I just really like you.

He doesn't say it, suddenly afraid of the rejection that might come if Tam laughs it off or finds him silly.

He opts, instead, to enjoy the closeness. The fact that Tam doesn't take the hand from his waist, or step back from the comfort zone Orion so rarely allowed others to cross. Breath catches in his throat when Tam grips his chin, gentle.

His brain's short-circuiting, and all he manages is a dazed, "Y-Yeah." He's very conscious of the loft, the bed, just feet above them. Not that they'd made it to the bed before. "How?"

He's not stupid. He knows. But this is part of the game, of the thrill.

"I don't think this is one of the usual steps."

Orion's cheeks are flush with colour as pause is taken for breath, the fingers in Tam's hair slackening to trail along the back of his neck and rest there. He feels both shy and strangely giddy, though perhaps the latter can be chalked up to a lack of air as much as his persistent crush.

His smile is soft, sweet, shy.

"I don't mind, though," added quickly, with the sudden anxiety that Tam might think he was complaining. Mortifying. "I like you a lot more than I like cooking."

Plenty of jobs paid the bills. Plenty of jobs paid the bills better and for less work than being a Ranger; it was hard, in a region like Hoenn, considering it couldn't go a couple months without falling apart.

Caleb Harcourt's next answer is more genuine.

"It does feel good," he agrees, soft. "To help."

He was a disaster, after Rocket. His life had fallen apart around him. But above all else, he appreciated his fellow Rangers (most of them, anyway) for tolerating him through the hard times and reminding him of his worth. He could still help people.

"I'm sorry you had it rough before. But you're stuck with us, now." He smiles, awkward but genuine as he nudges the other. "Slateport gang, or whatever."

As to meeting outside of work? "I'd like that."

mission: sparkling spawning

Social anxiety screams in his thoughts as Orion registers the distance of the exchange between @nikita and Caleb Harcourt. Oh, Arceus. What had happened between them? What pile of shit had he just stepped in?

There's no choice now but to sit between them and pray that the lunch ends before he has a stress-induced heart attack.

He is surprised, and also relieved, when Caleb doesn't opt for any of the alcoholic drinks on the menu. Though it might soothe nerves, he also neglects the drinks menu in favour of a Gogoat cheese and Tamato baguette.

"Oh, um." Orion wriggles the fingers of his prosthetic hand. "I met Nikita through her company, when I was getting my prosthetic. She made me feel much better about the whole process."

The smile he offers Nikita is genuine, if edged with anxiety.

Tam's laughter sparks butterflies in his stomach, nervous energy building as the captain's hand finds his waist and their lips meet a second time. He forgets all about the oven, the poffins, the Pokémon no doubt judging them nearby, and thinks only of this:

It's not hard for Orion to feel strongly for others, much as he might deny it. He falls in and out of puppy love with people entirely depending on how much attention they give him; a simple smile can be enough to spark a crush.

Tam's different, though. Tam is consistent. Tam is his friend. Tam is also his boss, which should really be a problem, but he doesn't care. If anything, it adds to the thrill. Like they're misbehaving, even in the privacy of Orion's home.

As they kiss, Orion's fingers explore the curve of Tam's jaw, sliding up beneath his ear to tangle in blond hair.

"Eat it? I don't—"

Know would have logically followed, but Tam steps forward and grabs his hand to tug him close, and all thoughts of poffin batter are scattered to the wind. He thinks instead of the last time they'd been this close.

Anxious though he may be, the invitation seems clear.

He leans in for an experimental kiss, slow, and brushes his nose against Tam's when he pulls away. Nerves flutter in his stomach and his shy smile comes easy.

"So do you."

There's batter on his cheek and on his nose, and now Tam's second-guessing their choices? Orion figures it's not to be taken seriously, so he only smirks at him.

"What else would we do with it?"

Were he bolder, Orion might've taken the opportunity to get in close and nudge Tam with his batter-covered nose in retaliation. He certainly considers it. But though they've messed around more than once, anxiety proves a persistent prison. He doesn't want to make this awkward when they're having fun.

Instead, he flicks more poffin batter before licking his fingers and washing his hands again, setting the bowl down before he's tempted to do more damage. He's still amused, green eyes sparkling with mirth as he leans against the counter.

Beach patrols. He's had enough of beach patrols. After Splashfest, he'd be happy to never see another. But he's still benched after his botched job with Tam Fawley, so he sucks it up and lags behind the assigned Elite as ordered. At least he's outside, and not sorting files again. Not that sorting the file room had been so bad, in the end...

His distracted thoughts are interrupted by a wailing child, a sound that grates on the ears. He doesn't hate kids, but they do make him uncomfortable. They have a whole different set of morals and rules and expectations than adults, and that's a hell of a lot for an anxious mind to keep track of. Thankfully, the other Ranger takes the lead. He tunes out the finer details, but gets the gist of this kid's Pokémon being stolen. It wasn't an uncommon crime, and didn't always have link to Rocket, but it still makes his blood boil.

He keeps his mouth shut like a good little cadet and doesn't suggest a beatdown.

"Come on, Lykos. I'll take point."

He also doesn't suggest against it.

Anxiety about what Tam might think is pushed aside by the knowledge that the Elite outranks him and if he's giving an order, then Orion can't well leave his mission partner high and dry, right?

Altair pads at Orion's left side as they approach the warehouse.

"They're readily available. Have you seen how many farms are in Verdanturf, dude?" Farms, ranches like his own, and even an orchard or two. The serene countryside made for great opportunity. "Plus, they're good protein."

He doesn't elaborate, figuring Tam can make the connection between being vegetarian and needing a different source of protein intake.

Orion, too, can't help but to recall a particular night in August. His face feels warm for more reasons than opening the oven as he slides the poffins inside.

A startled yelp from the touch of cold poffin batter on his cheek is followed by a laugh. He might've been obsessively cleaning up after them in a panic, but as he wasn't actually a neat freak he doesn't mind.

"Menace," he accuses, taking another swipe of the batter to flick it at Tam. At least it's not a whole pie.

It takes him a minute to remember where he keeps the oil spray, rooting around in a few cupboards before he finds it and holds the pan at arms length to coat it in the stuff.

He looks sheepish at Tam Fawley's accusation.

"Well, not with poffins," because he hasn't tried making them enough times, "but I have done that with other stuff. Like eggs."

Eggs looked so wet when you cracked them into a pan. They didn't look like they needed any greasing, but he'd learned his lesson after scraping cooked eggs off one too many frying pans.

He pours the batter into the tray, then swipes a finger through what's left in the bowl for a taste.

"Pretty good."

You're not supposed to eat raw batter, but who cares? He washes his hands after, though, because he's a menace but he's not an animal.

He hadn't been kidnapped by Rocket in the dead of night, unexpected. He'd been forced to go along willingly in broad daylight. That doesn't make him any less aware of his surroundings with the knowledge that it could happen again, at any time.

So even light footfalls upon the porch catch his attention, and Orion turns around to squint at the intruder, expecting perhaps that the teenagers outside had finally successfully conned a fellow into the dare. He's instead greeted by a man he doesn't recognize from their crowd, and not a delinquent youth besides.

The Chandelure at Orion's side hovers uncomfortably close to the ranger, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Something like that." Urban exploration isn't so much his thing; it's the ghosts that draw him here. "Here to appease the spirits those idiots outside have riled up, more like."

A Spoink sporting a small pearl bounces around a corner, and Orion glances it at with a brief, fond smile, trying not to think of his failure to protect those whose pearls had been stolen by the likes of Martín del Mar and Sienna Bell.

"Orion," he introduces, offering a hand. "Ranger, but I'm off duty, so I'm not gonna make a fuss as long as you're not here to provoke the ghosts."

His other arm, hand stuffed in the pocket of his ranger uniform, is comprised of dark titanium. On the sleeve of his uniform, a red armband marks him for a cadet.

skip

All right? No, Orion is far from all right. But he doesn't correct ollie morales, offering only a tight attempt at a smile before he sits back down.

Tam Fawley is more attuned to his discomfort. He might not talk often about the loss of his arm, but he wore his trauma on a titanium sleeve and he's sure everyone in Slateport's squad has some inkling of how poorly he's adjusting.

"I'm fine," he says, soft but appreciative of the concern. "It needed to be said."

It wasn't the time to get killed playing hero.

Talk of potential collaboration with Team Rocket makes his blood boil, but apart from squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw, he does not speak out against those in discussion. He was not going to make a scene.

At last, the meeting seems to be coming to a close. Orion accepts a container of leftovers; he wasn't a good chef, so he's quietly grateful for the opportunity to not worry about meals for the next couple days.

He looks to his captain.

"You probably want to head out as much as I do."

Tam wasn't social, either. In his words, a question: or did you want to stay a bit longer? Orion wants to go home, but he'd made a silent promise to see this through.

- Offers Ollie an awkward smile for his kind words
- Steams silently about the thought of collabing with Rocket
- Takes some leftovers b/c he can't cook
- Asks his captain if they can go home (antisocial lmao)

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Orion doesn't like interacting with strangers in a strictly social setting, but what he does like to do is help. Usually Pokémon, rather than people, but he doesn't mind swallowing some discomfort to assist where Hoenn needs it most. It's why he'd originally joined the Council, after all. To help.

He doesn't like to think about it.

The timer goes off, saving him from spiraling, and he opens the fridge to pull out the 'rested' mixture. It looks the same to him, but if Tam says it'll help then he doesn't doubt it.

"OK, now what?"