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The bruise on Ashton’s jaw was a brilliant display of dark blues and greens, even deep shades of purple were beginning to crawl up along their jaw. There were a number of other scrapes and bruises that had already bloomed on Ashton’s skin, all down their arms and chest and some even on their legs, but the bruise along their jaw was the most prominent and painful-looking of them all. Ashton knew that people would notice it as they passed but they didn’t expect anyone to mention it, least of all a tired and equally battered halfing.
“Can I take a look at that?” Imogen, Laudna, and Fearne had gotten a room to themselves, as had Chetney, leaving Orym, Ashton, and Fresh Cut Grass to share a room together on this night. Fresh Cut Grass had gone into their stasis while Ashton was out of the room, leaving the genasi essentially alone with Orym. Ashton was sitting on the bed and pulling off his boots when Orym had spoken up, and he looked up to see the halfling watching him curiously from the other side of the room, his eyes lingering on Ashton’s brightly coloured bruise.
For as much as Ashton trusted Orym, they were still hesitant when it came to letting anyone into their personal space. They were also confused as to why Orym would want to look at their scrapes and bruises from the battle; he had said before that he didn’t have any of the same healing magic that Fearne or F.C.G. contained. Despite their hesitation and confusion, Ashton went against what all of their instincts were screaming at them.
“Fuck it, yeah you can look.”
Orym sat to the left of Ashton, the same side as the bruise which now insisted on making its presence known every time Ashton spoke. Ashton watched Orym examine him closely, watched as a thousand thoughts run through his head and yet each of them were left unsaid. Orym’s eyebrows knit together out of worry, and he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip while looking at Ashton from different angles. It was almost alarming to Ashton how attractive he found Orym when he looked so concerned.
“Do you mind if I put some pressure on it? I just want to see if there’s any major swelling that isn’t visible, also to check that nothing’s broken,” Orym’s voice was gentle and soft, and he made no attempt to mask his concern.
Ashton would deny it to anyone who asked, but they could’ve sworn that they had fallen in love right then. It was rare for people to treat them so carefully and kindly without treating them as though they were breakable. It was even more rare for someone to treat Ashton so carefully and kindly as well as with a level of patience and an unspoken understanding of why they were the way that they were. Not for a moment did Ashton ever believe that Orym treated them with such kindness because he thought that they were fragile.
“You don’t have to say yes,” Orym teased lightly, but was as well entirely genuine in saying this. “It’s really not necessary, I can check for swelling-“
“Shit, sorry, yeah it’s fine, sorry.” As eloquent as always, Ashton stumbled over his words after realizing that he had yet to answer Orym. He winced as he spoke, a dull throbbing pain coming from where his bruise was. The man next to him cocked his head and regarded Ashton with an affectionately curious glance, before turning his attention back to the scrapes and bruises on Ashton’s face.
Warm and calloused fingers pressed down on Ashton’s jaw, carefully at first but began pressing more firmly once Orym knew Ashton was okay with the actions. They inhaled sharply when Orym pressed directly onto their bruise, closing their eyes but otherwise remaining as still as they were capable of. The pain faded slowly as Orym lifted his fingers so that his hand was just now hovering above Ashton’s jaw. No longer feeling the contact, Ashton opened their eyes to look directly into Orym’s eyes.
“Well? What’s the verdict?” For as much as Ashton tried, he couldn’t ignore the blatant concern that was written on Orym’s face.
“It’s nothing severe, which is what I was worried about. I think that if you give it a few days and try to not get hit on that side of your face again for a while, you’ll be fine. I mean, unless…” Orym trailed off, sounding as though he suddenly realized that whatever he was about to say wasn’t the right thing to say at this moment. Ashton sat silently, watching Orym with careful eyes and waiting to see if he would finish his thought. He did not.
“Unless what?” It was Orym’s turn to watch Ashton with careful eyes as Ashton prompted him to finish his thought. Though they weren’t the most perceptive or insightful member of their party, Ashton could still see when someone was stuck inside their own head. Having spent so much time inside of their own head, Ashton was more than ready to help someone else get out of their own head in moments like these.
“Why didn’t you let anyone heal you earlier today, Ash? You know that Grass or Fearne would’ve been more than willing to- okay, Fearne I’m actually not too sure about, you know how she can be, but Grass would’ve helped you in a second flat. He cares about you, Fearne cares about you, we all care about you and we want you to be at your best. Maybe it’s not my place to ask, and you can tell me so, I’m just worried is all.”
It was a fair question, Ashton knew that it was a fair question, yet some part deep inside of him churned bitterly at the question. His stubbornness when it came to accepting healing from his party members had gone unspoken for so long, and he had only hoped that when he would finally have to have this conversation that it would be with anyone other than Orym. Not because he disliked Orym or didn’t trust him, it was quite the opposite. Ashton liked Orym too much, trusted him too much, and didn’t want to scare him away with his bullshit. So Ashton did the only thing he knew how to do. Retaliated, and responded with a question of his own.
“Why do you care? Not why does the party as a whole care, but why do you, Orym, care if I take healing from our friends or not?” The question came out harsher than intended, even Ashton was surprised at how aggressive they sounded, but Orym didn’t back down.
“I don’t need a reason to care about you, Ash. I can give you as many reasons as you want, they’ll all be true, but I never needed a reason to care. It’s because I see you, though. I’ve seen how you fight, you fight a lot like I do, and that can mess a person up way too quickly if you don’t accept the help when it’s offered to you. You’re a good fighter, great even, you’re strong and capable and you know how to hold your own in combat. But you shouldn’t have to hold your own when there are people who willingly want to help you. We don’t want to lose you because you insisted on handling something by yourself. I don’t want to lose you. I need you to stay here with me, Ashton. Is that enough for you? I can keep going if you still don’t believe me.”
The tense and overwhelming silence in the room was palpable. Neither spoke a word as Ashton took the time to process everything that Orym had just said. It was almost terrifying how much Orym cared about Ashton, and how easily he admitted it. The fact that Orym had explicitly said that he didn’t want to lose Ashton, that he needed Ashton to stay with him, was what made Ashton’s chest hurt the most. Orym had told him about Will before, and he knew that Orym meant every word he had said. Orym wasn’t this protective and caring when it came to just anyone, and it made sense why that was the case once Ashton had learnt about Will. In spite of the voice at the back of his head screaming at him to not believe Orym’s every word, to not let his guard down, Ashton nodded slowly.
“Right. You’re right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so… aggressive. It’s a pride thing, I guess. If I got these bruises then I probably deserved them, but we still won didn’t we? If I got these bruises while fighting then I probably deserved them, but I also like to see that even if I got my ass handed to me at times, we still won. Besides, it’s less important to heal me when we have people like Imogen and Laudna who’ll go down way quicker than I would? I just think that it’s more important to save healing for the spell casters who aren’t built to take hits but do a shit-ton of damage, rather than give it to the barbarian who’s built to fight up close and personal. Fuck, that was a lot. I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you.” Ashton expected to feel better after opening up to Orym, expected a weight to be lifted off of their shoulders. Instead, there was a heavy pressure on their chest and they felt lightheaded and tired.
“It’s really alright. I asked, didn’t I? Healing isn’t just for our spell casters though, just because you were built to take the hits doesn’t make you less deserving of being healed. This,” Orym reached up to brush his fingers along the bruise on Ashton’s face, “doesn’t need to be a medal that you wear in order to prove yourself. Neither do any of these.” He gently traced the other, less severe, scrapes that were visible on Ashton, and Ashton watched his hands intently. “You deserve help as much as any of us do.”
Ashton ran a hand down his face, wincing and swearing under his breath when he touched the bruise a little too roughly. This night had gotten more emotional than he had planned for, and he wasn’t entirely sure as to where to go from there.
“I guess you’ve got a point,” Ashton agreed half heartedly, eyes still downcast towards the floor.
“Ash.” Orym gave them a knowing look, which got a soft, half-hearted laugh from the genasi.
“Yeah okay, you’re right. I’ll try to be better at accepting help from the others. I’ll try. I’m not making any promises that I’ll be better at it all that quickly.” With a reassuring squeeze on Ashton’s forearm, Orym smiled.
“That’s all I’m asking for. We just want to help you as much as you help us. Do you mind if I offer some help right now? I don’t have the same magical healing as our friends do, but I have a few things that I brought from Zephrah that will help some of these scrapes heal a bit quicker.”
“Yeah fuck it, go for it.” Though he sounded like he couldn’t care less about Orym’s help, Ashton was grateful that Orym wouldn’t give up on him, no matter how stubborn he could be.
Orym got off the bed to head over to where his bag and sword were, seeming to know exactly what he needed and where it would be. Ashton watched carefully as Orym pulled materials from his bag, trying to see if it was anything that they would recognize as something they’ve seen used to heal before. There were gentle sounds of clinking and rattling coming from Orym’s side of the room, an array of jars and small containers being pulled out of his bag and placed on the ground beside him as he continued reaching into his bag. Everything that Orym pulled out was foreign to Ashton, but that didn’t worry them. Orym knew what he was doing, and Ashton trusted him.
“You really need all of these?” Ashton asked as Orym got back on the bed, watching as Orym knelt next to him and spread out a collection of jars and bandages. “I know you said you don’t have any healing magic, but I honestly thought you were going to kiss it better,” he sighed in mock disappointment, a weak attempt to lighten the mood after their emotional conversation.
Orym snorted at Ashton’s ridiculousness, and continued opening the jars of salves that he had laid in front of him. “Maybe if you’re good while I apply these, then I’ll kiss it better.” His voice was level when he retorted playfully, but Ashton didn’t miss the way Orym avoided their eyes, or how the tips of his ears flushed a lovely shade of pink.
It was tender and careful, the way Orym applied the salves to Ashton’s wounds. The ointments were cold, but the warmth of Orym’s hands made it more bearable. Neither Ashton nor Orym spoke as Orym went about the application of the salves. Orym was too focused on the task at hand to make conversation, and Ashton simply preferred to watch Orym as he worked. Only when Orym was wrapping bandages on Ashton’s arms did he break the silence, asking if the bandages felt too loose or too tight on their arms, and even then neither of them spoke above a whisper. The silence wasn’t tense and emotional as it was earlier in the evening, it was peaceful and comfortable in a way that they both preferred. By the time that Orym had closed the last jar of salve, Ashton no longer felt any of the lightheadedness or pressure on their chest that they had previously felt.
“Thanks Orym, that already feels a lot better.”
“For you, Ash? Anytime. Let me know if you ever need more of these, I have plenty to spare.” Ashton had hardly a moment to respond before he felt a soft kiss pressed to his jaw, right where the worst of the bruises was. Without so much as a word, Orym got off the bed and took the salves, ointments, and remaining unused bandages back to his bag. Ashton pressed their fingers to the place where Orym’s lips had just been once Orym’s back was to them, and they smiled though no one would have seen it.
“I think we should call it a night, hey? We’ve had a long day, and those salves need time to soak into your skin.” From where he sat on the edge of the bed, Ashton was able to see that Orym’s hands shook ever so slightly as he put all of his belongings back into their place.
“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” Ashton paused, his mind still reeling from Orym’s gentle, if only a little too short, kiss. “And hey, Orym?”
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“Take your own advice from time to time. You deserve to receive the same help that you insist on giving. Don’t carry all of that shit alone. Got it?” There was no immediate response from Orym.
Soon enough, Orym gave a soft laugh. It was a laugh that sounded a little sad, a little resigned. “Got it. Thanks Ash.”
“Of course. Anyway, it’s definitely been a long day. Uh, sleep well. Wake me if you need anything,” they said, watching Orym get into his own bed.
“Of course, you too. G’night.”
The room fell silent, and Ashton knew that it would be a while until he was able to fall asleep. He stared straight up at the ceiling when he laid down, a thousand thoughts ran through his head and each of them were left unsaid. If anyone were to ask Ashton, he would’ve vehemently denied it, but the dreams he had that night were some of the most pleasant dreams that he had in a while. That night he dreamt of a halfling fighter all dressed in green, someone who saw through Ashton’s stubborn asshole façade, and was more than willing to be patient and help Ashton when he struggled to accept help the most.