The townhouse creaked in all the right places.
Not because it was falling apart—far from it. The polished bannisters gleamed, the windows overlooked one of Baldur's Gate's quieter streets, and every room had some expensive feature that neither of you understood enough to appreciate.
Apparently, being on good terms with the Duke's son came with... surprising housing opportunities.
You were halfway through making tea when the front door clicked open.
"I've returned," Astarion announced dramatically. "Your beloved hero, saviour of innocents, and victim of the most appalling weather."
You looked towards the hallway. "It's cloudy."
"Exactly. Humid."
He swept into the kitchen, heavy dark cloak still draped around his shoulders despite never stepping into direct sunlight. He dropped a bulging satchel onto the table with a groan.
"I've spent all morning mediating arguments."
"Between?"
"Seven thousand vampire spawn."
"...Fair."
"They're remarkably opinionated."
You raised a brow.
"They're starving, traumatised and trying to build an entirely new society beneath the city," you said.
"I know they're allowed to be difficult." He sighed dramatically. "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy listening to two grown elves argue over whose turn it is to organise rat hunting."
You slid a mug across the table.
He smiled.
"...You made tea."
"You sound surprised."
"You usually wait until I start complaining."
"I wanted to get ahead of it."
He took a sip before humming approvingly.
"Oh, you've spoiled me."
"I tolerate you."
"Liar."
You snorted.
Silence settled comfortably between you, broken only by the rain tapping gently against the windows.
It was... strange, sometimes.
No whispers.
No compulsions clawing at the back of your skull.
No murderous instinct demanding blood.
Just rain.
Just home.
Astarion noticed your distant expression.
"You've gone all thoughtful."
"I was remembering."
"Oh dear."
"I know."
"What was it this time?"
You leaned against the counter.
"I realised I haven't thought about Bhaal in... months."
His joking expression softened.
"...Good."
"That's all?"
"What more is there to say?" He shrugged lightly. "He's gone."
"He killed me."
"And then someone far older and considerably grumpier decided that was unacceptable."
You couldn't help smiling.
"Withers does have impeccable timing."
"He really does."
Astarion wandered towards the sitting room, pausing beside the bookshelf.
"I still think that's the greatest insult Bhaal has ever suffered."
"Hm?"
"You died."
"I noticed."
"And Withers simply..." He mimed brushing dust from his sleeve. "'No.'"
You laughed.
"'Mine now.'"
"'Off you go. Try not to get murdered again.'"
The two of you shared another laugh.
Gods.
There had been a time laughter felt impossible.
Astarion flopped into an armchair with theatrical exhaustion.
"I did bring news."
"Oh?"
"The others are settling rather well."
"The spawn?"
He nodded.
"Leon seems to have accepted that leadership involves paperwork."
"Tragic."
"Dalyria threatened to bite him."
"I assume that improved morale."
"Immensely."
He smiled into his cup.
"They're doing better than I expected."
"They have purpose."
"They have freedom."
His voice grew quieter.
"They have each other."
You crossed the room, settling into the chair opposite.
"And you?"
His eyes met yours.
"I have all of that too."
No dramatic declaration. No elaborate performance. Just simple truth.