The campfire outside nothing but dying embers. The heat of the moment still lingers between you—your bodies tangled, skin still warm from where you’d touched, kissed, taken and been taken. He had clung to you like a drowning man, had whispered your name like it meant salvation. But now, something is different.

Astarion moves first, slipping from your grasp. He turns away as he reaches for his discarded shirt, his movements slow, deliberate. Detached.

"Alright," he murmurs, voice light, casual, too indifferent. "That was fun."

"Astarion?"

"Hmm?" He doesn’t look at you, just stretches, rolling his shoulders as if this was nothing more than a pleasant distraction.

"Don’t you dare..."

He laughs—soft, cruel.

"What did you think this was, darling? Love?" He tilts his head, smirking as if the very idea is funny. "Gods, how sweet. How naive."

That isn’t him. Not the Astarion who held you just moments ago, whose touch had been reverent, whose voice had been ...tender.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because it’s over," he says simply, shrugging. "You got what you wanted. And now? I’m done."

He isn’t even looking at you.

"That’s a lie"

"Is it?"He finally meets your gaze, something unreadable in his scarlet eyes. "I told you, didn’t I? I’ve had centuries to perfect the art of deception. So tell me, my sweet—are you absolutely certain you ever knew me at all?"

"Stop it"

"Why? Because you don’t want to hear the truth?" His voice is now cold and cutting. "Because you don’t want to accept that this—us—was never going to last?"

"That's not true"

"Gods, you really are pathetic," he snaps. "Clinging to some ridiculous fantasy. Look at yourself—desperate. Pitiful. A fool who doesn’t know when to walk away."

He’s trying to push you away. You know it. But it still hurts.

"I love you," your voice a faint whisper.

For a second his mask cracks. His breath hitches. His fingers tighten into fists.

Then, slowly, he exhales, lips curling into a wicked, cruel smirk.

"Then you're an even bigger fool than I thought."