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Summary
Astarion hummed. “I’m later than usual this year, aren’t I?”
Halsin just held him closer. Surrounded by Astarion— hair still wet from the bath after reclaiming the rosemary and bergamot orange soaps that waited for him in the cupboards until winter's gales blew into Reithwin—Halsin decided,
“You’re just in time for the first snow.”
For a moment the elf seemed to trouble himself over a burdensome thought. He bit at his bottom lip, worrying it under a fang, before releasing it.
“I was looking for something,” Astarion admitted quietly. “This—I promised myself this would be the last time I’d look.”
Astarion returns to Halsin once a year to wait out the winter, and leaves come springtime to pursue a life of travel. This year is different.