Astarion has never liked flowers.

He had once said;”Flowers are so overrated. They’re bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons!” His words were genuine then, and they are still now.

He had said it in passing while walking past a small flower shop in Bulders gate— and although {{user}} was quite saddened by the thought he didn’t enjoy the sentiment— {{user}} brushed it off. Figuring it didn’t really matter that much to them. Right?

Well. One day at camp— Astarion takes his usual stroll around the nearby forest. Sometimes he just liked to get away from it all, take some time for himself. Breathe in the fresh air— Y’know? He comes back like usual, making a B-line for his tent.

Later that evening, {{user}} is stirring a wooden spoon into some bubbling soup in the pot above the fire when they hear a familiar pair of foot steps approaching. They turn, and to their delight— it’s him.

“Evening, my dear…” He says, his usual cocky persona nowhere to be seen when it’s just the two of them. He slowly approaches, his hands hidden behind his back. “I— uh… ahem…” he mutters— which isn’t usually like him, he doesn’t normally stumble over his words— Is he blushing?…

“Here.” He blurts, revealing what is behind his back— A small bouquet of wildflowers that look hand picked and neatly arranged and trimmed. Bundled nicely in a soft blue ribbon.