Chapter Text
Astarion's voice comes from the bathroom of the tavern you’re staying in while visiting Waterdeep. A request on Tara's behalf to visit Gales mother after his ascension to godhood that you were all too eager to take up. Your lover, ever the perfectionist, had insisted on bathing the minute you got back to the hotel, a golden dawn just peeking in through the closed curtains. “Do you think I can still use a shower?” is questioned from somewhere in the adjacent room before he snoops around the corner to peer at you. A thick rest of curly downy hair peeks from the door to the washroom, followed by curious crimson eyes that sweep over the room like a cat on a hunt, but with the clumsy grace only a feeling of outright perplexion can ever manage.
Confusion catches up to you before his words do, and you find yourself utterly baffled, glancing up from the chair in which you have taken sanction. He takes a step out of the bathroom, wearing only the pair of perfectly tailored pants he insisted on buying at the market yesterday, still clean. Clearly, despite his insistence, he hasn't actually bathed yet.
The lack of context and seeing him shirtless have you flustered, with confusion and the sort of fuzz that only comes from when he does something just enough it could be normal but still causes that telltale flush to creep up your neck, though if he notices (which he almost definitely does) he doesn't comment on it, brow scrunched in thought.
“No, like, can I? I must confess that I haven’t given it much thought. But I thought it might be nice to try, don’t you agree, darling?” He sounds... nervous. Contemplative, maybe? Like this is a mystery and he is a grand detective with the world at his fingertips. OR maybe like he's a kid on a stage trying to ask a question to a performer.
The entire sentence is so strange you blink blankly at him a few times before you gain your bearings. “...What?” You sit up more. “Star? Are you feeling alright? Because that's, uh, a really odd crisis to be having at this moment.” He almost looks wounded. “An odd crisis?! Lover! I am shocked. Stunned. Stood. I have a philosophical question, and—"
“Well, I’d hardly call it philosophical, Astarion. And It's far too late to be calling anything philosophical. Just a silly little musing until its later and I can actually think. And I'm almost scared to ask, but... why?”
He sighs like it's the most obvious thing he's ever had to say. “Well, you know. Vampires can’t cross running water. And showers run. Showers are made of running water. So... can I shower?”
That gets you to pause. He might have a point. Running water and vampires don’t mix. Showers are a form of running water. But then again so are taps, and he can wash his hands fine. Silence falls between the two of you. Awkward despite the underlying affection and contented fatigue.
“Do… do you want me to go in with you while you test it?” You offer. He nods, and then scoffs in mock indignation when you laugh gently while standing up.
“Alright then, Star. Let’s test some shower thoughts.”