Chapter Text
You’ll be standing there speckled in blood as I find you. Someone else's, I think. I never was good at telling. You’ll be reading something heavy and you won’t look up from the page until I stand there long enough to make it obvious that I am not going anywhere. I think you needed to be sure.
I never understood why you read standing up. It seemed rather uncomfortable to me. Unnatural, even. Maybe you were always ready to get up and go. I shift my weight in the rocky dirt to make noise. Your eyes glance over the page, and as they do, I cross my hands together behind my back. Behind the covers of your book, splayed like a resting butterfly, I can tell that you are smiling just by looking at your eyes.
“Need something? Or, did you just miss me?” your voice is coated in a coy and playful ring.
“Strange, I was just about to ask you the same thing,” I’ll say as I keep one hand behind my back and bring the other to my face, a single finger on my chin. “You look awful.”
The way you’ll disapprovingly glare will weaken me as I try to maintain an innocent, wide-eyed gaze. I will bat my lashes at you as if to ask ‘ What, have I done something? ’
“I can’t say you have a way with words, darling.” You will rest a hand on your side and roll your eyes.
As you do, I will notice the little cuts and bumps and bruises just under your sleeve. I blink, thinking about my disdain for goblins.
The truth is that all I want to do is take a wet cloth to your face and tell you to be more careful, to stop doing things out of fear of what we will think of you if you don’t. But, I don’t know if you’re the kind of man who likes things that way. So transparently– and especially not with Gale or Halsin around. And besides, this little game of subtextual language chess is not so bad. I’m a quick study.
“Maybe not,” I nod. “But I do have this for you.”
I move my hand from behind my back and watch you stare at the rolled parchment with a furrowed, gray brow.
“A piece of paper?” You’ll pluck it from my hands, staring at it for a moment between your thumb and forefinger. You do not unravel it, but you do examine it from all sides. Then, even when you are frowning, your eyes reveal your curiosity. You look back to me–then to the paper once again, faking a frown. “How thoughtful. You know how I love paperwork.”
“I am just that nice,” I nod, playing along still, while equally ushering you to open it with both my hands. A half-smile takes hold of your face again, and you raise one eyebrow at me as you tuck the book you were reading under your arm.
“Is it cursed?”
“No.”
“Charmed?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Hells, please promise me it’s not a poem.”
“Cross my heart.”
Then, with both hands free, you pull the string and carefully open it at the corners. I feel my heart jump as you do. But then, you are silent. And you stay that way for a long time.
“Oh.” You say, breathlessly. I search your gazing face for whether or not I had done a good thing or if I had wretchedly ruined our foreseeable future. But you were stoic as stone, staring deeply into the page with your lips slightly parted.
I tilt my head and try to read you. But, it’s of no use. Your eyes are half-lidded as they burn into the page. You are not smiling. I can sense no excitement in you any longer. I take a step back.
Then, just as I am thinking of running off, you look up at me with those red eyes that pierce me. Your gaze is heavy, revealing words that you do not speak aloud.
“I tried to be as accurate as I could,” I whispered, still not sure if I had done a terrible or a good thing. “I took lessons in sketching and painting for years with some of the best art tutors in all of Baldur’s Gate. My father was adamant that I needed to know how to do more than just magic if I wanted to be well-rounded.”
My words feel silly and useless. Like a child bantering in babble-speak. I look away from your eyes and over to the water to distract myself.
“If you don’t like it, you can burn it, really.” I shudder, feeling the veil of our little game fade into the distance. I am starting to understand why you like it there, hovering with the words we say above what we really mean. “I just thought after all the talk of missing your petty vanity and all–”
My voice wanders away from me. I hear you move behind me, but I don’t look.
“Burn the only picture of this handsome face? My vanity simply wouldn’t allow it.”
Your voice is half-shrouded in that same coy tone from earlier. I let out a sigh of relief. We are back where we started, or something like that.
When I look back to meet your gaze, you are standing beside me, shoulder bumping against mine, still holding the drawing in your hand. Your eyes are still full of something that is somewhere between agony and happiness, but your smile is warm. I smile back and bat my lashes again, feeling the need to turn this conversation to different matters.
“Astarion?” I asked.
“Yes, my dear?”
“You can feed on me tonight, if you want,” I nudge you with my shoulder.
“My sweet,” you pause and roll the parchment up as you speak, resting it for a moment on your lips. I feel you lean into my shoulder right back. “There is nothing I’d like more.”