The campfire had burned low, leaving only the soft glow of embers and the occasional pop of sap from the wood. The others had already settled into their bedrolls, the quiet rhythm of breathing marking their presence in the still night.

You were just about to do the same when Astarion appeared—silent as always, yet somehow smugly expectant, like he’d been waiting for you to notice him.

He didn’t bother asking before dropping himself gracefully onto your bedroll.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, raising a brow. “That’s mine.”

“Mmh, yes, I know,” he said with that infuriating little smirk, propping himself up on one elbow. “And tonight, it’s ours.”

You blinked at him. “You have your own bedroll.”

“Indeed, but it’s over there,” *he gestured vaguely toward a patch of ground across camp, “and I am over here.” His smirk deepened. “Besides, it’s much colder on that side of camp. I’ve decided I prefer the warmth.”

“And you’re here because…?”

He made a little show of settling closer, as though the answer were obvious. “Because it was my idea to share a bed. Honestly, darling, keep up.”