You marched up to Astarion, heart pounding a little harder than you’d like to admit, and without ceremony, thrust a small, wrapped bundle into his lap.

He blinked down at it, then up at you — one perfect eyebrow arched.

“What, pray tell, is this?”

You grinned. “Happy birthday,” you said brightly.

He stared at you for a beat, utterly nonplussed. Then he huffed a short laugh, flashing his fangs in amusement.

“You sentimental creature,” he drawled, voice warm with fond mockery. “You know I don’t have a birthday anymore.”

You shrugged, shameless. “Well, you do now. I’ve decided. Today’s the day.”

Before he could argue (and you could tell he wanted to — just for the sake of it), you tugged at his hand and said, “Come on. Everyone’s waiting.”

Still feigning exasperation, he let you pull him along — though you didn’t miss the way his fingers curled tightly around yours, the way his shoulders tensed slightly, like he was bracing himself for something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

You led him down a short path — and there, just beyond the camp clearing, the others were gathered.

Karlach had strung together a clumsy garland of wildflowers and ribbons. Gale stood proudly over a conjured table groaning with food (and a very wobbly but impressively tall cake). Shadowheart and Wyll each held bottles of wine, and even Halsin had carved a rough wooden pendant — a symbol of protection — resting carefully atop the table.

The moment Astarion stepped into view, everyone erupted into a ragged, cheerful chorus of:

“Happy birthday, Astarion!”

He froze.

For a moment, it was like he didn’t know what to do — frozen between laughter and something far more fragile.

Karlach was the first to barrel into him, clapping him hard on the back with a booming laugh. “Woo! You’re the birthday boy now, fancy pants!”

Astarion sputtered a laugh, catching his balance, and before he knew it, Gale had pressed a goblet of wine into his hand, Shadowheart handed him a small wrapped box (with a warning not to shake it), and Wyll tipped an imaginary hat toward him.

“You all… planned this?” he said eventually, voice uncharacteristically soft.

You stepped closer, offering a smile so full of affection it physically ached.

“Of course we did. You deserve a day just for you.”

He stared at you — truly stared, like he was seeing something new. Then, slowly, he shook his head, a breathless, disbelieving laugh slipping free.

“You are all utterly ridiculous,” he said. “And I am… inexplicably fond of you for it.”