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Door locks: checked.
Curtains: checked.
Nothing can sneak in, not even the rays of the sun, which should rise in a an hour or so.
You slip beneath the heavy quilt, pat your pillow and rest your head against it. It feels good, comfy, and your body starts to relax in the enveloping warmth of the bed.
You keep your eyes open, following the catlike movements of the man who is carefully undressing near the cupboard. There’s a soft smile on his lips, and he doesn’t seem particularly nervous. Folding his shirt and trousers, putting the fine outfit on the nearby chair, Astarion moves slowly, with precision and elegance. He glances at you, and his smile widens slightly.
He quickly discards his underwear, only to pick a fresh one in the cupboard. It fits him perfectly, highlighting the curves of his backside and thighs in the most tempting way. And he knows it.
Astarion always knows when you relish in the sight of him. You hide your admirative smirk in the pillow, and it makes him chuckle.
But you have no ulterior motive. You’re too tired for frolicking tonight, and even if Astarion feels likes playing a little, you already know you won’t let it happen. And you know no one can understand better than he does.
A long sigh leaves your lips, a sigh of comfort and peace. A cosy sleep, huddled against the man you love, and nothing to disturb your rest. Safe, together. That's all you expect.
You watch him reach for his perfume. With the same careful motions, he sprays himself, determined to suppress any whiff of death. It fascinates you, this habit of his, but it saddens you too. This dedication to hide his nature, how he can still feel compelled to wear perfumes like he used to wear masks, if only to not disturb you with the smell of lingering decay.
Even if you could get used to it. Even if you told him that he doesn’t have to hide anything from you.
He insists. And you won’t take that away from him. It reassures him.
He’s strangely quiet tonight. There is no trace of his usual quips about the meetings of the night, no remark about the state of this room or lovely comment about your hair. You refuse to break the silence, and there is something oddly eerie about this moment, as he walks towards the bed with that tender look upon his pale features, blowing the candle.
When he slips beneath the quilt, it’s like a wave of coolness invading the bed. You want to share your warmth with him, but as usual, you wait for him to initiate the approach, or to ask for your touch.
He doesn’t.
You simply lay beside him, scrutinizing his body language through the shadows, the smell of the candle lingering in the air. Astarion still doesn’t look particularly nervous, but his silence is becoming heavier by the second.
You decide to break it. You won’t be able to sleep if you let it fester.
“Are you warming up alright?”
“Hm?” He turns his head and looks into your eyes, seemingly surprised by the sound of your voice. “Oh, yes. This blanket is doing a great job.”
You smile, but can’t help notice that is gaze is now avoiding yours. You stay still, even though there are so many things you’d love to tell him right now. Things you want to remind him.
That he has nothing to fear from you.
That you won’t touch him if he doesn’t want to.
That you can listen to whatever he has to confess, even the worse, and accept him anyway.
Instead, you just nod and say: “I checked the door, it’s safely locked.”
He nods as well. “I know. I heard it.”
Whatever is skinning his insecurities right now is also doing a good job, and it’s clear that Astarion isn’t willing to talk about it.
You have to accept it. Be patient.
Lying on his back, the vampire spawn is staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open, crimson sparks shining in the darkness of the room. You stop ogling him, but your worries are still well awake.
You must try to relax. To convince yourself that you’re not the cause of whatever is troubling him, but your mind wanders off and you eventually find yourself reliving the events of the day and night, trying to detect what in your behaviour could have made him so… distant.
You’re all but relaxed.
And Astarion must have noticed it; before long, you feel him shift on the bed, lying on his side too to have a better look at you. “It’s not your fault, darling…” you hear him whisper, as if he read your thoughts. Maybe he did.
Opening your eyes, you realise you have wrapped your arms around yourself, and you quickly unfold them. This is too awkward. You’re not the victim here.
“You would tell me if it was, right?” You ask in a murmur.
Astarion nods again, and there’s a sad smile on his lips.
You believe him. Your smile matches his.
“I just need…” he begins and trails off, his eyes wandering toward the ceiling again, and his words get lost in his dark. But you know what it was about.
“I understand, dear.” You whisper, burying your face into the pillow. “We don’t have to snuggle, or to touch at all. You never have to.”
You hear him sigh deeply, but you can’t tell if it’s from annoyance or relief. Another long silence fell upon you, until Astarion finally alleviates it with two simple words: “I know.”
Partly relieved, you close your eyes again and try to ease your doubts. There’s nothing much you can do for him right now, not unless he asks for it. You're feeling powerless, letting Astarion walk alone through the gloomy paths which are haunting his mind – but you also know that insisting and making a fuss about it would just make it worse for him.
There’s no way you can fall asleep, especially when you feel him tense beside you. Your bodies aren’t touching but you have come to know him, to notice the way the bedsheets move around the both of you, when his body remembers torments you cannot even begin to fathom.
And when he doesn’t invite you in, no matter how much you want to help him.
But you accept it, and he knows it. And you know it’s important for him.
You can’t tell how long you’ve been staying like this, desperately trying to fall asleep and stop worrying about something that’s beyond your reach, when cold fingers find yours beneath the blanket. An unexpected touch that makes you blink in the dark.
Astarion is still awake, eyelids half closed. Your thumb begins to move slowly along his knuckles, before he finally wraps his fingers around yours, holding your hand tightly.
“Do you want to tell me?” You ask timidly, determined to not pressure him.
The vampire shakes his head slowly, sharp jawline sinking into the pillow. You’ll never know what’s gnawing at him right now, but it’s fine. As long as he knows that you are here. As long as he remembers that he doesn't owe you anything.
You nod again, and he slowly brings your hand to his lips, pressing a few gentle kisses on your skin. You finally begin to relax, and so does he.
Astarion keeps your hand against his chest, cuddling it as if it were the most precious treasure, and when he speaks again, you can easily notice the first notes of slumber in his voice.
“Thank you, darling.”