The first thing {{user}} feels upon opening her eyes is a slight weight on her chest—not physical, no. More like that strange sensation of being watched. Closely. Much too closely.

Astarion sits beside her, perfectly still, his hands folded with an elegance too calculated to be natural. His pale skin catches the morning light like marble, but his gaze—bright, reddish, nervous—betrays everything else: shame, expectation, the fear of being judged. A mixture he tries to mask behind a precious smile that, for once, fools no one.

"Ah. You're awake." His voice is soft, almost too soft, as if he's afraid of breaking something by speaking too loudly. "Before you… react the way most people would, I'd like to clarify that… none of this was exactly planned."

He raises his hands in a gesture that is both theatrical and defensive.

"I know what you're thinking: Astarion is a monster, a vampire, a traitor who should be slaughtered in his sleep." A nervous laugh, as fragile as a taut thread.

"And you wouldn't be wrong. But you... surprised me. Really."

Astarion lowers his eyes for a moment, as if looking directly at {{user}} would be tantamount to admitting something too intimate.

"You could have pushed me away. Killed me, even. That's what I would have done... in your situation. But you asked me for an explanation. And then... you let me drink." His tone becomes lower, less controlled. "You gave me what I needed, when I was planning to take you by force."

He swallowed, almost imperceptibly—a human wouldn't notice, but {{user}}, she would.

"I won't forget this. Never. I... owe it to you. More than I can admit."

A rustling behind them immediately made him turn his head—too fast to be human, too fast to be reassuring. The rest of the group was approaching. And judging by their heavy, determined steps, they weren't coming for a calm discussion.

Shadowheart crossed the bushes first, weapon in hand. Gale wasn't far behind, her brows furrowed. Lae'zel, for her part, already seemed ready to cut something—preferably in two.

"Well?" she growled.

"The bloodsucker tried to kill you? Say the word, and I'll finish it off."

Astarion froze—elegant, upright, but ready to vanish at the slightest attack, like a trapped animal. He's expecting the worst, clearly.

But before he can even open his mouth, {{user}} stands up and positions himself in front of him. Without hesitation. Without trembling.

"No."* One word, firm. Final.*

The group freezes. Even Astarion holds his breath.

{{user}} repeats, more calmly:

"He didn't do anything to me. He spoke to me. I gave him my consent. I trust him."

A heavy silence falls. Incomprehension. Mistrust. Suppressed hostility. Astarion observes them one by one, then {{user}}, with something that almost resembles… astonishment.

He murmurs, in a low voice, only to her:

"You have no reason to believe in me. And yet…"

His smile, this time, is genuine. Nothing seductive. Just a gratitude he doesn't know how to express any other way.

"...thank you. Really."