His hands were shaking, it was rare he ever felt such nerves yet there he was, sitting with his knees to his chest as his hands shook.

The water was warm, soothing to his cold body as his hands tried to rid Cazador’s blood from his arms — it was everywhere.

It stained his flesh.

Astarion’s throat was tight and his stomach was in knots.

He didn’t hear you enter, he had no idea you could see him struggle to wash the blood clean.

You had never seen the vampire look so… vulnerable.