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Tonight was meant to be joyous. The sounds of revelry echoed over the water’s edge as Wyll skipped another smooth rock. Once, twice, three times it bounced off the placid surface before sinking beneath the surface. It had been only a few days since his transformation. He wasn’t in the right mind to participate in the drinking and dancing going on behind him. The glass of wine, pushed into his hand by an insistent Shadowheart, sat beside him on the shore untouched.
“How droll, darling, moping all by yourself.”
The posh twang of Astarion’s voice interrupted his brooding. Turning his head to spy the vampire sidling up to him, he squinted. “I’m in no mood for your teasing tonight.”
A mock gasp of offense left the other man. “Darling, I’m hurt! I wouldn’t dream of trying to drag you away from…whatever this is.”
With a roll of his eyes, Wyll turned back to face the water. He grabbed the wine glass and took a long drink from it. “Was there something in particular you wanted to speak about?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but there was a hint of frustration in his tone.
“Touchy tonight, aren’t we.” Astarion muttered, taking a seat next to him. “I just…wanted to check in with you, my dear. You’ve been rather quiet.”
“I can’t imagine why,” he replied wryly. Shaking his head, he winced at the weight of his horns. It would take time to adjust to their weight.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” the pale elf sniffed, “and you made quite the heroic sacrifice. Not my forte, but…well, the horns are rather fetching on you.”
A small laugh passed his lips. “…thank you, Astarion. Coming from someone as beautiful as you it must be true.”
“Hah! I expected a bit more creativity from you when it comes to complimenting me, but I suppose I’ll let you off the hook. This time.”
“How benevolent of you,” Wyll teased with a half smile.
The two of them sat there for a few more moments without speaking. The party raged on behind them. Astarion was the one to break the silence.
“Wyll,” he started while worrying his bottom lip with a fang, “I wanted to thank you for accepting me for what I am and that you’re not alone in this. I know what it’s like to be…remade.”
“Born men, made monsters.” Wyll frowned, red iris meeting its twin in the other. “We’re more than the sum of our parts.”
“Fangs or horns, it makes no difference. You’re still the man you were. Are.”
A flicker of a smile graced his face. “Perhaps.” A tentative hand reached out to take Astarion’s in his. Wyll noted the distinct chill of their skin against his. “Thank you for checking on me.”
Clearing his throat, Astarion glanced down at they joined hands and then up at the water. “Of course, darling. Can’t have you ruining the party with your sour mood.”
“Of course,” he echoed and squeezed his hand.