Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tara stopped eating on a Thursday.

Gale was not usually this perceptive to the passing of time, and would not have made a point of it at all, had it not also been two years to the day that he had packed up and left Mystra’s house for the last time, and a week after he had received her email.

“Maybe it’s your cooking,” Astarion offered from his spot across the room on the sofa, equal parts uninterested and unhelpful.

“Funny,” Gale shot back. “Considering that’s the only thing you’ve never complained about.”

“You wound me,” Astarion raised his fingers in feigned shock to his chest. “Persecute me for my discerning taste.”

Gale noted the deflection for the compliment that it was. He grinned, deciding this was victory enough. Instead of continuing their playful argument, he turned his attention back to his laptop and articles.

“Kidney disease?” Gale murmured to himself out loud, as he often did when lost in his research. “Liver disease? Parasites?”

“Shouldn’t you be consulting a doctor for those ailments and not WebMD?” Astarion finally looked up from his—Gale’s—book.

Gale turned, offended. “That is not a reputable source! I’ll have you know all of these articles are peer reviewed.”

“Peer…’Journal of Veterinary Science’?!” Quicker than Gale realized, Astarion was beside him, peering over his shoulder. “You’re reading in the wrong field, darling.”

“This is clearly a scientific problem,” Gale shook his head. “And it requires a scientific solution.” He scrunched his nose. “Although I do wish that the methodology in this field were more rigorous—”

“Gale.”

Astarion put a hand on both of his shoulders and spun his chair so that they were facing each other.

“It’s been one day .”

“She’s been eating so well recently,” Gale protested, despite hearing the reason in Astarion’s words. 

Gale had found Tara, small, shivering and alone, huddling in a small cardboard box for shelter several years ago, and it had taken weeks before he managed to gain her trust. She had barely eaten then too, and Gale had feared he was going to lose her. That fear returned in full force, somehow irrationally amplified by the arrival of Mystra's email.

“There must be something—”

From her place on his lap, Tara gave a quick mew, and stomped off, tail up high.

“Tara!” Gale called after her helplessly.

Astarion rolled his eyes, and followed her into Gale's bedroom.

Having nothing else to do and no one else to talk to, what else could Gale do but stare again at his screen and the words searing through it?

It was ridiculous that the message could have such power despite lacking a verbal, somatic or material component, even.

He hadn’t heard from Mystra at all since the day he left, hadn’t seen her—although, he supposed that this was partially by his own design. After leaving Baldur's Gate, Gale all but built a tower around himself, cutting off any of the few acquaintances he had. Quantum mechanics, at the level at which he and Mystra could practice it, was a very small pond, one in which most of the fishes owed Mystra their allegiance. They would not risk her approval (or, their careers) by continuing to speak with him; of this, Gale was certain. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to talk to them anyway—they reminded him of a life he had decidedly had to abandon.

“Abandoned”, he thought, as though he chose to do so. And yet, two years later, here he was, hand trembling uncontrollably every time he tried to approach clicking that email from her personal address.

A coward.  

“I’m going to work,” Astarion announced from behind him, shaking him from reverie.

“Alright,” Gale turned to find him cuddling Tara in his arms and breathed an unsteady sigh of relief that she seemed okay. He reached forward to scratch under her chin, and she lifted her head to allow it. The smile he tried to give Astarion must have fallen flat though, given the way the other man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He tried to deflect. “Will you be coming back afterwards?”

Astarion shared a flat with Karlach, but spent just as many evenings over at Gale’s.

Gale observed the haunted expression that sometimes overcame Astarion very early in their friendship—when memories of his life before escaping Cazador became too much. He had sensed it that evening over a year ago now, when Astarion had been closing the Infernal Iron himself, an evening when Karlach was to be over at Dammon’s—Astarion had been going through the motions, slowly, as though dreading the thought of whatever purgatory he had put himself in might be over, not wanting to face the empty room that would follow.

It was a feeling that Gale himself knew all too well.

“You know, I made entirely too much pork pie before I left,” Gale said lightly as he finished the last of his wine. “And it never tastes the same the next day. Would you like to come over to help me out with it?”

Astarion blinked at the invitation. “It’s going to be past midnight by the time I’m finished here, darling.”

“And I still haven’t eaten,” Gale shrugged. “In truth, I could use the company. You could stay the night if you like.” 

Gale's face drained of colour as he realized how his intentions could be misinterpreted. “If you were worried about missing the last train, I mean,” he added hastily. “I have a spare bedroom.”

“A spare bedroom?” Astarion’s eyes had narrowed initially at the offer, but melted into one of amusement once faced with Gale’s mortification.

Gale held his breath after the invitation was extended, leaving space for Astarion’s answer—leaving space for him.

He had expected a playful misdirection, an attempt to cloak any discomfort with a saccharine smile that didn’t quite reach Astarion’s eyes. He hadn’t expected the sudden softness that was gone just as soon as Gale thought he’d noticed it.

“Why darling, how could I say no?”

It was convenience, Gale decided, that had initially won Astarion over that evening. Gale lived walking distance from the pub. It was how he had originally found it, wandering in one evening, heart in pieces, needing to be around somebody, but not having anybody in town he could call on.

Whatever the actual reason may have been, was grateful for this—he enjoyed Astarion's company and counted him now as one of his best friends (of which he had very few). They had fallen immediately into a comfortable pattern with barely any effort. 

“Yes, I think I’d better come back,” Astarion nodded, kissing Tara on the head lightly before allowed her to jump down onto the floor.

His words again brought Gale back from his musings.

“After all, somebody has to make sure the two of you are eating.”

Gale huffed in mock frustration. “I eat!”

“When you have someone to cook for,” Astarion waved carelessly without turning. “I’ll bring us some wine.”

“Red tonight, please.”

“Done. Ta.”

Something about his exchanges with Astarion always soothed the complex system of knots that tangled in Gale’s chest at any thought of Mystra. He took a deep breath, and closed his email for the day. She could wait.

Tara meowed, and leaped into his lap, as though in agreement. Gale chuckled and petted her along her back. He focused his considerable talent towards figuring out this evening’s dinner instead.

—

As Astarion predicted, Tara was in better spirits the next day. She had spent the previous evening snuggled on the sofa after dinner with Gale and Astarion, as the two of them bickered over what to watch and recounted the events of their day. These sorts of evenings always put Gale's own heart at ease, so he wasn't surprised that it had the same effect on Tara. 

Astarion had spent the better part of the time criticizing the expensive and “disgusting” cat food Gale had been feeding her. 

“This is for cats ,” Gale pointed out. “I'd be worried if you did find it palatable.” 

“It's lucky she's a cat, because she'd likely vomit reading this drivel they're passing off as copy,” Astarion shot back. He picked up the package. “A decadent melange of organics; real, whole foods; and love.”

Gale winced. “Fair point.”

“What sort of new age bullshit is this?” Astarion asked, gesturing with his long, elegant fingers. “Who uses semicolons properly when referring to cat food?”

“All research points to it being the best!” Gale protested, while still grinning, enjoying this game they played. “She deserves the best.”

“‘Best’ by your measure, darling, or hers?” Astarion drawled.

Gale's smile fell from his lips. “Mystra's.” 

Gale’s new friends knew Mystra’s name, and her general station. Gradually, over time, after some gentle teasing and encouragement, the urge to mention Mystra with his every living breath subsided. In truth, it was likely the arrival of his new friends that allowed it. Mystra and their work together had been Gale’s whole life. He had never thought that void to be fillable, had never been able to imagine a life “walking amongst mortals”, as Mystra had called it so often, with disdain.

Astarion had developed an immediate and intense dislike for her.

As though to demonstrate, the air in the room noticeably shifted, grew stilted and awkward in a way that felt far too familiar. Another relic of Gale's time with her.

Astarion scowled. “All the more reason to throw it out.” 

He dropped the entire bag of food in the trash, and Gale didn't stop him. If he were honest, there was something satisfying about the act, about disposing of one of her decisions. 

Astarion looked pleased. He pulled Gale towards the living room to his usual spot and sat down beside him (which just happened to be Astarion’s usual spot).

“Now come, what dreadful program would you like to watch?” 

—

Gale decided to have a late drink at the Iron the evening after. Astarion was working, so they could leave together once his shift was done. Gale didn't mind waiting. Inevitably, one of their other friends would drop by, or, he could message one of them to ask if they would, if he truly wanted. 

It was a busy evening, but Karlach came over to the bar the minute she caught sight of him.

“Gale! Good to see you, mate!” She slid him a glass of his favourite wine. “Was beginning to worry it was something I said.”

“It's been three days since my last visit,” Gale pointed out with amusement, after thanking her for the drink.

“And that's ages for you!” Karlach punched him just a bit too hard on the arm. She leaned in, looking left to right conspiratorially. For what, Gale couldn't fathom. “Things must be going well with your lil’ sweetheart?” 

She pulled herself a pint of beer, and sipped it while giving him a knowing grin.

“Things are much better now, thank the gods,” Gale sighed. “She's still not eating as well as I'd like, but at least she's eating. I'm trying a new brand of food, and it seems to be going alright, even though I wish it were more nutritious.” 

Karlach coughed as she choked on her beer. 

“Are you alright?” Gale reached up to pat at her back with concern.

“Yes. No. Are you talking about your cat?” 

Gale blinked at her. “Of course. That's who you asked about. It's why I've not been around.”

Karlach stared at him, her mouth trying to form words that her brain could not quite process. 

“Are you sure you're alright?” Gale asked again. 

“Fuck, no,“ Karlach muttered, taking another long swig from her drink. “I'm not nearly drunk enough for this. So…there's no one else you'd say was your sweetheart? Other than your cat?”

“I'll have you know that Tara is absolutely the sweetest!” Gale protested. “...although it does sound somewhat pathetic, when you put it that way.” 

“Oh Gale, no!” Karlach pleaded. “Didn't mean it like that. It's just…you're so good at taking care of animals and people. Surely some lucky person's noticed? Or there's someone you feel like…you know.” 

She teetered back and forth and gave him that eager smile, the one that always suggested to Gale she thought better of him than he actually was.

He huffed a laugh and hid the rest of his expression in his wine glass. This topic was unfamiliar territory. 

“To be truly honest, I'm not sure I remember what any of that feels like,” Gale shook his head. “It's been ages since I felt that sort of longing, and with Mystra she just…” 

Karlach tilted her head, unable to guess at the response. 

“...took,” Gale managed finally. “She wanted. I don’t recall much of the rest.” 

Karlach’s lips curled into a much uglier look than was ever meant for him. “I've got some words for her if we ever were to meet.”

“I'm being unfair,” Gale relented. “You only know of her from my description.” 

“That's all I need to know,” Karlach said, slamming a hand lightly on the table. “Because I know you . When you care about someone, it's with your whole heart. Whether we deserve it or not.” 

It felt generous. Karlach didn't know the part about how powerful it felt to be by Mystra's side, the way it felt like all calculations felt within reach. But there was something in what Mystra was asking of him now that felt incredibly familiar, wasn't there? Instead of only asking for his complete devotion, she asked now for the last thing he had to give professionally, once again, for her benefit, at his expense.

“Hey.” 

Gale looked up when Karlach placed a hand over his, and only noticed then that his fingers were biting hard into the palm. Karlach pried his hand open, her motions careful and slow.

“I'm fine.” Gale felt the tightness in his smile, watched the lines of concern deepen at the corner of Karlach’s eyes, and tried again. “You could tell me. What it feels like, to fall in love, for you,” he added when she tilted her head in confusion. 

The strain in her expression fell away to sheer delight. “Ha! Astarion says you got cheesy novels for that sort of thing. He leaves the ones he's stolen in the living room sometimes.” 

“I figured that was where they'd went,” Gale grumbled. “Real life isn't like those stories though, I imagine.” 

“Wouldn't know. Don't read.” 

She grinned at the high pitched whine he gave in response, giving Gale hope that she was just kidding. 

“Alright,” Karlach hums, scrunching her face and narrowing her eyes in thought. “It's like…you know what the other person's thinking or feeling, but they don't have to say it.”

“I believe that's called insight,” Gale replied dryly.

“Well, yea, but it's different ,” Karlach insisted. “It's not like you're in their head. It's like you're in their heart.”

“That's…actually quite beautiful,” Gale admitted. 

Karlach beamed. “And when you're with them, it just feels…natural. Like everything could be right in the world, even though it isn't. Like maybe you want it to be, for them. And even for yourself.” 

“And you just…trust them. They say things you should know. But somehow, when they say it, you believe ‘em.” 

Karlach’s eyes were distant, a faint smile pulled at her lips. 

Gale chuckled to himself. “You have me convinced. Quite the lesson.” 

Her attention shot back towards him and she blushed, caught in her daydream. “You're an excellent student.” 

“Always have been,” Gale hummed. 

Karlach leaned in. “So. Is there anyone like that for you?”

“Ah,” Gale could feel the heat creep up his neck. “I hope that you'd know I would tell you, if there were someone in my life in that capacity.” 

“Of course,” Karlach flashed him a warm smile. “But… could there be someone in your life with that potential?”

“You seem awfully invested in this idea all of a sudden,” Gale frowned.

Karlach shrugged. “I just want to see my friends happy. You deserve to be happy, Gale.” 

Gale drew a breath to protest, but his voice stuck in his throat. Why was this something he felt he needed to argue against? 

Something in his expression made Karlach’s face fall and she reached across the counter for his hand again. 

“What have you done to him now ?” Astarion’s voice from behind Gale made her freeze. Astarion reached over Gale's shoulder to pluck the glass of wine from his grasp and took a sip. “I leave for ten minutes .”

He leans his weight into Gale's side and Gale lets out a breath he doesn't realize he's been holding.

Karlach observed all of this and grinned slyly up at Astarion. “We're just chatting.” 

“Don't you own this bar, or something?” Astarion sniped at her irritably. “Isn't there something more important you could be doing with your time?”

“Alright, alright. I know when I'm not wanted,” she waved him away and gave Gale a wink that Astarion traced across the space between them. He fixed Karlach with a glare that could have frozen the nine hells all at once. Karlach only laughed at him, and slapped him hard on the back as she left.

“She meant well,” Gale chuckled, turning to greet Astarion properly. 

“She usually does.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now tell me, why do you look like she kicked Tara over a bridge?”

Gale recognized this as Astarion’s way of indicating his concern. As touched as he was by the gesture, he couldn't handle the return to this topic right now. 

“I…”

He couldn’t even explain this. 

“Perhaps later?” Astarion cut in gently. 

Gale looked up at him, eyes wide and grateful, and he nodded. He sat for the bar awhile longer, happy to just to watch Astarion work and return to him for brief conversation. Eventually, Wyll and Tav arrived, and he joined their table, putting his anxieties from his mind.

—

Gale wasn't expecting Astarion the evening after. While evenings alone had become less and less common, Gale still found himself missing Astarion's company when he was not here. 

Gale had just finished feeding Tara—mixing a few of her favourite treats into her food as encouragement, when heard the sound of fumbling keys, first just in someone's hand, then a more insistent pounding of metal on the door, as though the person had given up finding the correct key and was attempting instead to will the door open by jamming the entire set against it. 

He had heard these sounds before, recognized the frantic need to find safety. It always made his blood run cold. As quickly as he could, he opened the door and Astarion all but fell through it. Gale caught him, and was alarmed to find his entire body shaking. When Astarion didn't pull away, Gale tightened his hold, pulling Astarion close. 

Despite the rapid beating of his heart, Gale did his best to murmur soft assurances, petting down Astarion’s side, knowing to avoid his back. 

Astarion took a long, shuddering breath, and hid his face in Gale's shoulder. 

The first time this happened, Astarion had balked, pushed Gale away and locked himself in his own room. Gale had made him a sandwich and a pot of his favourite tea. Gale had then knocked lightly to say that he would leave these outside the door, and that he would be happy to either talk or leave, whichever it was that Astarion needed. While he hadn't expected any response, he couldn't shake feelings of helplessness either in the face of his friend's distress. He had woken up the morning after to find the sandwich gone and the teapot drained. Astarion was sitting at their kitchen table, looking completely wrecked, but wanting to talk extensively about the lack of proper lighting in the hallways. 

The second time this happened, Astarion's door had opened before the sandwich hit the floor. Gale sat silently with him while he ate. He eventually extended a hand, palm facing upwards, were Astarion to need it. Astarion blinked at the gesture for a full minute before grasping Gale's fingers so tightly that their fingers turned pale white. 

The third time this happened, Gale learned about Cazador, and was filled with such a fury that Astarion was the one who ended up calming him down. 

Over time, these occurrences happened less and less, to Gale's great relief. All the more reason he was so worried whenever he did see Astarion in such a state.

“Tea and a sandwich?” Gale offered quietly when the quiet sobs had subsided into stillness. 

Astarion didn't answer.

“Something stronger?” Gale guessed. Astarion nodded. Gale reached down to find Astarion's hand, and Astarion took it, gave Gale's fingers a squeeze: their sign that he was okay. Gale led him to the sofa and looked him over closely. Once he was satisfied that Astarion truly was alright, he left for the kitchen. 

He returned with the food and wine, as promised, and set it all on the table. As was often the case in these moments, Astarion couldn't bring himself to look at Gale, not right away. 

Gale sat quietly, sipping his wine, trying to swallow down his anger, that Astarion was still forced to fight this demon, even though its physical body was long gone. 

Astarion finished his sandwich and took a long sip of his wine before he spoke.

“Cazador wore a particular cologne. Always the same one.”

Gale could see where this was going. “We don't have to talk about it if—”

“You say this every time,” Astarion cut in, but with the smallest of smiles. “I know.”

Gale nodded and waited. 

“It smelled expensive. Fuck, I know that it was expensive. But when I smell it, all I can think of is blood and rot and shit. It chokes me. I suffocate on it.”

Gale extended his hand again, and Astarion took it without looking, almost instinctively. 

“I could have sworn that I smelled it on the streets today. And that's it.” Astarion gave a short, hysterical laugh. “That's…all it took.” 

Gale rubbed his thumb gently over Astarion's knuckles, memorizing the grooves in the bone. For someone so fond of words, it was frustrating, debilitating to find none. 

He settled for placing his other hand on top of Astarion's as well, rubbing to warm the cold fingers in his grasp. If he could not find the words to say, he would be there to listen. 

“I will never be free of him,” Astarion spat. “Will never escape this pathetic thing that he's made me.” 

Gale clenched his jaw against the growl that threatened from deep within his chest. This was unacceptable to him. He understood this sort of phantom emotional pain intimately, on some level, even believed he deserved it. The idea though that someone had this hold on Astarion…anger came much more easily to Gale when it was leveled on someone else's behalf.

“You're not pathetic.” 

Astarion stilled, allowed his gaze to be drawn up to meet Gale's. 

“You're so much more than whatever it was he made you,” Gale insisted, his voice still rough despite his best efforts to stay soft, to give Astarion that. Some of the despair slipped from Astarion's expression, replaced with something Gale could not place. Curiosity, perhaps? Hope? Gale would grasp at the strands of this, if he could, have it fill every last part of Astarion to displace any part of him that Cazador still influenced.

“You always were.” 

“How could you know?” Astarion asked, flippant to everyone else, but trembling with that same vulnerability to Gale's practiced ear. 

“Because I know you, as you are now,” Gale replied. “And you are…” 

Everything.

Gale pursed his lips against the word that nearly escaped. That was something to be parsed another day.

“Remarkable,” he settled for instead. “I wish I could show you.” 

Astarion snorted, blushing slightly, Gale presumed because of the wine. They sat together in silence for awhile, but not uncomfortably so.

“You do.” 

“Hm?”

Gale had lost himself studying the way Astarion’s hair curled neatly at the nape of his neck. 

“You do show me that I'm more.” Astarion was leaning towards him now and somehow, this stole away any response Gale had to give. 

Their eyes met and this seemed to startle them both. Astarion pulled back, drew a breath as though to speak, but paused as though he'd thought better of what he was going to say. “Is there any more of that soup from last night?”

Gale blinked, equally relieved and disappointed by whatever it was that did not pass. 

“Yes, of course,” he nodded. “Stay here. I'll warm some up for you.” 

His phone chimed while he was in the kitchen and he reached for it to find a message from Karlach.

Is Fangs ok? 

Gale considered the question. He hadn't been certainly, when he first returned, not at all. 

No. Gale finally decided. 

But I think he will be.

There was a longer, uncharacteristic pause before Karlach replied.

Good. Knew he'd feel better once he got home to you.

Gale blinked at the message, his nerves fizzled with a warmth that felt far too familiar and yet not familiar at all. He swallowed hard, in awe of how such a simple phrase could just feel so incredibly right. 

Foolish. He shook his head, not allowing himself to parse this any further. Not while Astarion needed him. 

He returned to the living room to find Astarion under several blankets. Astarion graciously extended the end of one of them so that Gale could join him. Gale laughed, and obliged. Tara leaped carefully onto Astarion’s lap as soon as the two of them seemed settled, mewing expectantly. 

“You know, she liked you right away,” Gale mused, as he watched as Tara press her little head into Astarion’s hand affectionately. “That’s rare.”

“Hmm,” Astarion’s indifference is betrayed by the way in which he scratches her under her chin in just the way to make her purr. “She likely just recognized a kindred spirit.”

“Because you’re both fickle?” Gale teased.

“No, darling,” Astarion waved his free hand in a way that affected carelessness. Gale had always been able to see right through the motion. “Because we’re both former strays.”

Gale’s heart ached at the flippant observation. And yet something about how Astarion said “former”, something in the way his face didn’t twist at the ugly memories that such a statement would have elicited in the past, made Gale nearly giddy in a way he himself had not felt in a long time. Perhaps it was the wine.

He laughed and reached up to pet his fingers through Astarion’s white curls, mimicking Astarion’s own motions through Tara’s fur.

“Well. I’m glad you both found a home.”

Astarion was talking about the Infernal Iron, of course, when he spoke of a “home”. He had arrived as a bartender years ago, but after some time, Karlach insisted on making him part owner. It was where Gale had met their Party, friends brought together because they were each haunted by their own demons.  

Gale couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment, although uncertain of its source. What if Astarion had meant somewhere different? Found a ‘home’ with someone, perhaps? He toyed briefly with the idea that this home could be with him, here as they were right now, and found the thought far too comfortable for his liking. He shook his head free of the thought, struck suddenly that his gesture and words could have been taken the wrong way, as Astarion stiffened under his touch. Gale had an apology at the ready when just as quick, Astarion’s entire frame relaxed.

Gale blinked, surprised, but pleased.

They continued to watch their movie in a comfortable silence. Gradually, in inches, Astarion fell fully against Gale’s body, resting his head snugly on Gale’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

Gale inhaled a slow, careful breath, unwilling to break the spell.

As Gale suspected, that too was at least partially performed.

“I didn’t say stop,” Astarion grumbled when Gale’s hand stilled for too long. 

“My apologies,” Gale laughed, the sound as light as his heart was feeling. He resumed and they sat together until sleep eventually claimed them both.

Chapter Text

A second email arrived exactly two weeks after the first. Gale stared at it for several hours, unable to open it. He should have expected it, as he never took the time to reply to the previous, and yet its arrival still somehow caught him off guard.

He was on sabbatical and had hoped his out of office message would have bought him some more time. He should have known though that Mystra would see through this excuse; she knew his every habit, saw his every flaw.

From his lap, Tara meowed, butting her head against his hand insistently. Gale’s hand shook, did its best to provide her with what she asked for, but ultimately failed, judging by the way she slipped from his touch and darted towards the bedroom.

He couldn’t even do a thing so simple, couldn’t even offer such little comfort to a creature who had done nothing but offer him her own, who had been his sole companion in the days immediately after Mystra had ended their relationship.

While Gale’s mind was capable of a great many remarkable things, it had always been best at tearing itself apart.

It was objectively ridiculous, being incapacitated by just the arrival of correspondence alone. The problem was, of course: that it was not objective. Gale could handle “objective”. Had his relationship with Mystra been simply a set of equations waiting to be solved, a cipher decodable through dedication to research and applied thought, they may have yet still been together.

Instead, he had fallen, deeply, completely: had worshipped her, given her everything that was asked, lost himself in her in the most pathetic of ways because he thought, perhaps hoped, that this was what love was.

At some point in the evening, Gale clicked on the email, read, and even processed its contents, however distantly, because he had always been desperate for her guidance, for her approval.

As was often the case, her words contained neither.

At some point, Tara returned, and managed to burrow into the folds of his cardigan, seeking to either ease his anxiety or her own. Gale could not mark these moments in time, however; he could not mark time passing itself.

“—ale? Gale?”

Someone was calling, a voice from another realm.

“For fucks sake. Gale.”

He felt a cool hand grasp him firmly at the side of his neck, grounding him to this plane.

He gasped, forced his eyes to focus on the determined stare that was desperately trying to meet his own, and not on his thoughts bent on self-destruction.

“There you are,” Astarion huffed a sigh of relief, equal parts relieved and annoyed. He pulled back to stand, and Gale mourned the loss of touch. He realized belatedly that his body chased it, leaned towards Astarion’s hand as it drew away. He didn’t right himself quick enough, judging by the way Astarion’s lips quirked upward.

Astarion reached forward to snap Gale’s laptop shut, and Gale found himself suddenly staring at blank space.

“Come,” Astarion commanded, pulling Gale to his feet and herding him towards the sofa. Gale allowed himself to be led, too numb to protest. Not that there wasn’t something akin to relief in it either: his mind had been grasping for solutions and could only arrive at fault. It was nice for a moment to not have to think at all, to simply trust in Astarion’s direction.

That trust was short-lived.

Astarion gently prodded Gale until he was arranged on the sofa to Astarion’s satisfaction, lounging horizontally. Admittedly, Gale’s body felt stiff from having sat upright for gods-knows how many hours, and this did help. Astarion retrieved both a blanket (which was wrapped snuggly around Gale’s body) and Tara (who settled herself snuggly on top of Gale’s chest). Gale allowed himself to be swallowed whole by the warmth and comforting weight around him. He let out a soft sigh. 

Astarion paused to observe his work, and nodded once, pleased.

“Stay.”

Gale sank further into the blanket, nodding. 

And then.

Alarming noises were coming from his kitchen: running water, clanging pots, rustling shopping bags. Astarion was cooking .

“Ast—”

“I said stay ,” Astarion poked his head from around the wall to fix Gale with such an intense gaze that his protest died in his throat. On top of him, Tara doubled down on her own attack –she curled into a solid ball from her spot on Gale’s chest and purred loudly, an unmovable object.

“I can’t shake the feeling that the two of you are ganging up on me,” Gale complained.

“What’s that?” Astarion called from behind a wall. “Can’t hear you, darling.”

Tara began to purr even louder.

Gale grumbled to himself and decided there was no real fighting it. He just hoped that his kitchen survived this adventure.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” He asked.

“I was sent to look for you,” Astarion replied again from behind the wall, and Gale rolled his eyes, having already suspected that Astarion had heard Gale perfectly the first time as well. “You promised Shadowheart and Tav you’d have dinner with them this evening at the Iron. They’re worried sick.”

No, that couldn’t be right.

“I wasn’t to meet them until 6.”

Astarion peered around the wall so that he could properly look at Gale again, perhaps to gauge his reaction. “It’s 8:30, darling.”

Gale sat up to gape at him. Tara slid down into his lap, complaining about the loss of her pillow, and she shuffled again to get comfortable. Gale began to pet instinctively to appease her.

“But…how…shouldn’t you still be at work?” Gale tried the new question instead after failing to understand how he could have lost an entire day.

“Karlach said I could go early. Demanded it, actually, when I told them the condition I found you in,” Astarion replied. His voice was forced neutral. The idea that he had worried his friends did not sit particularly well with Gale, but more sounds started coming from the kitchen and he couldn’t fight the idea that something far more upsetting was going on in there.

Something was sizzling, but the sound wasn’t coming from the frying pan.

“What exactly are you making?” Gale tried to ask mildly, hoping his voice did not convey any of his panic. He had never seen Astarion cook, but the stories that Karlach shared were legendary.

“Patience,” Astarion called airily. “This won’t take much longer.”

“No, oil fires tend not to,” Gale muttered as he resigned himself to snuggling into the blanket again.

Astarion was true to his word. Within ten minutes, he emerged with a bowl of instant noodles that looked remarkably normal, on the surface. Gale sat up to inspect the bowl more closely: slices of Spam that were unevenly browned before being boiled in the soup base, and wilted pieces of iceberg lettuce that Gale deduced had also been boiled.

“What…where did you learn to make this?” Gale figured this was the most neutral way to ask about the strange ingredients.

“I make this for myself when I’m not feeling well,” Astarion shrugged, as he walked back to the kitchen. He began to rustle through the cabinets again. There was a short pause. “It’s the only thing I remember my mother ever making for me.”

And if that didn’t just upend Gale’s entire world. Astarion hardly ever spoke about his parents. Whatever little he remembered of them, he hoarded to himself, and Gale knew not to press for something so precious.

To be trusted with even a simple thing like this though. Gale felt his heart swell with an affection that eclipsed most of the trepidation he had felt at the prospect of having to eat the noodles.

Astarion returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine, then with a bowl of noodles for himself. He poured the wine, and lifted a glass to meet Gale’s before taking a sip and settling to fix his eyes on Gale expectantly.

“Well?” Gale could feel Astarion’s ire rising without looking at him. “Are you hungry or not?” he demanded.

Gale was hungry, certainly. But more so he was…touched? More than a little curious?

He poked at a piece of lettuce, as though preparing to defuse a bomb. After some consideration (slightly exaggerated, if he were to be honest, just to make Astarion pout), he decided that nothing was raw and therefore food poisoning was unlikely. He took a deep breath and began to eat.

Once he did, he found he couldn’t stop. It wasn't bad at all. 

He could feel the cushions shift, as Astarion leaned back, the tension falling away from his shoulders, and suddenly Gale felt guilty.

“Thank you for this,” Gale stopped long enough to say. “I hadn’t realized how long I'd been sitting—”

“Of course you hadn’t,” Astarion sighed. “You never do. I’ve bought more. In case this were to happen again.”

Gale sat up to beam at him. “I didn't know you had this side to you. Where did you learn to take such good care of friends?”

“Oh, I learned from the best, darling,” Astarion purred. He refused to elaborate.

They fell into a companionable conversation afterwards, as they often did. Gale never got tired of how easy this was with Astarion, how they could talk about anything and nothing at all, and it would feel free from judgment. There were few people with whom Gale felt this comfortable, and most of them he'd just met these past two years. 

“Now that you are pampered and fed,“ Astarion said far too casually after some time. “Are you going to tell me what your bitch of an ex had to say that sent you into this death spiral?”

The warmth that had built steadily through Astarion's considerable efforts drained instantly from Gale's body.

“You saw the email.”

“I couldn’t not see the email,” Astarion spat, although Gale could tell that the venom was not meant for him. “You were trying to stare a hole through it. I couldn’t get you to look away.”

“Ah.” Gale flushed now with embarrassment. “It would require some context that is not worth sharing. Especially not compared to what you had to endure.”

“I don't want to compare the depth of our wounds, my sweet. I just want us both to stop bleeding.” 

The endearment caused a blush of a new flavour, and Gale had to remind himself this was Astarion’s natural vocabulary. It also didn't take away the truth of it. Astarion trusted him with his own story. The least he could do was reciprocate, regardless of how trivial it seemed in comparison. 

Gale drew another breath, hoping to find the words in it, and then another, until he felt dizzy with the emptiness of the air, floundered with nothing to hold. 

And out of nothing, Astarion grasped his hand firmly, pulling him back into himself. 

Gale refocused his eyes, holding Astarion's gaze and his hand like a lifeline, thinking back absently to the times he had provided the same. 

“Alright,” he agreed quietly. 

Astarion nodded, and did not let go. Gale was grateful. 

“We published a paper together. Meant to revolutionize our field.” Gale gestured with the hand that wasn't holding Astarion's. “The Karsus Principle.” 

“But there's something wrong with it.” This statement was meant to deter Gale from going into details about the Principle (which he definitely was about to do), but was spoken as fact. Gale frowned.

“You read the email.”

Astarion bristled. “It was right there. I was trying to identify the source of your distress.”

“It's…fine. Yes,” Gale relented. “There's something wrong with it. An equation that is out of place, one that wasn't caught. She's asked me to take responsibility for the error.”

“...was it your fault?” Astarion's voice was not ungentle, lacked the accusation that Gale hears in his head when reading Mystra's words.

“Scientific papers at this level are collaborative,” Gale tread carefully still, as he had been trained to do. “It's difficult to parse individual authorship—”

“Was it your fault?” Astarion asked with more force. 

Gale swallowed the false humility, nearly choked on it. “...no.” 

“And if you did as she asked…” Astarion continued, leaving the true question unspoken.

“It would destroy the little that is left of my reputation,” Gale answered anyway. “...I think here is where the context might be helpful. I owe her my career. And my folly has nearly cost her already before.” 

Astarion's grip tightened around Gale's fingers, but he continued to allow him space to speak.

“She was my supervisor, during my graduate studies,” Gale began. “She was the entire reason I was accepted, actually. She ‘handpicked’ me to be hers, when I was still an undergraduate, saw my potential.” He laughed, but there was no mirth to it. Astarion flinched as the sound. “She called me her Chosen.”

“Under her tutelage, my own research flourished. I won’t bore you with the details of it. Suffice it to say that with her guidance, the most complex, most abstract formulas seemed within reach.”

“And you loved her.” Astarion’s face was unreadable, neutral like it never was, and something about it made something in Gale’s chest clench tight. There was something wrong , depriving his expressive features of emotion. 

Still, Astarion hadn’t framed it as a question, and Gale was glad for it, because for him, it never was, while they had been together.

“I loved her,” He whispered. “Worshipped at her altar. Gave her every part of myself that I had to give.” He swallowed hard, not knowing how to bring the next part of the story to words, never having done so before. “But, a person of her stature invites jealousy, rivalry. And I was her Achilles’ heel.”

“It turned out that I wasn’t the first of her Chosen. Not even her second, or third. And the careers of these previous Chosen all took a meteoric rise. An unfortunate pattern of partners was formed. One that needed to be remedied were she to keep her position.”

“That’s an awfully convenient way of phrasing it, isn’t it, darling?” Astarion interrupted. Gale had been so absorbed in memory that he hadn’t noticed the shift in Astarion’s form: his body was taut as a predator just barely holding back a strike. His prey, Gale could not identify.

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning,” he said gently, an attempt to calm the anger he could see rising and coiling throughout Astarion’s body.

“This ‘unfortunate pattern’ that was ‘formed’,” Astarion spoke the words and Gale could hear the punctuation he intended. “There is only one person to blame for it, and you’re not naming her.”

“It’s true that I was not the first to fall under her spell, nor will I be the last,” Gale admitted. “I was an amusement to her, a mortal to be trifled with, amused, and eventually discarded.”

“But?” Astarion heard the unspoken sentiment.

“But,” he acknowledged, “She confirmed my foolish arrogance, made me feel as though I was actually as good at my work as I had believed. I was the fool, for believing this to be true. I realize now that any accomplishment was her influence, and not my own.”

“That’s bullshit,” Astarion interrupted him sharply. “Nor does it excuse what she did. What she's asking for.”

“I appreciate your support, but how could you know, truly?” Gale asked, “The nature of our work, the complexity of it, means that few could tell where her work ended and my began.”

“But you know, surely,” Astarion insisted. “You can’t possibly be this insufferable and not be good at what you do.”

Gale huffed a laugh, one that seemed only to make the look of concern on Astarion’s face intensify. “You know that's not true. There are plenty who say they are more than they are  and the world rewards them for it. For my part, I affect the confidence that others put in me because I cannot bear to let them down.” He looked down at where their hands joined, as the truth of that statement struck him suddenly and viciously in the heart. “It’s never been my own.”

There was a long pause, during which the air was still thick with Astarion’s rage. His friend was holding back, however, and Gale found himself not wanting to know why. 

“She spun a tale about how I had seduced her, and I helped her sell it so that she could keep her position,” Gale took a long, shaky breath. “I lost mine soon after, and lost her soon after that.”

“I was hired at the local university here: Mystra’s last favour. I buried myself in my work for some time, and that is when you met me,” Gale gestured to himself mockingly. “Or, whatever is left of me.”

Astarion’s continued silence was terrifying. But putting this whole story into words had drained the last of Gale’s strength, and he found himself no longer able to fill the space with his own voice, with the false reassurances he had often offered his friends whenever the topic of his past had come up.

“Why would you do this for her?” Astarion finally spoke, his voice as soft and confused as it was accusatory. “For someone who discarded you like you were worth nothing?”

Gale had never considered the question before. He had only acted as he thought right, never considering why. He pursed his lips, reaching for an answer.

“It is a humbling feeling, being desired by someone so incredibly powerful. So incredibly beautiful,” Gale replied finally. “It made me think perhaps that I was worth something too. And yes, I suppose I mean both my work, and myself. Instead, here I am now. A walking shadow of the promise I once held.”

Gale could feel a shift in the air again: the punctuation of Astarion’s quick breaths; the rasp of Astarion’s smooth motions on the sofa, a snake coiling in on itself—Astarion was angry again.

He looked up to calm his friend and Astarion was much closer than he thought, had pressed forward with such urgency just as Gale had looked up that Gale instinctively balked, nearly falling backwards onto the sofa. Astarion pulled at his wrist to keep him upright.

Gale swallowed hard at their sudden proximity, hoped the other man couldn’t feel the heat that seemed to be consuming him whole. If Astarion did notice, he did nothing to show it.

“She does not define your worth,” Astarion spoke slowly, as though he could make Gale believe this through sheer will. “She saw it, abused it. Discarded you when you no longer suited her.”

He drew Gale in closer still, grasping his wrist so hard it almost hurt. “You are worth ten of her,” he hissed, eyes wide and glittering with the truth of it. “A hundred.”

Astarion's intensity, levied in Gale's favour, was breathtaking.

Gale could only stare at him, eyes wide with shock. A great and terrible need gnawed at his heart: a need to close that distance, to press their lips together in a searing, breathless kiss that—

Oh shit. 

This was the thing that had been blooming of comfort and familiarity. This was the cause of that feeling in his chest when they were together, a device that felt always already at risk of exploding, of consuming Gale from the inside out.

He was in love with Astarion. And it would ruin everything, just like it had before with Mystra.

“Ah. That's. Kind of you.” 

Somehow, it had been the wrong thing to say. Astarion's lips twisted, and he retreated back into his own space, although without letting go of Gale's hand, much to Gale's secret disappointment and relief. The revelation had taken the last of his strength, whatever little there was left to give. 

“I don't think I can discuss this any further tonight,” he confessed. 

Astarion's expression softened immediately. “Of course,” he nodded. “I'm sorry to have pressed. It's just…” 

Gale waited, tilting his head to peer at Astarion curiously. 

Astsrion's eyes flashed again briefly as they met his own. “You deserved better. And you most certainly do not deserve to blow up your career. Not for her.” 

Gale nodded, unable to respond, but Astarion understood. 

“Shall we finish that dreadful documentary you made us start last night?” He asked, reaching to refill their wine glasses generously. 

“As I recall, you began asking actual questions of me part way through,” Gale managed a small smile. “which suggests actual engagement. Once you were done making fun, that is.”

Astarion scoffed and his voice took on its usual careless tenor.

“A scientist named Niels ‘ Bore’ . The quips write themselves, darling.”

“You don't seem to find me boring,” Gale countered. 

A cryptic smile tugged at the corner of Astsrion's lips, as though he didn't fully mean for it to happen. “Despite myself, no.”

As the evening wore on, and Astarion’s body slid sideways once again in slumber against his (whether performed or real), Gale’s mind tried to spin and spiral, tried to grasp for ways of extracting his heart to keep their friendship intact. His exhaustion, or perhaps, the warmth of Astarion’s weight that fell so readily and naturally at his side, won out.

Chapter Text

The evening after, Karlach texted Gale to ask if he'd like to have dinner with the party at the Iron, which Gale gratefully accepted. He could use the distraction. Also, while Astarion was scheduled to work, this never stopped him from visiting their table. 

The moment they all sat down though, Gale could sense it: the looks they were giving each other, the uncanny sense that this was the calm before a storm. Something was up. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long for their plan to unfold.

As was expected, Lae'zel took point, despite the party's wishes, Gale suspected. 

“Karlach could not confirm this as fact, so allow me to be direct,” Lae’zel began as soon as they had settled into their first round of drinks. She locked her eyes on his with such intensity that the nerves at the back of his neck tingled in alarm. “Gale. Do you—"

“Next round's on me,” Tav cut in, despite the fact that their glasses were still mostly full. She grabbed Lae’zel’s elbow. “Lae’zel, you’ll help me carry them?”

Lae’zel scowled, but allowed it. On their way to the bar, Tav shot Wyll a meaningful look. A whole conversation passed through their silence, one that Gale could not decipher.

Curious. He waited patiently for more clues.

“So, how are things going with Astarion?” Wyll asked far too casually once Lae’zel and Tav were out of earshot.

“What do you mean by that?” His blood ran cold as a thought suddenly struck him. “Is he upset with me?”

“No, no,” Wyll assured him. “Well, not that I know of—not at all,” he amended, in response to something that he must have seen in Gale’s expression. “It’s just that the two of you spend quite a bit of time together.”

He paused here to find his words, leaving a brief but unfortunate opportunity. 

“And we wanted to know whether you were together, ” Karlach finished the thought, ignoring Wyll frantically shaking his head. “Given recent events.” 

Gale blinked at her. “What recent events?”

“Allow me,” Shadowheart interrupted whatever it was Karlach was about to say, and Wyll looked partially relieved, partially mortified. “It pains us to know that both of you have had a rough week.” 

Relief gathered more readily now at Wyll’s brow. 

“—and it would make us feel much better if the two of you were at least fucking the depression out of each other.” 

And just like that, it was replaced completely by mortification. Gale could feel his own face burning.

“ Shadowheart, ” Wyll said through clenched teeth. 

“I’m just interested in our friends’ well-being!” She protested, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“And how long this ‘well-being’ has been going on,” Karlach added, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Wyll shot her a glance in warning. 

“There is no ‘well-being’!” Gale sputtered, realizing how uncomfortably close to the truth this actually was. Karlach saw this as well, and reached for his arm to steady him against any repercussions of this thought. 

“What our friends meant to say ,” Wyll tried again to take control of the situation. “Albeit clumsily, is that the two of you have our support.”

Wyll’s earnestness put Gale more at ease. 

“And as you have each other’s. For that we are also glad,” Wyll continued carefully. “We are ready to support you in whatever shape that your relationship has taken, and are just curious. As friends are sometimes.” 

There was something else there, hovering just behind the kindness and the curiosity. Self interest . 

Gale narrowed his eyes. “There better not be another one of those betting pools going.”

Shadowheart bristled. “There is not always a betting pool. That you would think us callous enough to make light of your happi—”

“How much money am I owed?” Lae’zel and Tav had returned.

Wyll threw his hands into the air and locked eyes with Tav. Tav sighed and handed him his drink first. He downed half of it in one go. 

“I’m glad you’re all having fun, but could you please choose a different game? One not at my expense?” Gale huffed. 

“It’s not just a game to us!” Karlach insisted. “I told you last time. You deserve to be happy. And we think that you’d be good for each other.” 

“Yes, well he deserves to be happy too,” Gale muttered. Something about his tone and their knowledge of him filled in what was left unsaid. 

–and he couldn’t possibly be happy with me. 

“...you can’t believe that!” Karlach sputtered, squeezing his arm. “He spends more time at your apartment than he does at mine. And he pays rent at mine!”

“We waste our time with this line of questioning,” Lae’zel frowned. “Just tell us. Do you have feelings for him?” 

“I…” Not for the first time, the idea of Astarion had stolen the words of which Gale was so fond. 

The rest of the party was leaning forwards towards him, drawn by the promise of resolution. He could feel his face burning under their scrutiny, thereby providing their answer.

“Ha!” Wyll slammed the table with far too much enthusiasm for someone who did not have money or pride at stake. The pain of the betrayal must have been clearly readable off Gale’s face, because Wyll took one look at it and sobered significantly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Gale shook his head so hard it seemed like he was trying to convince himself too. “I won’t risk it.”

“Risk what?” Tav pressed, her voice gentle. 

“Losing him. Our friendship,” Gale looked up at them. “I cannot give him what he deserves. I won’t be enough. Cazador haunts him still.” His eyes narrow at even having to speak the name. “And with Mystra, I–”

“Gale.” 

Tav and Wyll looked at each other, terrified, but neither wanted to stop Lae'zel again. 

“You are not Cazador.” 

Gale flinched at even the implication of the idea. 

Lae'zel took this as an adequate response, and continued. “Astarion is not Mystra.” 

“No,” Gale answered right away. “He's not.” There was no doubt in his mind of this. The way in which Astarion soothed his heart in a way Mystra never did. The way they fell into routines with such ease. The way Gale never had to fear judgeme—

“Why are you denying the both of you the chance to start anew? Free from them, finally?” Lae’zel pushed on. “Why admit defeat before the battle is even begun?” 

Gale fell silent. She wasn’t wrong. 

The party sat quietly together with him, nursing their drinks together, unsure about how to proceed. 

“So, just out of our great concern and affection, and not at all because of the money we’ve on the line,” Karlach finally said, her voice light and playful. “You’re not fucking?”

That shocked Gale out of his mind and back into his body.

“No!” He sputtered.

“You’re not even together?” Tav pressed.

“Absolutely not.” He could feel the blood rising to his face, and knew by the look on their faces that he was flushing as red as he felt. “You are all clearly forgetting that he flirts with everybody. ”

“Yes, but we don’t blush so prettily when he does,” Shadowheart smirked at him.

“I do not—”

“And you are the only one he touches regularly. Affectionately,” Karlach added. “He likes us, but never touches us.”

“Your collective hallucination is concerning to say the least,” Gale snapped, finally beginning to lose patience. “He does not—”

Before Gale could finish his thought, a pair of cold hands slid around Gale’s shoulders, fingers splaying protectively over his chest.

Gale swallowed hard, and willed himself not to fall into the embrace. The rest of his friends looked on, either amused or exasperated, likely depending on the bets they had made.

“Are they bothering you, my sweet?” Astarion purred.

“Ah. Nothing I can’t handle,” Gale coughed up a small laugh, paired with a glare of genuine malice that managed to make at least a few of their party look contrite.

Astarion leaned over to consider Gale’s expression and hummed. What he found must have been unconvincing.

“I’m going on break,” Astarion announced not only to Karlach, but to the entire table. “And he’s coming with me.”

The party mumbled their disappointment as Astarion pulled Gale to his feet and towards the exit. Gale breathed in the cool night air with relief, falling back on the nearest wall.

“Thanks for that,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“You can't let them bully you all the time,” Astarion sighed. He leaned against the same wall, leaning slightly so that their shoulders touched. “I won't always be there to save you.” 

Gale decided to refrain from pointing out that Astarion himself was usually the one leading said bullying. He knew that his friends only made fun because they cared, and that they would never truly be mean about it. He was about to dismiss Astarion’s comment, when something struck him. 

“But you usually are.” 

Astarion paused, his lighter already lifted to his cigarette. 

“You’re usually there to save me,” Gale explained. “Or to pick up the pieces afterwards.” 

Astarion’s laughter didn’t miss a beat. “I’m only returning the favour, darling. It’s what friends do.” 

“Right,” Gale nodded, feeling a distinct blow to his chest that never physically landed. “Of course.” 

— 

Gale should have known that it would escalate, that Mystra would take matters into her own hands, as she always did when he failed to please her. He didn’t expect her to travel to Waterdeep, however. And he never dreamed she would find her way to the Iron. 

It was late evening. Gale was sitting at the bar, waiting for Astarion’s shift to finish so that they could go back to his flat together and he could continue to keep his complicated feelings at arm’s length, when the door opened and she walked through it. 

Gale turned and the reply he had prepared to Astarion’s question died in his throat.

Mystra’s aura bent the gaze of everyone in the room towards her, as it always did. She glided through the room, a goddess out of place amidst the dark hardwood and sticky floors of the Iron. Her glow was all-consuming, suffocating.

Gale turned away, gasping for air. He was going to be sick.

He felt a hand placed gently over his.

“Come away with me, darling.”

Gale looked up to find that Astarion’s expression did not match his coy words. Of course he would know right away, despite never having seen her. His brow knit with concern, belying the urgency that trembled just underneath his invitation. 

“We’ll take the back door.”

Gale could not speak, could not stand.

“Quickly,” Astarion urged again, tightening his grasp.

Gale took a deep breath, steadied by the weight of Astarion’s touch. No. He couldn’t do this. Not forever.

He shook his head, placing his other hand on top of Astarion’s.

“I have to face her.”  

Astarion’s frown deepened, but he nodded, and squeezed Gale’s hand once more before letting go reluctantly. “I’ve got your back.”

Astarion sauntered over to the far end of the bar and caught Mystra before she could take a seat beside Gale.

“Can I get you something?” he asked with disinterest. “A drink, some food?” His eyes assessed her shrewdly. “The name of a new hairdresser?”

Gale recognized that Astarion was trying to buy him time to compose himself, and was grateful.

Mystra frowned, the scrunching of her nose indicated that she was not shocked by the level of crassness found in an establishment of this sort.

“Sparkling water, slice of lemon.”

Gale knew the order before it was spoken.

Astarion scrunched his nose at it. “To each their own.”

Gale took a long sip of his wine as he felt her take the empty seat beside his. He didn’t turn until she started to speak.

“Gale of Waterdeep. You look well.” She sounded surprised by this. 

“As do you.” He tried to keep his face neutral. “How did you find me?”

“You insisted on sharing your phone’s location when we were together. You forgot to turn it off.”

Gale lifted his drink to his lips to hide his expression. It was Mystra who had insisted that he do so, and yet forgetting to turn off the function felt like his failure, his inability to let go. Arguing this point would make him seem petty. He fought the feeling that he had already lost.

“I assume we’re not here solely to exchange compliments.” He tried to pull them back towards the point, not knowing how much longer he himself could sustain this conversation. “So why are you here?”

“I would have thought that to be clear.” Her lips twisted downwards. “You did not respond to my instruction. Why?”

Gale bristled. “You ask much of me.” 

“I have always asked much of you, and you have always responded to my call,” she tilted her head. “What has changed, my Chosen?”

Astarion returned and almost slammed a glass of water in front of Mystra, shaking a third of the contents onto the bar table. Gale noticed with mild amusement that there was no lemon in the glass. Mystra gave it a passing glance and her lips curled with distaste. 

“I would have thought that to be clear,” Gale repeated her words back to her, trying to swallow down the knot of fear and anxiety threatening at his chest. “And you no longer get to call me that.”

“Very well.” Her voice remained maddeningly calm. “That changes little. I explained to you the urgency of the matter in my emails. Had you read them, you would have realized the harm this error would have done to our field. To our work. And yet you thought only of preserving yourself.”

Once the illusion had been dispelled, there was no going back. For the first time, Gale heard the “our” for what it actually was: “ my ”.

“The past cannot be undone with self-pity, nor can a future be forged,” she pressed on. “If you admit to the error, then our work will continue on. It will change everything .”

“Not everything,” Gale laughed mirthlessly. “For instance, it wouldn’t change the fact that I didn't make the mistake.” 

“Can you be so sure of that?” Mystra asked. “And even if you were, what would it mean for your name to carry Karsus forward, instead of mine?” 

For a moment, Gale believed her. His heart and mind fell back into that old pattern: of course she meant more than he did. Of course she was of value, whereas he was not.  

Gale felt a light touch on his hand, and looked up, startled, to find Astarion handing him a new glass of wine, intentionally brushing their fingers together while doing so. Gale gave Astarion a shaky smile at the gesture. Astarion frowned, fixing his eyes on Gale in the same way he did that evening.

You are worth ten of her. A hundred.

And Gale believed him. 

He steeled his resolve. 

“A great ask indeed. You’ve given me much to think on–as you always did,” Gale inclined his head, pursing his lips in a way that he hoped would make him more difficult to read. 

Mystra's lips twisted downward in a familiar sign of disapproval, nonetheless.

“You think you have the wisdom to navigate this. You are wrong,” she said. Her voice was annoyingly firm, as though her words were truth spoken into existence. “This is the only way to salvage our work, and perhaps to redeem what is left of your reputation.” 

“Thank you for that,” Gale replied dryly, his words intentionally ambiguous. “As I said, I will think on it.” 

Mystra hummed and offered him a small smile. She took a sip of her water and leaned in, reaching forward to put a hand on his arm. “This doesn't have to be simply a business call. We've not seen each other in so long, after all. How have you been?”

Gale flinched, but she did not move away. Something in Gale's chest tightened, constricted until he could barely breathe. There was a time he would have craved such a connection. Now, he felt the danger of such a proximity, remembered now that Mystra would only touch him if she wanted something. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Astarion, flashing his teeth in a snarl, grasping a corkscrew like a weapon. Somehow, this was grounding. Gale flinched more violently, tearing his arm from Mystra's hold. 

Mystra stopped smiling, but allowed it. 

“Well,” Gale replied, his voice clipped. 

“And Tara?” Mystra pressed on. 

“Better now. She's eating well again.” 

Gale recognized his error the moment he spoke. He had given her ammunition. 

Mystra raised an eyebrow. “She stopped eating? I'm not surprised, given the treats you insist on feeding her.” 

She meant to tear him down, to make him feel small so that she could be the one to build him back up again. Gale refused to enter this trap. Never again.

On the counter, his fingers dug hard into his palms as he endeavored to keep his voice even. “She likes them.”

“They’re killing her.” Mystra spoke daggers, with murderous intent. “You spoil her.”

Something inside Gale snapped. “By giving her what she wants? I don’t recall you ever complaining when I gave you the same. In fact, I recall you demanded it.”

By the time Gale saw her raised hand, his body was instinctively already bracing for the blow.

And yet the blow never landed.

Mystra’s fury and her hand had been intercepted.

Gale looked up to find Astarion returning her glare as good as he got.

“Don’t. Touch him.”

Gale had heard Astarion hiss this phrase plenty of times before, although always to protect himself when drunk patrons got too handsy. Gale’s heart fluttered at this small change, and the vitriol now leveled on his own behalf. Something about Asterion’s tone and intensity always struck deep in his heart. If he were honest, perhaps he’d admit it struck somewhere lower.

Mystra scowled, her placid demeanor shattering for a moment as she tore her hand from Astarion’s grasp. She slipped back into her old mannerisms just as easily as she always did, and Gale tried to hold back a shudder, recognizing the motions for what they were now: cold calculation. How could he have been so blind for so long?

“You would dare to lay hands on a customer?”

“You dared to do so first.” Astarion gave her a smile that was all teeth. “I’m just protecting that which is mine.” 

Mystra’s eyes darted between Astarion and Gale and narrowed in calculation. Gale allowed her to misunderstand, felt like he himself was finally beginning to understand.

“I’d like to speak with your manager,” Mystra enunciated with precision, each word a knife.

“You’ve found her.” Gale realized Karlach was already waiting on the side, likely giving Gale and Astarion space to resolve the situation. She stalked forward, arms crossed, eyes steeled. “Somebody causing us trouble, Star? Gale?” Her gaze softened as her eyes met Gale’s to convey reassurance.

Mystra understood Karlach’s intended warning right away. She turned to scan the rest of the pub, to muster her disdain against the entire space. It was only then that Gale felt it; the murmurs of the other regulars closing in against someone hurting one of their own.

Tav and Shadowheart were sitting together at the party’s usual table, eyes fixed on Gale’s, ready to strike if required. Wyll and Lae’zel burst through the door together in perfect comic timing. Their sudden arrival suggested not only that someone must have contacted them, but also that they had all dropped whatever it was they were doing to support Gale IIn the far corner, Rolan and his siblings had turned their attention towards him, eyes wide with concern, despite not knowing the full story.

The situation reminded Gale of the meeting at the college where he had been dismissed, except instead of his colleagues turning against him and taking Mystra’s side, his friends were taking his.

This was enough. He was not alone.

“You’ve been waiting for an answer,” Gale looked Mystra directly in the eye. “And here it is. I am not taking the fall for you. Fuck off.”

Astarion smirked.

Mystra frowned, ever placid. Gale recognized the cold fury in her eyes that few others could though. “So be it. Follow the needle of your own wisdom.” She placed a ten pound note on the counter and stood. “We shall see how truly it leads you.” 

Mystra swept out of the bar and Gale collapsed on the counter in front of him, exaggerated for comic effect. This was clearly a mistake: his friends cheered and many of them took the opportunity to throw themselves on top of him. 

“Oof,” he complained.

“I’m so fucking proud of you!” Karlach punched him hard on the arm after Astarion managed to extract him from the pile.

“I’m not sure it’s something worthy of that sentiment,” Gale laughed.

“Are you kidding?” Wyll slapped him hard on the back. “Standing up to someone who’s had a stranglehold on you for so long? That was monumental .” 

Gale was about to respond when he caught Astarion’s eye. Running off the adrenaline of his personal victory, he decided it was finally time to take another chance. He drank the rest of his wine in a single sip. 

Gale stood and walked up to Astarion. Astarion tilted his head, an amused smirk playing on his lips, as though he knew. 

“Astarion. I’d like to…”

Kiss you. Lose myself in the kaleidoscope of your eyes. Take you home. Allow you to fuck me within an inch of my life in the backroom.

Gale’s heart tried unhelpfully tried to fill in the gap that his brain had suddenly left.

Behind Astarion, Karlach was beaming at him with encouragement.  Around them, he could feel their friends’ barely restrained excitement.

“…take you to dinner.”

The entire party (Gale included) looked slightly disappointed by the way that sentence finished.

“Well. First thing’s first,” Astarion chirped. “Your phone, my sweet.”

Astarion snatched the phone from Gale’s grasp and began fiddling with it. Gale was somehow not surprised at all that Astarion knew his password.

“There,’ Astarion looked satisfied and handed it back to Gale. “Location turned off. I also took the liberty of deleting and blocking the bitch’s number.”

His fingers curled around Gale’s wrist as Gale reached for the phone, and leaned in so that they were only inches away. Astarion breathed into the space between. “And I’m free next Friday.”

Faintly, Gale recognized that someone behind him squealed with delight. He swallowed hard and nodded. 

“Friday then.”

Chapter Text

Gale spent several days choosing the restaurant. He made a reservation, cancelled the reservation, made another at a different restaurant, then canceled it and remade the original one he had cancelled. 

He tried to consult Karlach, but she just laughed at him. 

“Just take him somewhere you like. The dinner isn't the point anyway.” The salacious grin she gave him sent him into a completely different spiral, but luckily, Karlach read the new anxiety off him.

“I don't mean like that! Well…unless you're both into it like that,” she amended. “I mean the point is just…to be together, you know? To have fun.” 

“Right.” Gale nodded. 

“Which you do anyway,” she reminded him. “Like…every day.”

“Of course.” He nodded again. 

“...Please don't tell me you're going to search those professor websites of yours for sex advice,” Karlach groaned. 

Gale refused to dignify that with an answer (he'd already tried. There were no peer reviewed articles on the topic). 

Gale arrived at Karlach’s apartment five minutes early, wearing the shirt that Astarion complained about the least. Astarion opened the door, and Gale bowed slightly, offering him the bouquet of dark red dahlias he had special ordered several days ago. 

Astarion gave him a bemused look as he accepted the gift. “Why darling, you shouldn't have.” 

“He got you flowers?!” Karlach squealed from somewhere behind him. “That's so old school!” 

Astarion turned and scowled at her. 

“Right. I'm not here!” Karlach skipped away down the hall, already texting someone else the details. 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Well. I'll just put these in some water and you can get back to sweeping me off my feet.” 

“No hurry!” Gale tried to answer as though his heart weren't trying to beat clear out of his chest. “They'll honour our reservation as long as we're not more than 10 minutes late.” 

Astarion paused and a fleeting look of distaste crossed his features. Gale's mind raced to figure out what caused it. 

“Where are we going, exactly?” 

“A lovely French restaurant uptown.” Gale began to fidget with the edge of his blazer. Something was wrong. “I've a taxi waiting.” 

“I won't be a minute.” Astarion disappeared, leaving Gale with nothing but his thoughts. 

Astarion was guarded like he hardly ever was with Gale, and Gale needed to figure out his misstep before he made it any worse. Was it his shirt? The flowers? 

His stomach twisted in that old familiar way, as when Mystra used to provide the illusion of choice while already having the “correct” answer in mind, but had never experienced this with Astarion before. What was it that he's already done wrong?

Astarion returned with his coat and a brilliant smile and took Gale’s arm, melting away some of the anxiety collecting at his throat. This shifted again though as they arrived at the restaurant. 

Astarion peered curiously at the head waiter in his crisp shirt and vest, ran his fingers over each of the three forks at his place setting, and nearly spit out his sparkling water as he began to browse the menu. 

“What's wrong?” Gale asked right away. 

“You can't afford this!”

Gale blinked. “It's a special occasion.” 

“It's ridiculous!” Astarion gestured towards the menu. “This bread costs more than a bottle of wine at the Iron!” 

“It's good bread,” Gale tried, panic rising again in his chest. 

Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “You've been here before.” 

“Well. Once,” Gale stammered. “When we were in town for a conference—”

“‘We’?”  

A barely perceptible, yet fully tangible chill emanated from across the table.

“This is her restaurant,” Astarion hissed. “One she would choose.”

Of course it was. Gale had wanted to take Astarion to the best place that he knew, and he couldn't have been trusted to choose a place himself. He learned this from his previous relationship. 

“You like nice things,” Gale tried to explain, but felt like he was failing, grasping at straws that were quickly slipping between his fingers.

“No,” Astarion spat. “I like you , you idiot.”

Ah. There was the critical error. 

“You know, all of a sudden, I'm not hungry.” Astarion stood and Gale stood with him. 

“Astarion, I'm —”

“Don't.” He snapped. 

Gale’s hands hovered in the air with nothing to do. 

“I'm going home.” 

“Let me—”

“I'll walk, thank you.” 

Astarion turned and stalked away without looking back and Gale stared helplessly at the space he left at the table and in his heart. 

---

Gale hadn’t felt like eating after that and decided to walk home himself as well. He collapsed on the sofa once he got there, and hid his face in the cushions, face down.

How could he have been so foolish? Astarion was everything that Mystra was not, and yet he had tried to treat him the same way, still haunted by what she would have demanded of Gale.

He felt a soft weight beside him as Tara leapt deftly onto the sofa beside him. She mewed. 

“He's not here,” Gale mumbled, an imagined answer to her imagined question. “I'm not sure he's coming back.”

Tara nudged at the side of his face and mewed again, as though to comfort him. 

His phone pinged. Gale reached for it so fast, he dropped it twice, before seeing the three separate messages from Karlach, not Astarion.

He’s pacing like a pissed off cat. 

Getting dizzy. 

Pls come collect him.

Gale took a long, shaking breath. He wiped at his eyes, not realizing that there had been tears sticking to his eyelashes until he tried to read the words on the screen.

I don’t think he wants to talk to me.

Fangs doesn’t have a good sense of what he wants.

There was another long pause that was uncharacteristic of Karlach’s usual messaging style, once again suggesting that she was thinking over her next words more carefully.

Of all the times he’s told me what he’s wanted, I’ve only ever believed him once.

When he said he wanted you.

Gale let out a choked gasp as his heart rose to his throat. He stood without knowing where he was going, his fingers gripped at empty air, so desperate was he to seek a solution, his body grasped for one before his mind could puzzle it out.

He needed to do something. Astarion wanted him. He could not bear the thought of being apart from Astarion for even a minute more; his entire body itched with a desire to fix this , but his mind did not know how.

Tara meowed at him to get his attention. She nudged a small plastic package towards him with her nose.

Gale looked down at it and chuckled wetly to himself.

Yes, that would do.

I’m coming over.

---

Half an hour later, Gale stood in front of Karlach’s building for a second time that day, shuffling just as nervously as he did before. He buzzed and Karlach answered. 

“It’s me.”

“Bring it up, thanks. 503!” 

Gale frowned. He obviously knew Karlach’s apartment number, meaning that this was a performance, meaning she probably didn’t tell Astarion that he was coming. He sighed, bracing himself for the consequences of this white lie. 

After he arrived at their door, he didn’t allow himself to think before knocking politely. The door flew open with great force, and Astarion’s eyes widened with surprise for barely a moment before sharpening into a scowl.

“You said you ordered us pizza,” he turned to snap at Karlach.

“Oh yeah?” Unaffected by his venom, she grabbed her keys and purse, already having slipped on her shoes while he hadn’t been looking. “And you said you lost my favourite eyeliner.”

She reached a finger to ghost at the edges of Astarion’s perfectly painted eyes. He dodged the touch that wasn’t ever meant to land anyway, and bared his teeth at her.

“I’m going to Dammon’s. Don’t wait up.” Karlach said cheerfully, locking eyes with Gale before she reached the door. She lowered her voice. ”Just talk to him, Gale. And leave out the hypotheticals.”

Gale swallowed hard and nodded. “Talking. Right. I'm good at that.” 

Karlach shot him a sympathetic look on her way out.

The door closed then they were alone. Gale was accustomed to quiet moments with Astarion, but they had never felt this awkward before.

Eventually, Astarion huffed, and gestured for Gale to do as he pleased, turning for the kitchen. Gale followed him, both hands gripping the small container he had brought with him so hard, he wondered whether it would shatter.

Astarion reached for two wine glasses, not one, and Gale allowed himself a small breath of relief at the thoughtfulness. He noticed as well that the dahlias were in a vase on the kitchen counter, and not in the trash.

Gale took the glass when it was offered, and tentatively pushed the container across the counter. Astarion eyed it with great suspicion.

“What’s this?”

“An…epiphany,” Gale tried. “And an apology.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, and waited for Gale to arrive at his actual point.

Just talk to him. 

Gale clenched his jaw. He could do this. He tried again. 

“She hated my cooking.”

Astarion paused for a moment, glass already lifted part way to his lips. He finished the motion and took a long sip of his wine. Gale watched his throat as he swallowed, and mimicked the motion himself although his own throat was dry.

“It wasn’t refined enough for her tastes. Actually,” Gale frowned. “Come to think of it—”

“Yes, a most unfortunate and obvious metaphor,” Astarion cut in. 

“But there’s no accounting for taste,” he added more gently, in a tone that Gale only ever heard Astarion use with him. Astarion read the hurt in his face more quickly than Gale was able to process it. Gale saw now that this hadn’t been the first time Astarion had done so, wanted to kick himself for not seeing this before. 

“Yes, well, just one small part of an avalanche of unsubtle warnings I should have recognized,” Gale laughed. He opened a drawer that contained probably 75 pairs of takeout chopsticks and handed a pair to Astarion, along with the thermos. Astarion examined it closely. Seeing no real danger, he twisted the top open.

“I used to make this as a student,” Gale continued, gesturing towards the noodles made from the package that Tara had nudged towards him, the very ones that Astarion had purchased for him. He had boiled them, and then stir fried them dry in a sauce of his own making. “A quick late-night meal when I became too preoccupied with studying and reading, lost in words.”

“I used to bury myself in my books,” Gale’s eyes unfocused as his mind was guided by the memory. “Was enthralled by what they promised. The potential of knowledge and what I could do with it.”

“Is this supposed to surprise m—” Astarion began to complain.

“This was before I met Mystra.”

Astarion fell silent.

“I existed before Mystra,” Gale continued, fixing his eyes on the container again. “I had preferences, desires.”

His eyes flickered upwards and Astarion tilted his head towards to meet his gaze. “Just as I exist still, without her.”

“You’re right,” Gale continued. “She grasped onto what she thought to be the best of me, and discarded the rest. That does not mean that I do not persist, without her. Despite her. I lost sight of this truth though, and I hurt you. I am sorry.”

Astarion continued to regard him, but said nothing.

“When I'm with you, I remember who I am without fear of reprisal, without shame. That is not something I've been able to do for a long time now.” 

“It’s…difficult still, to figure out who I am without her guidance. Without her will ,” Gale corrected himself. “But one thing I know for certain. I’m in love with you.”

The silence between them was devastating. Gale could do nothing else but to fill it, to push away what he believed must be inevitable heartbreak.

“I have been for some time now,” Gale admitted. “But I was slow to realize it. And then once I did, I was scared that I would ruin this too if I told you. I realize now I cannot be true to myself, as you've allowed me to be, without telling you. I do not expect for you to feel the same, and will remain by your side however it is you'll have me.” 

Gale couldn't bring himself to look up, wouldn't be able to take it if he looked at Astarion to find pity, disgust, rejection. 

In front of him, Astarion shifted uncomfortably. 

Ah. So this was to be it then. Gale swallowed hard, braced himself for the blow to his heart that was to come. 

“Are you finally done?” Astarion asked quietly, with an underlying annoyance that Gale had always thought shaded into fondness. He had never allowed himself to think it, to act on it. 

Gale nodded numbly. “I hope that we can still be fri—” 

Astarion cut him off by crashing their lips together. Gale yelped in surprise, which Astarion took as permission to invade his mouth with his tongue. 

Gale’s back hit the refrigerator and Astarion pressed their bodies together with a delighted hum. Gale's hands instinctively flew up to Astarion’s sides, gently holding him in place. Astarion licked into him, swallowing any anxiety that tried to eat away at the moment. Gale moaned, wanted to stay like this forever, until the need to breath made them pull apart. And even then, Astarion simply pressed in again for more. 

“Gods, you are so incredibly slow sometimes,” Astarion eventually murmured against Gale’s lips when they finally stopped again. 

“I can be,” Gale agreed. “You’ll tell me though, I hope? The next time I am?”

“You’re giving me permission to make fun of you?” Astarion teased. “Why, of course, darling.” 

“You’d make fun of me regardless,” Gale laughed. “And I’d love it.” 

“I…do too.” 

Gale’s breath caught in his throat, understanding Astarion’s real meaning right away.

“I feel safe with you, Gale,” Astarion sighed, nuzzling into the side of Gale’s neck. “Seen. And that is a rare thing.”

They stood like this for a while longer, neither willing to break apart, until Astarion's stomach made an uncomfortable noise. 

“So can I actually order you a pizza?” Gale laughed.

“Not before I finish this feast you’ve brought me,” Astarion smirked. 

“You don’t have to–” Gale began. 

“You made it for me,” Astarion interrupted. “I’d like to.” 

Of course. For Astarion, it had never been about the taste of the food, not completely. It had been about being cared for. Gale understood finally why Astarion had decided to cook for him that evening when he himself had been upset. 

“Oh, I learned from the best, darling.”

“Thank you,” Gale whispered. 

Astarion kissed him softly on the lips before pulling back. He became shy all of a sudden, and tucked his head downward to look at the floor. 

“And, perhaps some time soon, I might move the rest of my things to your place,” He said, too casually. “It’s been dreadfully inconvenient.” 

Gale’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Of course,” he nodded eagerly. “I mean, I'm pretty sure Tara thinks we're married at this point anyway.” 

Of all the lewd, bawdy comments Gale has heard Karlach and Astarion shoot at each other, this was finally what caused Astarion to blush. Gale marveled at it, filing it away quietly for future days.

“Dr. Dekarios!” Astarion admonished, face still flushed pink. ”You have to take me out for dinner first before you say things like that.”

“Gladly. Your choice though,” Gale added quickly.

Astarion laughed at him, and hummed. “Given the choice, I think I’d far prefer we stay in. I’ll have one of those steaks you make so well. Bloody rare.”  

Gale beamed at him, eyes wide and adoring. Astarion squirmed, not upset but overwhelmed. He doesn’t pull away though. 

“Consider it most enthusiastically done. And in the meantime,” Gale reached up to run his fingers through Astarion’s hair. “ Come home ?”

Astarion sighed and it almost sounded like a purr. 

“My love, how could I say no?”