asshole’...but I’m pretty sure that's always been intended as more insult than endearment. Otherwise, honest to gods, not fucking once. Pretty sure no one ever cared enough to bother with one."
Fucking Hells. Why the fuck had they said that?
Orym's gaze flickered with something Ashton couldn’t quite put their finger on, and Ashton was forced to look down at the table so they didn't melt under the intensity of those keen eyes.
"Ash," Orym exhaled their name like it was precious. There was a breathless quality to his voice, and it almost sounded to Ashton like he'd just finished fighting off a fucking army of shade creepers…and that shortened version of Ashton's name was the only thing that had gotten him through the battle. Ashton tried not to think too hard about the warm, fluttery feeling that thought gave them inside. Good gods, what was fucking wrong with them today!?
"It is what it is," Ashton said, making every attempt to sound ambivalent. "I don't need your fucking pity, Orym."
"Not pity."
The words were a promise, and they eased something inside of Ashton that he didn't even realize needed to be soothed. Orym was smiling softly at Ashton when they raised their eyes in the following silence, and that fluttery feeling was back in an instant.
"I just wish I'd found you sooner."
There was absolutely zero doubt in Ashton's mind that they looked like a fucking idiot sitting there slack-jawed, staring at the halfling across the table. Because what the fuck do you even say to that?
"Smiley day!" FCGs overly-cheerful voice reverberated through Ashton's skull as they rolled up to the table. "I was wondering where you got off to so early, Ashton! I was a little worried when you weren't in the room when I came out of stasis."
Ashton didn't groan, but they really wanted to. Letters' enthusiasm was A Lot first thing in the morning. Hand reaching for the coffee sitting next to their bowl, Ashton muttered an indecipherable reply into the mug and drank half of the contents in one go.
"What is that heavenly smell?"
Fearne. Which meant Imogen and Laudna probably weren't far behind. At least it saved Ashton from having to stumble through an awkward conversation with Orym about their fucking feelings or some bullshit like that. Not that there were any feelings to talk about.
Did Orym look a little disappointed by their talk being interrupted? Nah, they had to be reading into the shift in his expression.
Was Ashton disappointed? Absolutely not. And if anyone bought that load of silgoat shit, Ashton had some oceanfront property in Byroden he could sell them, too .
Orym jumped up and headed back to the kitchen to grab food for the rest of the group.
Ashton tore off a large hunk of bread and shoved it in their mouth as Imogen and Laudna joined them. They really weren't in the mood to talk, and hoped that a full mouth would be a deterrent to anyone who might be considering trying to strike up a conversation.
***
"You fucking cooked, why are you cleaning everything up, too?"
Orym looked over his shoulder as he scrubbed a bowl, "I was the one who wanted to cook. I wasn't going to leave a mess or volunteer someone else to clean up."
That got an exasperated huff from Ashton, "Fucking— give me the rag."
Orym handed it over without objection, but didn't move from the step stool he was standing on until Ashton hip checked him, at which point he hopped off and kicked it to the side before hopping back onto it and picking up a small towel to start drying the bowl he was still holding.
Ashton just rolled their eyes and grabbed another dish from the wash basin to start scrubbing it clean.
They worked in companionable silence for a bit, Ashton washing and Orym drying. But Ashton's mind inevitably wandered back to their earlier conversation, and they sighed.
"If you ever want to talk, I'm a decent listener," Ashton offered into the silence.
Almost a full minute went by, filled with nothing but the sounds of scrubbing and sloshing dish water as Ashton washed the large cooking pot. They were fully prepared to pretend they'd never extended the offer by the time Orym finally spoke.
"Is now too soon to take you up on that?" he asked quietly.
"Damn, that was fast. Figured I'd offer, you'd say thanks, and we'd never fucking talk about it again." Ashton considered for a moment before agreeing, "Now is as good a time as any. Hit me."
Orym's eyes didn't lift from the knife he was drying, but Ashton felt him tense ever so slightly beside them. Guilt nagged at them for the careless comment they'd made over breakfast that had dredged up Orym's painful memories, but it was already said and done, so they shoved the feeling deep down inside to deal with later and waited patiently for Orym to say something. The least they could do was be there to help him work through the feelings that had risen to the surface along with the memories.
Orym said, his voice barely rising above a whisper, "Not a day goes by that I don't think about him. I still miss him."
"Of course. You loved him," Ashton validated.
"Very much," Orym agreed, "he was everything to me."
There was a long pause, and Ashton had just started to wonder if he should say something to ease the encroaching awkwardness when Orym spoke again.
"And then he was gone."
The words came out raw with emotion, and they hit Ashton like a sucker punch to the gut, forcing the air from their lungs and leaving an unpleasant clenching feeling in its wake.
"It was so sudden," Orym continued, like Ashton hadn't just taken significant emotional damage they needed to recover from. "Six of our people died that day…and the love of my life was one of them."
Ashton swallowed hard, unsure of what to say to ease the pain of the man beside him, but feeling the need to say something . "I'm sorry."
"Thanks. Me too," Orym shot Ashton a small, grateful smile as he took the pot from their hands. He dried it with the same efficiency he used when he wielded his sword. It was one of the many things Ashton appreciated about him.
Ashton shifted in place awkwardly without the distraction of more dishes to wash. After a few moments, they tossed the rag over the edge of the basin and turned to lean with their lower back against the countertop.
Orym turned to look directly at them when he said hesitantly, "I guess I'm telling you this because…I'm kind of having a crisis of conscience? There's someone I've found myself thinking about a lot lately. It's the first time I've been interested in anyone since he died." Orym sighed, carefully hanging the towel over the handle of the stove to dry before continuing, "I know Will wouldn't want me to be alone for the rest of my life, but it still feels like I'm betraying him by having feelings for someone else. I don't know what to do."
It has to be Dorian. Orym is too leery of Chetney's wolf to have any kind of romantic feelings for him, and he said he wasn't interested in females. It's possible that it's someone who isn't part of the group, but it wouldn't be weighing so heavily on him if it weren't someone he was exposed to frequently and, well…their eclectic party is pretty much it as far as that goes. Not that it really matters. So why the fuck is Ashton's mind even running through the list of possibilities?
"That's fucking easy," they said with the utmost confidence, which they decidedly are not qualified to do. "You're right, he wouldn't want you to be alone. And you deserve to be happy, so fucking go for it. Tell 'em how you feel and see if they're interested."
Orym looked up at them. His eyes locked with Ashton's as he did so, and they shone with amusement as Orym said, "I just did."
For the second time that day Ashton found himself stunned into silence, his eyes going wide and mouth suddenly so dry he couldn't speak even if he knew what to say. Which worked out well, because he had no fucking clue.
"So," Orym drew the word out in a leading manner. When Ashton still didn't say anything after a few moments he smiled kindly, if a little sadly, at them. "It's okay to say no, Ashton. I'm a big boy, I can handle it if you’re not interested."
"Shut the fuck up," Ashton said with a fondness in his tone that took the edge from the harsh words. "I'm not uninterested. More just…confused. Why the fuck would you want me ?"
They kicked themselves for verbalizing the thought when they saw Orym's expression go instantly blank. A murderous look flashed in his eyes, and Ashton knew they had revealed more about their self-worth issues than they ever wanted Orym (or anyone for that matter) to know.
"You're a good person." Orym's words are careful, deliberately so. Ashton wonders what he's holding back. "Who wouldn't want you?"
Ashton could think of a few people off the top of their head, but this wasn't the time for that. They snorted and rolled their eyes in lieu of a reply.
"You don't see it, do you?" Orym asks, incredulity with an undertone of sadness evident in his voice.
"You saved Fresh Cut Grass' life. An automaton you found in a mess of dead bodies, with no clue if he was the one who murdered them or another victim, and you carried them home and took care of them— befriended them, whether you call them that or not. They were alone, and now they have a home, and friends. They have a life, all because you cared enough to help them."
Ashton scoffed. "I couldn't just leave them there," they started to argue, but Orym cut them off.
"You could have," he said firmly. "Life is full of choices, and you absolutely could have chosen to leave them there. Hell, it might have been the smarter choice, and it definitely would have been the easier one. But you did what you felt was right. You helped them."
Arms crossed over their chest, Ashton glared down at Orym.
"Your old group left you," Orym said, the words dripping with disdain. "They skipped town, and you took their debt as your own, even though—"
"Not like Ms. Hexum gave me much of a choice," Ashton interjected.
"I get that," Orym acknowledged, "but you could have run, just like they did. You could have left Jrusar and never come back at any time once you were up and about. You didn't though, you owned up to your part in the burglary and did the honorable thing, and you stuck with it"
"I didn't have a—"
"You did," Orym insisted.
The thin thread that was Ashton's temper snapped.
"I fucking didn’t! I've never had a choice, Orym! Not when I was dumped at an orphanage when I was a kid, not when my body fucking betrayed me, not when I got put back together with metal and glass, not when I went to work for Hexum, not when my family—"
Worried that they weren't able to finish the sentence without revealing yet another weakness, Ashton cut themself off. Their fist slammed back against the cabinetry behind them, the splintering of wood loud in the sudden silence that pervaded the kitchen.
"I've never. Been given. A choice ," Ashton declared between clenched teeth once they'd regained a small fraction of their composure.
Orym, who hadn't so much as blinked in the face of Ashton's anger, met their gaze head-on as he said, "Some of those things were out of your control,” Orym allowed. “I understand what you’re saying, and I understand that you felt like the decisions you made were the only ones available to you. But we all have choices, Ash. Even when it feels like there's only one path in front of us. You could have left FCG where you found them. You could have skipped town instead of working off the debt." Orym's voice gentles some when he says, "You could have given up when the Nobodies left you behind. But you didn't. And not only did you not give up, but you built a new family with Milo and Anni and Letters. Then you found another one with Bell's Hells."
"Maybe you didn't have a choice when you were a child, or when your body changed, or when you got left behind," Orym said quietly, "but some of those times? The only reason it felt like you didn't have a choice is because you're a good person , and were compelled to do what you felt was right. The right choice might have seemed like the only choice…but it wasn’t."
There was a swell of emotion inside of Ashton that threatened to overwhelm them, and they weren't quite sure how to feel about it. Because, as much as it fucking sucked to admit it, Orym was right. For years they'd felt like life—or fate, or destiny, or some such bullshit—just shoved them this way or that. And in some cases it had, but there had also been choices made when they hadn't even realized they were making them—when they hadn't even considered other options because of who they were and what they believed in.
It was an oddly liberating realization.
"So," Orym waited until Ashton's attention was drawn from their thoughts back to him, then continued, "to answer your question: why you? Because I see the good in you, Ashton Greymoore. I see how much you care. I see the things you've been through, and the fact that you didn't let those things harden your heart nearly as much as you want others to think they have. And I think that's pretty fucking impressive."
Ashton's face flushed a deep malachite, their eyes dropping to the floor.
" You are pretty fucking impressive," Orym avowed. "You survived. Hell, you’ve thrived," he said passionately. "And maybe you're a little rough around the edges for it, but you're also caring, and brave, and selfless—"
Ashton snorted, "I'm really fucking not."
"You are ," Orym insisted. "I know you don't see it—probably don't want to hear it—but you're all that and more."
"There's a lot of shit you don't know about me, Orym. If you did—"
"Stop."
Ashton's teeth clacked together as they bristled reflexively at the terse command, but they held their tongue.
Orym pinned Ashton in place with nothing more than the intensity of his regard, "I cannot stress enough how much I don't care about any of that."
Tension melts from every muscle in Ashton's body at the declaration (whether they believe the statement or not, which is…undecided).
Orym isn't even finished.
"I know you're no saint, Ash. If I'm being honest with myself, it's part of what drew me to you."
The faint flush creeping up Orym's neck was adorable. Apparently the straight-laced fighter found it embarrassing that he had a thing for guys with a loose moral compass. A smirk tugged at the corners of Ashton's mouth at that little insight.
Orym cleared his throat, "Anyway, there you have it. Do with it what you will."
A wicked smirk curved Ashton’s lips. "Anything I want?" he asked suggestively.
It was immediately rewarded with another pretty blush, but Orym met his gaze head on as he said, "We could work our way up to that, sure."
Oh, that's fucking adorable. It’s also far hotter than it should be.
Ashton sobered at that thought. They've followed their heart libido before, and it never ended well. In fact, it had ended very badly. Almost dead and abandoned by his chosen family badly.
As if sensing the direction of Ashton's train of thought, Orym placed a hand gently on their forearm, "If and when you’re interested. I'll be here."
Ashton couldn't manage to emit words with the hunk of raw emotion that had wedged itself firmly in his throat at the fact that Orym seemed to know exactly what they needed right then, so they settled for meaningful eye contact and a little nod.
Orym smiled and gave their arm a reassuring squeeze before he slipped past them, heading back out into the main tavern without another word.
Ashton took a few deep breaths and started to follow.
They ended up facing the wall beside the door instead, thumping their forehead against it repeatedly while exhaling a quiet, drawn out curse as a realization hit them like a ton of bricks: They were half in love with Orym already. All it had taken was a stupid fucking nickname. Well, that and a glimpse of the fact that he saw through all of Ashton's vibrato to the real them that they tried țo hide so carefully underneath. Fucking perceptive little shit.
Gods, why the fuck would he even consider doing this to himself again?
No, they quickly corrected their wayward thinking. They turned, putting their back against the wall and tapping both fists against it at their sides in an attempt to quell the raging swirl of emotions before it became a Problem. Orym is different. He would never hurt them carelessly. He's truly selfless, especially with those he cares about.
Ashton might have trouble wrapping their head around the fact that they're included in that demographic, but Orym can't lie for shit. For whatever reason, he cares about Ashton. Enough to give them a nickname. Simple though it may be, it meant far more to Ashton than Orym would ever realize. Which…probably said something about them that they wouldn't like if they thought about it for more than a few seconds. So he didn't.
Another curse fell from Ashton’s lips. Right now he needed to find something to hit. Because it was far too early to start drinking the amount of alcohol required to deal with this kind of shit, and the emotional roller coaster that was his morning had left him simmering with an abundance of energy—both good and bad—that needed to be dulled or expended in one way or another before it burned them alive from the inside.
Their mind was already reeling with ways this— whatever it was with Orym—could play out. Ways it could go wrong. Ways it could go right. Ways he could fuck it up even if it did.
An overwhelming array of feelings fought for Ashton’s attention. Feelings he’d sworn never to entertain again. But Orym had broken through their defenses like a raging barbarian in a china shop, and it had all started with one stupid little nickname. One fucking syllable that had left a chink in their emotional armor and allowed Orym in.
“Fuck.”
Yup, time to find a distraction, preferably in the form of multiple asses that need kicking.
One last thump of their fists against the wall, then Ashton used them to shove off and squared their shoulders. With a forceful exhale they pushed through the swinging door, doing their best to prepare for a long fucking day of avoiding their feelings as they joined the rest of their party.