WHO Dorian Storm and Orym WHERE Vallo Clinic WHEN Afternoon of November 23 WHAT Dorian wakes up after a particularly nasty Aeorian hunter run in and finds his boyfriend had a wild magic growth spurt. STATUS Complete FULL ARThere WARNINGS None, really! Just some shmoopiness.
Everything hurt. That was the first aching thought Dorian had when he realized that he was awake. Then it was immediate panic—the last thing he remembered was standing off against a hulking creature with mottled green skin, and easily larger than both himself and Orym combined.
Orym.
Dorian sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. The mattress was firmer than the one at home, and the sheets crisp and starchy, all moderately uncomfortable. He was in... a clinic? The Outlander clinic. He hadn't needed to see much of the inside before—too modern, too strange, too sterile when juxtaposed against his usual lodgings—but he was getting a full view of it now. But he didn't want to be here, he needed to find Orym, make sure he was okay and oh.
Curled up in the hard plastic chair, posing as a comfortable recliner, was Orym. Dorian couldn't tell if he was actually sleeping or keeping his eyes closed because of the bright lights, but it was obvious that he had not come out unscathed from their fight and that he had been there for some time. Except now the longer Dorian looked at him, the more strangeness seemed to come into awareness. Orym was taller. Bigger. Maybe his depth perception was off; Dorian did remember getting hit in the head and concussions weren't something to take lightly.
He reached one hand slowly out toward Orym, to hold or to touch, it was unclear. "I hope you got some sleep and didn't spend the whole time waiting on me to wake up."
At the sound of Dorian's voice, Orym's green eyes immediately opened, adjusting for a brief moment before they focused on his boyfriend. He had only been dozing, finally having found some semblance of comfort on the hard plastic chair that he'd taken up residence in; normally he would have just given up, finding enough space to curl into a ball on the clinic bed that Dorian was on to both satiate his need to be close and also just find rest. That wasn't the case at the moment, as he stood at what the halfling could only describe as a frankly ridiculous height after 30-some years at just barely over three feet.
That didn't matter right then, though. Orym assumed that the sudden growth spurt had something to do with the odd magic surges that they had all been dealing with for the past handful of days. He was almost thankful for it at the moment, as suddenly being almost twice his normal height meant he had been able to carry Dorian to safety after dispatching the creature that had tried its best to take both of them out. The whole fight had been a blur, with Orym watching Dorian fall and instinct born of something akin to rage and I can't lose him, too taking over as he switched places with Dorian to grant him added cover and just laying into the green behemoth. He had barely noticed his own not insignificant injuries until long after, when he relented and let one of the workers at the clinic see to them at their insistence once it was clear there was nothing more Orym could do to help.
"Dorian. Hey," Orym breathed out on the edge a sigh, relief evident as he leaned forward and met Dorian's searching hand. His fingers wrapped around Dorian's, rather than the other way around. He scooted forward on the chair, knees touching the edge of the clinic bed, his free hand lifting to Dorian's shoulder to both support him and also remind Orym that he was going to be okay. "How are you feeling?"
So, not a concussion. Orym was definitely bigger. And getting more so as he came closer to the bed in the chair. It felt like seeing something in perspective in the distance, small and unassuming, only to grow exponentially. Dorian exhaled, eyes wide, with a little whoa under his breath. There was a brief, strange, unexpected moment where he doubted that he was actually awake and that this was, perhaps, a dream.
But the feeling of Orym holding his hand, the weight of it in his, was enough to ground him back into reality, and to take in Orym with newfound awe. "I'm feeling—" Dorian stopped, and mentally assessed. Alive was an option, so was fine, even though that was partially a lie. He considered his words, and then his expression curled into something that said eh.
"I could be better. I almost prefer to be fighting tables in the Nightmare King's basement." There was a beat before he added hastily, "No I don't, that was a terrible joke, don't mind me, I'm still making poor decisions, it seems." Dorian nodded to his prone body in the bed as if to indicate a poor decision.
"And you're, well, you're just..." He gestured weakly at Orym, pointing at the visible cuts and bruising he could see. Dorian was definitely not going to point out the taller thing. He was going to remain steadfast with his focus, find out what happened and how he got from the little slice of Aeor to here. But: "Why are you tall?"
Despite himself, a laugh immediately burst from Orym--small and bright, born not only from the absolute absurdity that was his height at the moment, but also that continued relief that Dorian was awake and lucid and would be all right. Still, he sobered and schooled his features once more, leaning back to look down at himself a bit incredulously.
"I know--it's weird," Orym said, tapping once on his armor at his chest with the hand that wasn't clutching Dorian's, as if the larger armor was Exhibit A of just how weird this truly was. "I don't know how you do it, because I keep misjudging my balance and knocking my elbows into things." Now he extended his arm, the tattoo and muscles having scaled up with the rest of him. It looked normal, but Orym knew that it wasn't and that was just weird in and of itself.
Turning his attention back to Dorian, Orym continued, "I think it was one of those magic things that have been happening, because it happened just after I took that thing down that was attacking us." He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to blue knuckles. "And honestly, it's a good thing that it did, because I was able to get you to safety."
"You're not used to it," Dorian explained simply. He couldn't imagine walking around being three feet tall only to suddenly be six and trying to navigate a world in a new perspective. "It's not a failing on you in any way, though I hope the magic doesn't last long?" Dorian had no idea, no baseline for what was happening. He heard stories of showers of lights and randomly appearing animals and dense beard growth of feathers, but he didn't know how useful any of them had been in the midst of battle, only of its frequency.
He visibly paused, his brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall the monster, the fight, how he had miscalculated so much. "The monsters, they're negating magic. They must be. Some of it at least. That's why it didn't, and I—oh, wow." Dorian leaned back against the pillows, almost defeated. He should have stuck to swinging his scimitar instead, but that was hindsight, and Dorian would be full of regret if he kept picking apart his battle tactics.
"I only regret I wasn't conscious to see you finish it off," Dorian said, softly. He knew that Orym was stronger in that regard—his fighting skills were unbeatable when it came down to it—but Dorian wished they only needed to be used for Orym's own self-defense and not because Dorian made an error in judgment. "You must have had to carry me? We weren't near a waypoint, and, well."
A stray, devious thought seemed to immediately derail Dorian, and he blushed. "I take back what I said. I have two regrets because I don't remember the carrying part at all, and I might have enjoyed it under different circumstances."
With a bemused expression, Orym watched Dorian, enjoying the telltale blush that darkened his cheeks. "I would promise a repeat performance, but I'm hoping it doesn't last all that much longer, too." He would adapt, of course, and being able to carry around his normally far taller boyfriend would be a perk, but he liked his halfling height. That height was what left him normally being the carried party, after all, and he rather liked that--maybe Dorian had a point.
Reaching out, Orym leaned one elbow against the hard mattress to extend his other arm out so he could carefully brush back Dorian's hair, smoothing the strands out tenderly. He was always a fairly tactile man, something he tried desperately to curb in certain situations and with specific people. Right then, though, it was as much a reminder to himself that Dorian was okay as it was an attempt to give some comfort in return, too; it had been a while since either of them had gotten their asses handed to them so thoroughly, not since before they had officially become a we.
"You did real great, though," Orym said, head tipping a bit to the side. "You couldn't have expected that thing to play dirty like that. Besides, you didn't miss much." Head still tipped, his eyes narrowed in consideration. "Actually, you know what, it was pretty impressive. A back flip might have been involved."
A back flip had, in fact, not been involved and the smile tugging at Orym's lips probably made that fib very clear. It softened into something more gentle as he admitted, "I'm just glad you're okay." It had been a worry, after all.
Not that Orym did it to silence him, but Dorian did stop talking the moment Orym brushed away hair, all coherent thoughts seemed to come to an abrupt halt. He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly with his eyes closed. A smooth, gentle peace washed over Dorian, and the rest of the room and ambient noise fell away. Dorian had been privy to Orym tucking flowers behind his ear with simple druidcraft, but there was far more magic inside of Orym than people gave him credit for.
"I missed the backflip?" Dorian asked with a light laugh, before he realized that made his chest hurt, and he winced. He almost forgot where they were, why they were here, and how they managed to get into this predicament. He grabbed Orym's wrist, sliding his hand down to his elbow, and squeezed as the pain passed. It was strange to touch a person he had only begun to know in a way that was not friendship, feel the obvious physical differences, and still gain comfort from their touch and presence.
"I'm glad I'm okay too. I'm sorry to have made you worry," Dorian said, earnestly apologetic. True, there might not have been much he could have done in the instant, but he could only imagine what was going through Orym's mind. That was not something that Dorian wanted to be responsible for. "I can't promise we won't be in situations like that again, but I can promise to be more aware of my surroundings."
Orym's expression fell, growing as concerned as it could be as Dorian winced through the pain. He was a moment away from calling a doctor, nurse, anyone that knew more about healing than a guard that used druidcrafted moss as battlefield medicine when he watched Dorian still. It wasn't as though Orym had never seen Dorian in pain from an injury--he wasn't even the first significant other that he'd had to go through this with--but that didn't mean he had to like it.
"We'll definitely be in situations like that again. I think that we and the rest of our friends just can't help ourselves," Orym agreed, tone quiet as he threaded his fingers with Dorian's. Immediately, his thumb began to brush against Dorian's in slow, even passes. "But, we'll learn from each battle and I'm always going to be here to help, even if I'm my normal height. I'll drag you, don't think I won't." Despite adopting a more serious tone, Orym couldn't help a small smile at that, no matter how very true it was.
"As for worrying me," Orym continued, shrugging one of his shoulders and wincing himself as the movement stretched a bruised muscle he had almost forgotten about, "I'll always do that, but that's just because I care about you a whole lot, Dor."
"I have no doubt that you would drag anyone, including me, to safety as long as you could still remain upright," Dorian said, then seemed to reconsider. Orym was stubborn in a good way, tenacious and unrelenting when it came to people he cared about. Dorian figured Orym would pull people out of harm's way, even crawling, even if he could barely stand. Dorian wanted to be that person that Orym would know, unquestioningly, who would do the same for him.
He couldn't right now, as both of them seemed to be nursing injuries, but the sentiment remained the same.
HIs expression softened at the nickname, and Dorian felt like his whole world had expanded tenfold. His heart swelled and he wanted nothing more than to kiss Orym in that moment. He didn't not yet, because sitting up was a lot more difficult than he was used to, but his attention flicked to Orym's mouth then back up, in an obvious sign. "I care about you too, Orym. A whole lot. And I know you're trying not to let on that you're hurting, which means that is all I can think about right now, because you're not laying down and resting, but I don't know if—I mean, they should really make these things bigger."
The bed, he meant the bed he was currently in. He should call in a healer, he could do that right? Most of the modern contraptions in Vallo still confused him, and still feeling a little out of it made his comprehension passable at best. But it didn't matter, he wanted Orym to get in here with him instead of trying to curl up on the ridiculous chair again.
With their fingers still together he tugged him further into his space, while trying to make room for a much taller and much broader Orym.
For a very brief moment, Orym nearly protested--the bed was too small, Dorian was too hurt, his long limbs were too long. That hesitation was dashed aside, though, as he realized there was no way he would deny comfort from Dorian, not after all they had just been through. Hell, he didn't think there was much he would deny Dorian at this point under normal circumstances; of course he would climb into the narrow bed with him.
Letting himself be drawn in, Orym paused just long enough to toe off his shoes in an effort to not dirty up Dorian's bed too much, before easing down onto the mattress. He adjusted a bit before finding a place on his side that didn't irritate the lingering injuries his exhausted body was still carrying. Their bed at home was far more comfortable, with its soft mattress and the blankets and pillows that Laudna had chosen when decorating, but this would do for now. All he needed now was the familiar feeling of Dorian next to him, with the evidence of him truly being as okay as he had been telling himself being louder than the memory of Dorian falling.
"This okay?" Orym asked, lifting an arm in invitation. "One upside of normally being small to keep in mind for the future, I suppose, is never having to worry about fitting in beds."
Part of Dorian realized that asking Orym to get into the bed would have been a mistake. Despite now being taller, his brain was still processing at halfling size. But he maneuvered, ignored the small winces of pain that sprung up, and made space for Orym on the very slim mattress. Dorian settled into Orym instinctually, curling in close. He should have been worried about someone coming in and scolding them from improper use of clinic facilities but he'd wait to talk his way out of it later.
"It's okay, you're okay," Dorian said quietly, feeling warmer and more secure than he did before. It felt like a mantra, a reminder, that despite the battle, they would always come back together and everything would be okay if they had each other. It was so saccharine, the thought of placing all his comfort and security into one person, but it settled the pieces inside of him—that anxiety and worry and fear that had come with the adrenaline.
Orym was right; there was no way that they would stay out of fights given their friends and their penchant for chaos, but if they kept making it through, then everything would be okay.
"We just have to learn new ways to fit together for now, until you return back to your regular size. If you turn back. Or if it turns into something worse, no one has studied the magic out there extensively yet and…" Even though at some point Dorian had started to close his eyes, his brow furrowed at an oncoming mental spiral. "Oh, maybe I shouldn't think about that right now."
It was easy to not linger too long on the worries that Dorian himself was trying not to linger on, as Orym found himself distracted as he gently let an arm settle around his boyfriend and their legs tangled together by necessity thanks to the lack of mattress real estate. This was new, his place as the little spoon more or less guaranteed by virtue of normally being half as tall as Dorian, but he wasn't about to complain, either. Orym turned his head, pressing his lips to the top of Dorian's head and releasing a long sigh as he all but melted into the bed.
"No thinking," Orym suggested, his own eyes fluttering shut. The day had been an exhausting one, both physically and mentally, and it was clearly starting to catch up with him; or, more likely, the relief of seeing Dorian awake and being able to hold him so close was just letting him finally slow down. Orym didn't know. What he did know, though, he murmured into Dorian's hair: "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."