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Summary
Trying to not look at Astarion was like trying not to breathe.
It was too hard not to.
When you received you invite written by a frail hand, you thought you were over him. You tried finding him after he retreated into the shadows. Even staying in Baldur's Gate longer than you originally planned in the hopes he would magically appear with an apology and an explanation.
But when he didn't show in tavern nor sewer, you had no choice but to leave the city.
As far as break-ups went, his left you empty.
But now he was standing under the many torch lights as if nothing happened. Drinking wine from a goblet and fluffing his perfect hair while talking with Shadowheart. Conversing as if all those months you spent sharing a tent, holding each other on so many nights, meant nothing.
Like you meant nothing.