Chapter Text
Astarion paced as he awaited Damaris’s arrival. He had asked her to meet him privately to give her his present, but was having second thoughts; it was positively embarrassing to lay his heart out on the line with such a blatant representation of it in the form of treats and useless tokens of affection. She didn’t care about any of that did she? She seemed satisfied by the occasional smile he sent her way; was it really necessary to display it in front of her like a neon sign saying I Care About You? He showed it enough, didn’t he? Like when… Hmm, he thought. I hugged her in front of the others once—well, a side hug, but…
Astarion’s train of thought was interrupted with the wood elf’s sudden presence, as if she had misty stepped directly in front of him. “Hello, dear,” he said, a quiver in his voice that he hoped desperately she would not detect. Thankfully, she was not known for being especially observant.
“HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!” Volume control was also not one of her defining traits.
“Mm, yes, happy day, darling.”
“I got you something.” Damaris stared delightedly into Astarion’s eyes with the intensity of a deranged owl.
By some miracle, her declaration lifted a weight from his shoulders, although concern for what he might receive followed shortly thereafter. “Oh? And what might that be?” A smile crept upon his lips—he was still getting used to this whole being-in-a-committed-relationship thing, but he had to concede that it felt nice to be thought of.
“Turn around.”
Astarion was skeptical of her intentions, but complied; she had never done anything particularly objectionable to him. He could not say the same for himself after that unfortunate incident the first time he had drunk her blood…
After a moment of questionably loud clattering, Damaris exclaimed, “Okay, you can look now!”
Astarion turned back around to face Damaris, seeing held out in her extended palms a corked glass bottle molded into the shape of a heart—an anatomically correct one, aortae and everything. Inside was a scarlet fluid.
“Wine in a heart bottle? How quaint.”
As Damaris moved to hand her gift to him, the liquid inside flowed far more viscously than liquor. “It’s my blood!” She smiled like it was the simplest thing.
“Your—how?”
“A needle and a tube.”
A needle and a tube.
“I’m giving you my heart, blood and all.”
It really was that simple. Yet, despite its simplicity, it was quite possibly the kindest gesture he had been offered in over two hundred years.
Astarion groaned, conflicted about his ability to honestly admit, “I do love you, you know?”