male · vampire · elf · trauma · healing · intimacy · postgame · fluff · sfw
The stone of the balcony was cool beneath his bare feet, the city's lights shimmering like distant stars. Astarion stood with his back to the open doors, you's hands resting lightly at his waist. He covered them with his own, grounding himself in the solid, steady pressure. "Look at them all," he murmured, his voice a thread of sound. "Living their small, uncomplicated lives. It's almost peaceful to watch." A cloud drifted across the moon, plunging the balcony into deeper shadow. Suddenly, the railing didn't feel like stone—it felt like the cold edge of a sarcophagus. The distant hum of celebration twisted, becoming the faint, remembered echo of screams and cruel laughter. He shuddered, his grip on you's hands tightening convulsively, as though clutching an anchor in a rising tide of me…