Chapter Text
These trousers had fit. They were what you’d worn to Withers’ party six months after the fall of the Netherbrain. Now, trying to get dressed for your one-year anniversary with Astarion, you’re struggling to pull them up over your rounded butt and wider waist. When you manage it, it's horribly uncomfortable and, looking in the mirror, you find you look like a sausage. Rage and embarrassment roil through you as you shimmy them off and kick them away.
You’d known you were gaining some weight since staying to help rebuild Baldur's Gate. You had been going to many political events and you hadn’t found yourself adventuring quite as much, especially since you had landed yourself in a less hands-on position and far more leadership role.
The top of the outfit seems to still fit well enough, so you slide on a pair of cotton pants that somewhat match the top.
Cautiously, you check the mirror. You still feel like crying but this will have to do for now.
In the sitting area of your shared home, Astarion is sprawled out and reading while sipping from a goblet–perhaps wine, perhaps blood, or possibly both. Your stomach clenches when you look at him. He is so effortlessly perfect, his long legs and broad shoulders filling up the space while his elegant neck and slight waist make your eye travel up and down his body. Clever fingers fiddle with a lock of his hair; you yearn to touch his hair and you admire those familiar fingertips. When Astarion notices you, he looks up with a smile; those enticing lips and dangerous teeth.
A strange flicker of jealousy prickles you; Astarion always looks perfect.
“Ready, love?” Astarion asks.
You extend an elbow and he slides his arm through. Together you set out in the evening to a rooftop garden in the upper city where a private space has been set with a dinner for you both.
Internally, you tell yourself you shouldn’t indulge or you’ll never fit in those bottoms again. Not tonight, though. Tonight, you try to shake it from your mind. You swear to start planning celebrations that have nothing to do with food–you don’t know what that would even look like but you tell yourself you’ll figure it out.
The garden has magical little lights and plenty of candles. A soft scent of some night blooming flower entices you. From here, you can see the Gate sprawling out below you. The meal has been prepared on a simple elegant table, with the various foods for self-serve–both you and Astarion had agreed you didn’t want staff hanging around.
Smooth as ever, Astarion serves you both wine. You toast to more years together and both take a sip. Slowly and gently, Astarion leans into you and kisses you. For a moment, you forget your worries and enjoy the security he brings you.
You serve yourself some food, clenching your jaw at the internal voice that chastises you. You sit across from each other, and slowly begin to eat.
“My goodness,” Astarion sips more wine. “I am not usually one for a white wine but this really is so divine and smooth.”
You take another sip and nod.
“I wonder if this is that special one that is made with a mystical fungus. I hope not. Delicious as it is, I resent having that mystery spoiled for me.” Astarion continues, holding the glass up to the light.
Poking at your food, you struggle to enjoy it.
“Darling, I… Is there something wrong?” Astarion asks.
You shake your head. “No, sorry.” Taking a bite, you try for a polite smile that cannot reach your eyes.
Setting his glass down, Astarion takes your hand. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”
Sighing, you explain, “Some of my clothes don’t fit me anymore.”
Astarion blinks, waiting.
“I’m getting fat. I need to control myself before I become a useless, slow, disgusting mess. I need…” You trail off when you see Astarion shaking his head. “What?” You feel yourself ready to sob. You’re out of control.
“You’re perfect,” Astarion explains. “I know better than anyone that healing and acceptance must come from within and even the fanciest of speeches won’t make this better. All the same, it hurts me to see you be so cruel to yourself.” Eyes widening, he interjects, “Unless someone said those things to you, in which case I would be happy to find a new sheath for my knives.”
“Nobody said anything. But it's true. And… And you’ll be beautiful forever.”
Blinking, Astarion begins to laugh. “Beautiful? Darling, I might be beautiful, but I would love to be more than that. I hope you enjoy my company for more than just my beauty.” You open your mouth to interject but Astarion continues. “You are more than your body, more than your size. You are more than just a competition with yourself to be as small as possible, to waste away.”
Taking your hands, Astarion kisses the backs of them.
“You’re more than just beautiful,” you promise him.
“Although I am very beautiful,” he winks teasingly.
Laughing and rolling your eyes, you almost don’t see him as he leans across the table and kisses your lips.
“So, tell me,” he says as he leans back and returns his wine to his hand, “do you want to let out your clothes? Or buy new ones?”
“I’m…not sure what the best option is,” you admit.
Smirking, Astarion explains, “I can help you there.”
When the dinner winds down, you move to a bench and snuggle up against him. You’ve begun to feel better but there’s still wriggling doubt inside of you.
“My dear,” Astarion sighs, “I might not say it enough, but I love you.” His hands press you into him and he kisses your cheek. “You are tailor made for me. You feel like coming home.”