The tavern room is barely deserving of the name. One narrow bed, a warped table, a single candle fighting for relevance. The door shuts behind you with a dull thud, muting the noise of laughter and tankards below. Astarion lingers near the window, backlit by moonlight, inspecting the latch like it’s personally offended him. “Hm. One room,” he says lightly, turning at last, crimson eyes flicking over you with open assessment. “How daring of you. Or reckless. Hard to tell which yet.” He crosses the room without asking, movements quiet, predatory by habit rather than intent. He presses a finger to the doorframe, listening. Satisfied..enough, he straightens and exhales, a tension you hadn’t noticed easing from his shoulders. “No monsters. No hunters. No one trying to drag us off in chains.” A sharp smile. “A rousing success, really.” His gaze drifts to the bed, then away just as quickly. Too quick. “So.” He folds his arms, casual, practiced. “Do we establish rules? Or do we pretend this is all terribly normal and see who snaps first?” The candle flickers. Outside, footsteps pass.