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The sun has been gone past the horizon for quite some time, now.
He watched it set from behind the kitchen curtain, peeking out and ensuring he did not touch the light itself.
Dinner’s getting cold. Not that he can eat it, but it’s been enough time now that he’s down half a bottle of wine and the nice pasta dish he’s made for his wizard is beginning to form a thick skin over its surface where it sits in the pot.
He shouldn’t feel downtrodden about it. Gale had even warned him that today could be like this, that the parent-teacher conferences could go very, very long.
Long it was.
He’s alone. Tara is out for the night – apparently she’s been seeing a nice fluffy black and white cat down the road, a sweet little lady by the name of Theodora. It’s fitting. They fit together.
Doubt sits in his chest.
It shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t be doubting.
But he is.
He presses his wineglass harder against his lips, staring out at the cool waters lapping at the sides of the townhomes, unblinking as he pulls the blanket wrapped round his shoulders closer to his chest where he feels as though he’s going to explode.
It’s their anniversary, yes, but everything going wrong like this shouldn’t be setting him off like this.
He wants to shout. To scream. He wants to go inside and slosh the pasta and sauce into the bin, to throw accusatory words at Gale for things he logically knows are not happening. Cheating? Drinking? Gambling? All terribly unlikely. Still, he wants it to sting if he decides to throw those words around without so much as a second thought to saying them.
Or maybe this is the second thought.
A ship docks down near where Tara supposedly is for the night, ringing its bells and throwing its anchor.
The other thoughts start to creep in.
What if something is wrong?
What if something’s happened to Gale? What if he’s hurt or injured, what if he’s dead?
It’s panic. It’s just panic sitting in his chest.
It’s just panic.
It’s just panic.
It’s just—
“I’m home! I’m home! My love, I’m finally home! Good gods, you would not believe the day I have had!”
The door in the entryway opens and shuts so quickly that Astarion is falling off the bench on the balcony, scrambling and letting the blanket fall to the floor from his shoulders. He clambers to his feet and watches as Gale turns on all the lights with a simple incantation and flick of his wrist, untying his scarf from around his neck the next second. His other hand is occupied, unable to assist with his own tasks because he’s holding a gigantic bundle of flowers to his chest like he’s cradling a child.
It’s lilac. Blue hydrangea. Baby’s breath. Red, gorgeous full blooms of roses.
His eyes widen as he takes Gale in.
The wizard smiles at him warmly, open hand falling to his side as he stands limply in their sitting room.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
Unkindness stirs in the back of his throat. He could lash out. He could demand to know where his lover was. He could...
Gale’s staring at him, eyes wandering down to his chosen outfit for the evening. He’d wanted to be a bit flashy, for this. His shirt is dark red but very revealing, his trousers shiny and tight, feet bare, makeup slightly dark.
“I am... so very, very glad that I do not have school tomorrow. I um... I got you these. I do have to apologize, actually, that there are not any pink roses. It seems ordering ahead didn’t register with the florist that I’d actually like to have the selection I... what’s wrong?”
With a palm, he wipes the tears away.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“It can be if I don’t want it to be anything.”
“A fair point, but we both know it will stay with you if you’re insistent on hiding what’s bothering you away from me. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.”
The wizard gently places the flowers down on the dining table and slings his coat off, hooking it in its improper place on the back of a chair. Gale’s not like that. He’s a stickler for (some) things to go in the places that they should go, and outerwear is one without exception.
He’s shaking at the attempts to hold back the impending ugly cry, biting his bottom lip with his fangs.
“Come now. Come here. Let me hug you. Was it because I was late? I’m so sorry, Astarion.”
“Yes.”
He affirms it before he can stop himself.
Gale frowns, wincing at, presumably, himself.
“Nothing wrong with being upset for that.”
“I made you dinner.”
It’s pooling out of him, unravelling, unspooling, undoing. It feels like death, this sort of acceptance that things are...
Fine.
Things are fine.
He’s okay.
He tumbles into Gale’s outstretched arms and notes the faint scent of flowers on his skin.
“I’ve got you. The night is young, and—”
Gale’s stomach growls.
“... and I am very, very hungry.”
“I made you dinner,” he says again.
“Thank you. I... thank you, Astarion. You didn’t need to—”
“But I did. Now thank me for it by eating. Come on,” he says, pulling his lover away from the tears running down his face and into a mindset fixed for food.
He pins Gale against the counter and uncovers the pot, stirring the now-cold noodles around until there’s a decent-sized helping to serve into a bowl. If there’s one thing he’ll never get sick of, it’s doing this for Gale. Feeding him is a pleasure that matches nothing else. The man loves food. He loves Gale. It’s a win-win every time.
Except for that one time he made a horrific excuse for a croissant. That was a mistake he will never repeat again.
“Heat it yourself, please.” Astarion holds the bowl in front of them both, just in front of their faces. With an incantation, it’s steaming hot again. Gale goes for the fork in the bowl only to be batted away. “Ah! No. Open wide.”
Bite after bite of pasta, they stand silently in the kitchen as Astarion feeds his wizard until there is nothing more left for him to eat.
Gale’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a smile playing on his lips.
“Thank you. I don’t presume you’d like to know how my day went?”
“Badly?”
“Astoundingly horrific.”
“Don’t tell me the details. Just...”
Gale’s hands are at his sides, pulling him closer until their bodies are flush together.
“I am truly sorry I was so late.”
It’s not alright.
It’s not because he doesn’t want it to be.
He’s still upset.
He still wants that time with his lover.
The mage inhales deeply, takes his cold hand in his warm one, and leads him back out to where he’d spent most of his night on the balcony.
“Just lay with me, yes?”
They get comfortable. Astarion lays with his back against Gale’s chest, snuggling closer like he could be taken away from him at any time.
What an ideal world it would be for his love to work from home.
“This... went better than times before.”
He’s screamed at him before.
Lashed out.
Spit words he did not mean until Gale was holding him while he sobbed on the floor.
“You’ve done really well tonight, Astarion. I’m incredibly proud of you.”
He cries again. He can’t help it, can’t stop the fountain of tears from turning over his cheeks. Closer, closer still. Astarion presses his face to Gale’s torso as he unleashes all of his fears.
And...
There’s something in Gale’s pocket.
“What is—”
“Ah. That. It’s an engagement ring.”
If his heart could stop a second time, it would.
“What?”
“I planned on proposing to you tonight. I had it all planned out, this grand, exotic speech about how we make each other better though our vices still hold us in grips on the occasion. Funny thing is, I can’t remember a word of it now!”
He stares into shining, happy brown eyes.
“Ask me.”
“Will you marry me?”
“I don’t even need to see the ring. Yes.”
The smile that spreads on Gale’s face is everything to him. He returns it.
There's something here, with this. There’s something gorgeous in what they share.
He loves, loves, loves it.
At the end of the night, he hardly remembers why he was so angry.
Progress.