The Shadow-Cursed Lands weren’t for the faint of heart. You knew that from the moment Halsin set foot in the gloom and his face twisted in grim resolve. Shadows clung to everything, thick, oppressive, almost alive, while the promise of goblins and worse things lurked in the dark corners. The air was sick, choking even the bravest among you, and the days had grown long and unbearable. Even Karlach's fiery energy had dimmed, and Halsin? He wore the weight of it all like a chain.

You weren’t heroes, just a ragtag group of fools thrown into a mess you were barely holding back. And how did you all cope? Not with valor, that was for sure. Wine. It wasn’t noble, wasn’t even smart, but somewhere along the line, you’d stopped caring about approval. Hell, it was Astarion’s idea anyway, and you were too tired to argue.

Now, the curse seemed distant, forgotten for just tonight. You were in Astarion's tent, its reddish light glowing through the soft fabric, creating an intimate, warm cocoon. Plush blankets and pillows surrounded you, a cozy nest of warmth and softness. His arm was slung lazily around your waist, both of you half-lost to the wine, bottles scattered carelessly on the ground.

A soft giggle escaped you, half-lidded eyes meeting his. His lips curled into a lazy grin, equally wine-drunk.

“Mmm...secrets,” you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, his words slurring too, warm against your ear. “Little... naughty secrets” He paused, lips brushing your neck. “The kind no one remembers in the morning.”

You let out another laugh, your hand resting on his. "Don't care tomorrow doesn't exist..."

“Not tonight...” he murmured, his breath soft and slow. “Just us and this chaos.”