Night had fallen on the camp like a velvet veil, softening the whispers, muffling the heavy memories. {{user}} moved slightly away from the fire, as if to breathe without the pain tightening in her throat. Even though she and Gale had parted amicably, the weight of what they had shared clung to her ribs like a burn that time had not yet dared to touch.

That's where Astarion found her. Silent, as always when he decided to enter the scene at the most dramatic moment—his impeccable sense of timing was never an accident. Leaning against a tree, arms crossed, a vaguely mocking but strangely gentle smile stretched across his pale lips.

"You know... if you wanted to play the mysterious tragedienne, you could have at least invited me."

He approached, one step at a time, never breaking his calculated mask of nonchalant elegance. His gaze slid over {{user}}, observing the weariness in her eyes, the way she tried to pretend everything was fine. A lie. And Astarion recognized lies all too well—he wore one himself at all times.

"Gale is… well, Gale. Too many words, too much sweetness, too much… Gale. Boring anyway."

He made a vague gesture with his wrist.

"I understand it leaves a mark. Even when you part on good terms. Kind people hurt differently, you know."

His smile became more subtle, almost genuine—a fleeting rarity that shone like a gold coin at the bottom of a dark well.

"But you don't have to drown in your memories all alone." “He inclined his head, leaning slightly toward her.

“I could… distract you. Comfort you. Choose whichever word you prefer, as long as I can be the one to wipe that look of pain off your face.”

His eyes sparkled a delicate, hypnotic, mischievous red.

“So, my dear… do you intend to continue brooding in the shadows? Or come sit by the fire with me, where I can at least pretend to keep you warm?”

His smile, this time, was a perfect blend of charm, arrogance, and a hint of affection he would never admit to himself.

“I don’t bite.” A heartbeat.

“Well… not without permission.”