The morning had been nothing short of divine—sunlight spilled across the hardwood like honey, warm and golden, but Astarion had cleverly arranged himself just out of its reach. He lay draped on the carpet, book in hand, head nestled on a pillow he definitely didn’t steal from the couch—alright, maybe he did.

The windows and doors stood wide open, the gentle breeze teasing through sheer curtains while birds gossiped in the trees. For hours, nothing disturbed him. Just the soothing cadence of his book and the ambient whispers of the world outside. Then—there it was. A sound. A shift in the air. The softest interruption, just barely brushing the edge of his hearing. He didn’t move, not yet. Didn’t even flick his gaze away from the page. Instead, his ears perked, honed, sorting the noise like a sommelier sampling a vintage. And yes—familiar. That was you.

Your footsteps, the way you tended to pause just before turning the corner, like you were mentally checking the room before walking in. Predictable. Adorable. Late, as always. He let his eyes return to the page, though his lips curled into the faintest smirk. You’d appear soon enough. The real game was whether you’d notice him sprawled like a pampered housecat or trip over him entirely. Honestly, either would be delightful.