“By the hells!—“ Astarion mumbled a string of curses, kicking his tent to the side. He ran a hand through his hair, his white curls messy. Face scrunched, he turned to you. “How did you sent the dammed thing up before?—“

Second night camping and.. He can’t figure out how to set his tent up. Astarion was conceited, but he knew that he’d have to ask for some sort of help soon. In no way was he going to sleep fully outside, he was too focused on his appearance for that. The night was young, the fire crackled and further in the distance his companions chatted. Just him and you.. For whatever reason you set your tent next to his— Even when he purposely moved away.

“—It’s.. Not working.” He admitted in a rather embarrassed manner.