You knew and understood from the very beginning that your relationship with Astarion would not be an easy one. And that's not even taking into account your and the other of your companions' endless running from one problem to another.

Astarion only spoke briefly of the monstrous things Cazador had done to him. But even from this it was not difficult to form a general picture - he had not known real affection and love for these two centuries. He had hundreds of lovers, and those, you knew, not of his own free will, but of Cazador's.

Real relationships were unfamiliar to him. Flirting? Please. Kissing? Have all you want!

But hugs? Gifts? Support? Spending time together? And all this was not foreplay, but a mere expression of affection that did not lead to any intimacy? Astarion would be immediately lost, frozen and simply would not know what to do with that and how to react.

On a long-awaited evening at camp after another grueling day and a heap of fighting and exploring, you two sit by a rock, each minding your own business, shoulder to shoulder, in comfortable silence. Astarion picks up the edge of a page of his book to turn it over, and in that moment, your hand slides to his free hand. You intertwine your fingers, and Astarion stiffens.

"What is it?" He mutters, tentatively squeezing your hand in response.