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Astarion is unsure why he even decides to approach the booth – physical touch was never his style, especially not from strangers. A pit in his stomach usually opens whenever someone holds their hand out for a handshake or even when a friend goes in for a hug. But something about “Family Hugs” at this year's pride festival draws him in like a siren.
Approaching the booth, he can see its packed. There are a number of people crying, which vaguely alarms him and causes the pit in his stomach to twist and writhe like a snake. He scoffs out loud, adjusting his heart shaped sunglasses with his index finger and shifting in his spot, silently judging the tear-stricken faces of the passerbys.
What could ever be so moving from a damned hug that would have people crying openly in public? A hug was a hug. Person A wraps their arms around Person B, Person B reciprocates, they hold each other for a moment, and then it is done.
Again he wonders why he even bothered approaching in the first place. He can feel his skin start to vaguely itch at the thought of being hugged by a stranger, but something else, something unnamed, keeps him standing there observing.
As the crowd shifts around him, he can see now several volunteers with nametags on, reading “volunteer mom” and “volunteer dad”. He cringes slightly internally; volunteering to be someone’s family without knowing them feels so gauche to Astarion. It was almost as bad as when Wyll went on and on about “found family”.
But just like when Wyll preached about found family, Astarion felt a sliver of himself thaw and bend towards it, like a flower reaching for the first rays of sun on a crisp spring day. He would die before he ever admitted it, but perhaps part of Astarion was drawn to the idea of a family that chose him, that didn’t abandon him as his blood family did. A family that wouldn’t disown and despise him, wouldn’t bleed and belittle him. Cazador had certainly done enough of that.
Readjusting his stylish, Barbie-pink bat bag across his body, Astarion strides up to the volunteer table and steels himself. His numerous rings wink in the sun as he flutters his hand in a wave at an older gentleman who was staring much more than was polite, assuming with a feeling of dread that he would be the “father” he would be hugging.
Before he can open his mouth to speak, Astarion hears his name called. Turning to look, he sees his neighbor Gale striding over to him. Astarion groans internally at the sight – his attractive neighbor, whom he flirts with often, is the last person he wants to see at this moment.
Gale’s gray streaked hair is pulled back as usual into a half bun, and a pair of Raybans are propped on top of his head. He’s wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a horrid Hawaiian shirt, left unbuttoned with a white t-shirt underneath. He certainly looks the part of a dad, all the way down to the pair of slider flipflops and white socks.
“Gale, darling, lovely to see you here!” Astarion lies, waving a hand between the two in a hello without touching him. Gale halts in his steps, an arms length away from Astarion, and beams at the other man.
“I was wondering if you’d stop by! I couldn’t help but realize yesterday afternoon that I never mentioned working this particular booth to you, but never you mind, you found your way here!” Gale exclaims happily, clasping his hands together in a clap and rubbing them together furiously. If Astarion didn’t know any better he would think Gale was trying to start a fire with the sheer friction of the movement.
“I had no idea that you were a father Gale,” Astarion drawls, shifting his weight onto his back leg and delicately holding a hand over his eyes to see Gale better through the blazing sun. “Tell me, where do you hide your child?”
Gale blushes, a dark pink staining his tanned cheeks and down his neck.
“Ah! Well Astarion, you’ve met my daughter, or rather you’ve seen her around the apartment building. Fur parents are accepted as part of the parent party, and Tara is of the quadrupedal variety, as you know.”
Astarion cocks one pale eyebrow above his glasses in surprise and looks at Gale with skepticism.
“They let you be a volunteer dad… for being a cat father?”
“Well, I may have bent the truth as it were. And, I’m friends with the organizer, Halsin, who understands how important it is to me to help out with this booth,” Gale defends himself, his blush looking more akin to a rash with how deeply it has pervaded his skin. “I enjoy giving back to the queer community where I can, especially as a supportive family member whenever possible. You know, Astarion, there are quite a few families out there that are not particularly open to the LGBT folks –”
“Yes, Gale. I’m quite aware of how unwelcoming certain families are,” Astarion interrupts icily, staring imperiously through his pink heart-shaped glasses at Gale. Gale blanches, the red finally fading somewhat as he realizes his blunder.
“I-I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t aware,” Gale stutters, awkwardly shuffling in place. “I apologize if I brought you discomfort or anything of the like.”
Astarion lets him sit in his panic for a moment, relishing having someone feel just as awkward as he does at this table, before he waves the moment away.
“Think nothing of it, darling. Now, how does this all work?”
“How… does what work?” Gale asks slowly, clearly confused. Astarion rolls his eyes and gestures at the volunteers around them hugging different festival-goers, sending his arm bangles clattering.
“ This . Does one simply walk up and hug a stranger? Are there introductions?”
Gale blinks for a moment at Astarion before comprehension dawns and a soft smile lights up his face; Astarion can tell by the crinkle lines by his eyes and lips that this is a common thing for Gale, to easily smile at everyone.
“Astarion, would you like a hug?” Gale asks gently, slowly putting his arms out towards the other man.
Astarion freezes for a moment – would he like a hug? Oh sweet hells, no . He wants no one to touch him. But he needs it. His therapist Jaheira had been the one to recommend this booth to him, saying that maybe it was just what he needed. And although most of him recoils at the thought, the childish part of him is screaming yes .
Stepping forward, looking like a zombie, he shuffles closer to Gale. He warily eyes the other man as he hovers his hands above Gale’s waist and slowly leans in. He blinks and Gale’s warm, muscled arms are gently around his back. Holding, not grasping, not forcing. Astarion can feel the strength in those arms, but he also can tell that if he were to lean back, to break this hug at any moment, Gale would simply let him go.
Astarion stands stiffly at first, his arms almost comically splayed out to the side. But, slowly, ever so slowly, does his arms curl inward, like flower petals at dusk, resting gently around Gale’s waist. As he does so, something inside him thaws.
When was the last time he had been hugged without being expected to give something in return? He cannot remember. Even the rare hugs he had received from his father were always stiff, formal affairs, done for the cameras and for the publicity, never for the feeling that was meant to be associated with it.
As he stands there, slowly becoming more unmoored and emotional, Gale gently rubs his hand in encouraging circles along his back. Astarion shivers at the feeling and clutches tightly to that horrid blue Hawaiian print shirt. His cold heart thaws a bit more, and his walls start to fracture, as he feels his throat start to swell.
Astarion is about to pull away when Gale quietly says, “You are safe. You are loved. You matter, Astarion.”
The crack in his tundra heart widens, the thaw splitting off chunks of ice and sending them crashing down around him, revealing a heart slowly beating and bleeding, despite everything it has been through. Despite all the walls it has had up. Despite all the distance he has placed between himself and others. Despite everything, it’s still him . And Gale’s words flood his senses, overwhelming the old and decrepit barricades he put up so long ago, until his eyes are misting and he’s choking on a sob.
He clutches at Gale as if he were a life preserver and he is sinking. His fingers dig painfully into Gale’s midsection, bunching his layers into his claw-like nails, as his throat squeezes painfully around sobs. His chest heaves and he shakes apart in Gale’s supportive arms, tears pouring down his cheeks.
His breakdown isn’t loud. It isn’t abrasive. It’s not meant to be seen nor bring sympathy. It’s the kind of tears one cries in a bathroom stall while friends are waiting outside. It’s the quiet sobs of someone clutching a pillow to their face and praying for a better day. It’s not a glamorous, pretty thing seen on television. It’s the silent dissolution of oneself to their barest bones, of a body wrenched to the point of breaking, of too many years spent silent and stoic.
Minutes pass, and Astarion stays trembling in Gale’s arms as his tears slowly stop. His head feels light and airy, and he can feel the snot accumulated under his nose. With a self-deprecating groan, he finally steps back from Gale. He hides from Gale’s knowing and concerned gaze by digging in his purse for a tissue and wiping away the snot with a grimace.
“Eugh, I’m sorry darling. I’m not sure what my problem is, I’m sure you say those words to everyone who comes for a hug.” Astarion pushes his emotions down, back into the empty and broken cradle they left. He looks up at Gale and freezes.
Gale looks a mess. His shirt is noticeably darker on the right shoulder from where Astarion’s head had rested from all the tears and snot, and his overshirt is now wrinkled horribly from where he had bunched it in his hands. Astarion flushes in embarrassment, opening his mouth to apologize, when Gale holds his hand up and stops him.
“Think nothing of it Astarion, please,” Gale soothes quietly, that comforting smile still on his face. “I’m just glad I could be here for you.”
Astarion clears his throat against the phlegm building up after a hard cry, before nodding stiffly and spinning around to merge back into the crowd. He stops for a brief moment, looking over his shoulder at Gale.
“This is a gift, you know. Thank you, Gale – I won’t forget it.”