Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eve grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white as she tries to ease her breathing.

Only one more hour. One hour and she gets to go home.

Her shift started, rather unfortunately, with a birthday party: pushing together four tables, trying to keep up with the customers who constantly changed their mind about the order and deliberated endlessly on who’s paying for what and with what card, all the while their children were screaming for attention. But even worse was the mess they left, along with the few spare coins they tossed on the table as an afterthought, which somehow made her angrier than if they hadn’t tipped at all.

And then it was back to the usual, mundane torments of her job, the worst of which were the never ending comments that made her scream internally when the most she could do was a polite nod. She thought she would get used to them by now, but alas, the hundredth one was just as insufferable as the first. They were delivered by all kinds of people in a variety of tones, ranging from patronizing to objectifying to just plain stupid. They fueled countless rants that Eve’s roommate patiently listened to before noting that perhaps she should look for a job that doesn’t fill her with rage every single day.

The customers’ words echo in her mind on a loop, like a twisted Greatest Hits compilation.

“Why is a young girl like you slaving away in a place like this? Did you plan to be a waitress?”

“Why would you cover up that pretty neck with a tattoo? Don’t you know what it will look like when you’re older?”

“I’m surprised your boyfriend is okay with you working this late. I wouldn’t be, that’s for sure.”

“Does it cost extra for you to smile?” 

Managing to tear her thoughts away from this pity party, she looks up, wincing when she sees her reflection in the chipped mirror. The ponytails she hates but that, without fail and for reasons she doesn’t want to entertain for too long, make people tip her more. The makeup, just enough to conceal her dark circles and soften the edges of the scar running down her cheek, but of course not enough for people to notice she is wearing any, lest they think she’s trying too hard. 

And finally, the dragonfly tattoo lining her throat. The artist did a great job with the cover-up, but despite the quality of the craft, all Eve sees when she looks at it is the dagger concealed within the insect’s body, the ever present reminder that no matter how far she runs, or how much she tries to conceal it, her past will forever be carved into her skin.

She takes another deep breath, counting seconds as she inhales, holds, then exhales—one of the only useful skills she’s gained from her series of short-lived flings with therapy.

One more hour. I can do this.

Eve fixes her crooked name tag and heads out the door. She makes her way through the backroom into the kitchen, and perhaps the smell of grease would assault her senses were it not already embedded into her skin, hair, and clothes. 

On the center counter, she spots a tray with a ticket for booth four. Yes, booth four she can do. It’s largely unproblematic, if a little strange. She grabs it and heads out the kitchen, past the main room to a smaller side one with the bar, a couple smaller tables, and a line of booths. 

As she enters, she spots a man sitting by the bar, looking a bit lost. His hair is bleached so light it’s basically white. He’s wearing a t-shirt with a patterned sweater vest over it that’s a couple sizes too big and way too warm for May. He’s hunched over the bar counter, pen in hand, working fervently on something or other. 

She passes the newcomer and makes her way to booth four, featuring her favorite regular: an older man, wrinkled beyond belief, who arrives at 4 p.m. every single day. He always comes alone and without fail, orders the same exact thing every time: a plate of chicken tenders and a Dr. Pepper. No sauce, no sides. Just the chicken and the beverage. Eve stopped bothering to take his order months ago.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” she says, placing the plate in front of him. She opens the soda can and starts pouring it into his glass. “How are you doing today?”

“Fate spins along as it should,” he says in that trademark monotone voice.

“Mhm,” she hums, trying to think of a way to stall, so she doesn’t have to return to her other customers. “Did you hear there is going to be a thunderstorm tonight?”

“That may be so.”

“Right. Well, enjoy your meal then.”

“Thank you.” 

She scans the room, but seeing no one who looks like they need help, she fishes out the notepad from her apron and makes her way behind the bar.

The white-haired man doesn’t look up when she stands before him, seemingly lost in thought as he scribbles something in a journal in sweeping, messy handwriting. Through the scent of stale beer and fried food, she singles out a hint of his cologne—citrusy, fresh, and far more pleasant than anything the men frequenting this establishment usually wear, if they even bother.

“Hello, my name is Eve–”

He startles at the sound of her voice. There is a trace of panic in his eyes as he looks up at her, one that he instantly tries to cover up by straightening in his seat and donning a forced smile.

The moment their eyes meet, Eve gets the strangest feeling of déjà vu she’s ever experienced. There is something familiar in the creases of his smile lines, in the way his hair curls around his ears. It catches her off-guard, the rehearsed introduction dying in her throat mid-sentence. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you from somewhere?” she asks instead. 

The man instantly tenses up with a loud scoff. 

“Of course you would know me from somewhere. What else did I expect?” He gestures animatedly as he speaks, Eve blinking in confusion as she listens to his rant. “Are you one of those true crime freaks? Do you want an autograph or are you content with just standing here and gawking?”

Great. Just great. 

Exactly what she needed to top off this hell of a shift: entertaining a man’s delusions of self-importance. The True Crime Celebrity has to go into this month’s top three, along with The Alien Abductee and Mr. FBI-Poisoned-My-Cows. At least those guys were more polite.

“You move halfway across the country to finally get a break for once and– Fucking hell!”

He drops his fountain pen on the counter with a loud thud and slips his glasses off to massage his temples, eyes shut tight in frustration. A couple patrons turn their heads to glance their way, Eve’s cheeks growing hotter at the sudden attention.

And perhaps, after seven hours of being on edge, that was simply the last straw.

“Do not raise your voice at me,” the words escape her lips before Eve can think better of it.

The man seems genuinely taken aback and he opens his eyes, brows furrowed when he asks:

“Excuse me?”

“You seem to think you’re some sort of big deal. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. And no matter who you are, you shouldn’t speak to people that way, but especially not to those who handle your food and drinks.”

She didn’t mean it to sound like a threat, but she has no emotional energy left to dull the edge of her words. 

Maybe getting fired wouldn’t be so bad. Then I’ll never have to come back here.

For a moment he just looks at her wide-eyed, opening and closing his mouth a couple times. Eventually he clears his throat and puts his glasses back on, sounding genuinely embarrassed when he admits:

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just– It’s been a long day. But still, that’s no reason to– I’m sorry.”

The anger pent-up in her body starts to dissipate at his tone. He sounds… tired. In a way she recognizes all too well.

“It’s been a long day for me, too,” she says. “Maybe we can try again.” 

She turns away and takes a couple steps along the bar, then returns with a polite smile on her face to say:

“Hello, my name is Eve, I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

He chuckles softly and now that his face is more relaxed, Eve can’t help but think that he is quite handsome, in a manner that feels utterly out of place.

“Well, that depends,” he says. “Do the drinks come with spit or poison?”

“You’ve apologized, so neither. But you’re on thin ice.”

He scoffs, but there is no real edge to it. He watches her intently, a hint of curiosity in his gaze that she is not sure what to make of. 

“So, do you need more time?” she asks after a moment. 

“Time for what?” he asks, stumped.

“To order. Do you know what you want to order?”

Suddenly, as if a prompter whispered his lines to him, he remembers they’re in a restaurant of all places, and he is, in fact, playing the role of the customer.

“Ah, yes. Food,” he says, gaze falling upon the empty bar counter before him.

Eve sighs and retrieves one of the folded menus from a holder to her right.

“Is this your first time?” she asks, handing the paper to him.

“First time here?”

“First time in a restaurant.”

“Let’s say it is,” he chuckles, grabbing the menu from her. “What then?”

“Well,” she starts, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter. It’s a tad sticky, but she chooses to ignore that unfortunate detail. After all, the more time she spends with this fumbling, if oddly charming, idiot, the less she has to deal with the other, less-than-savory regulars. She unfolds the menu, trying to sound as patient as she can when she says: 

“Here is the list of foods, here are the prices. Here, for some unknown reason, are the calorie counts, which I suggest you ignore, for the sake of your sanity.”

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully, eyes gliding down the list. He looks up, a curious glint in his eyes when he asks: “So, what do you recommend?”

She doesn’t have a response at the ready, mostly because no one ever asks her that. Nothing, she wants to say, but with the final remnants of self-control, she dons her best service-industry smile, the one that says: I love my job and I haven’t been dying to go home.

“Well, that depends: how hungry are you?”

“Not terribly.”

She flips the menu over to their All-day Lunch selection.

“The club sandwich is a crowd favorite.”

“Alright. But what is your favorite?” 

Eve looks up to meet his eyes, their greyish blue alight with amusement, and she can feel the edge of her lips tugging up into a disbelieving smile. She finds no hint of mockery in his tone, just sheer curiosity. He seems to genuinely care about her opinion, which is a rarity in this place. 

“The grilled chicken panini is not half-bad,” she whispers, like she is revealing some meticulously guarded secret. 

“I’ll have that, then.”

“Got it,” she says, standing up straight. “And to drink?”

“Surprise me.”

“I can’t put a surprise on your tab. You do actually need to pick something.” 

“Do you have diet cherry Coke?”

Eve summons all of her mental strength to not roll her eyes at him.

“We have diet, non-cherry Pepsi. Is that okay?”

“It’s a travesty, more like. But I’ll make do.”

“Great. One sec.”

She scoops some ice into a glass, then retrieves the Pepsi from a small fridge under the bar. As she starts pouring it into his glass, she asks: 

“So, are you visiting someone, or just passing through?” 

“I actually just moved here a couple days ago.”

“Oh.” It’s not often that they see a new face around here. And certainly not one this good-looking. “In that case: welcome.”

“Thank you. I suppose I wanted to get to know the town a little more. Check out the…” his gaze wanders around the room, the flickering Coors Light neon signs, the truckers belly-laughing at one joke or another, “… local scene.” 

“And how do you like it so far?” 

“Well, so far you’re the only person in this place I’ve managed to have a half-decent conversation with. So yes, I suppose it’s alright.”

“Half-decent? You wound me.”

He smiles, but before he gets a chance to respond, Eve hears someone snap their fingers at her like they’re in a fucking Tarantino movie. She’s surprised they didn’t yell garçon!

“I’ll be back with the panini,” she says, and however, reluctantly, pries herself off the bar counter to attend to the obnoxious client at booth one.

The pace picks up, as it always seems to do when she is almost done with her shift. When she brings him the food, they exchange a couple more amusing if largely meaningless comments, before she has to go tend to her other customers. 

Eventually the man asks for the check and pays with cash. By the time Eve comes to collect it from him, he’s gone. Opening the tab, she sees two $20 bills and for a moment she’s convinced it must be a mistake, because the total was just over $17.

But then she notices a small ink stain on the thin receipt paper and turns it around to read a note in that same sweeping font: Sorry again for being a dick. Enjoy your weekend.

Eve chuckles softly and pockets the receipt on a whim.

When she’s clocking out 15 minutes later, she hears that grating voice behind her, the one that always manages to set her on edge.

“I saw you arguing with a customer.”

“That’s odd. I don’t recall doing that,” she says, not looking away from the keypad.

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. The one with the glasses, dressed funny.”

Eve sighs and turns around to meet the man’s eyes. He’s a couple inches shorter than her, a fact he tries to make up for by puffing out his chest and glaring at her in a way that is presumably supposed to be intimidating. It’s funny, she thinks, how much of a power trip he gets from being a manager at a run-down place like this. She wonders sometimes what must be going on in his personal life that he’s trying to make up for.

“Oh, him!” she says with a forced cheeriness. “Well, he actually seemed quite pleased with the service, he left me a very generous tip. Did you hear any complaints? You know I would hate to leave a bad impression on a new customer." 

His lips tighten into a firm line as he watches her, and Eve is fully aware he has no arguments left. After a moment of tense silence, she nods politely before turning towards the exit. 

“See you tomorrow, Wulbren.” 

Eve frees her hair from the ponytails and runs her fingers through it the moment she steps outside. The afternoon sun cradles her skin as she crosses the parking lot and makes her way to Gizmo—her trusted 2012 Toyota Prius that has seen better days. 

It’s a fairly nondescript car, what with it being a Prius and a bland beige, but she has taken to decorate the inside with some personal touches. The back is adorned with two bumper stickers: one with the logo of her roommate’s youth soccer team, the Clinton Comets, and another that reads: “My other car is a Honda Civic.” It’s a leftover gift from the previous owner that Eve is too amused by to peel off, despite how worn and faded the lettering has become.

She starts the car, turning the radio off immediately—she listens to it enough at work and right now, she just wants to enjoy the silence. As she pulls out of the parking lot, she rolls the windows down to welcome in the fresh air, warmed with the promise of summer. 

It only takes her seven minutes to get to the elementary school. Surprisingly enough, she managed to leave at 5 p.m. sharp, so she still has some time before practice ends. She decides to park in the visitor’s lot and walk towards the pitch.

The shrill whistle reaches her ears, and as she steps up onto the mostly empty bleachers, she takes in the sight of 20-something children running around in navy blue uniforms, Lae’zel standing off to the side as she watches them intently. 

Her thick chestnut hair looks immaculate as always, interspersed with small braids here and there, the upper half pulled into a near-perfect bun. Despite the temperature, she’s wearing a matching cream-and-black Adidas tracksuit, the light fabric bringing out the warm hue of her skin.

Suddenly, there is a commotion as an argument breaks out between two girls. Someone missed a clear shot, or something of that nature—Eve was not paying attention. Others join shortly, the bickering growing incessantly loud.

A whistle cuts through the chatter and Lae’zel waves her hand in a beckoning motion.

“Mol! A word.”

The group immediately falls quiet and from the crowd emerges a short girl with russet brown skin, her hair gathered into a high ponytail. Her expression is sour as she approaches, like she’s ready to argue further.

Lae’zel lowers herself into a squat, her eyes leveled with the girl’s. From her seat, Eve can make out most of their conversation:

“You’re the captain, Mol. You need to act like one. If you don’t have faith in your teammates, then who will?”

The girl’s defiant expression melts into one of embarrassment, her gaze suddenly very focused on the tips of her cleats. 

She mutters something that sounds like: “I’m sorry, Coach.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your team,” Lae’zel says, rising to her full height, which, admittedly, is not a lot. “Now, go out there and be a leader. Understood?”

The girl nods decidedly and runs back onto the field as Lae’zel blows the whistle, resuming the game. Eve smiles as she recognizes her gift: a silver whistle with the words #1 Coach engraved on the side. Lae seemed very flustered when she gave it to her, but Eve has never seen her go back to the plastic ones she’d used before.

The game ends 2:1.

Lae’zel makes some closing strategy-related remarks, then reminds the girls about the game next week with the team from a neighboring town.

“And remember that there will be summer practice available all throughout June, and then resuming in August. I’ve emailed the details to your parents. Any questions?”

When none arise, Lae gathers the team in a circle, and on the count of three, they erupt into a group cheer, accompanied by dance moves that look awfully close to the “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” song.

“UP, DOWN, LEFT, AND RIGHT, CLINTON COMETS WIN THE FIGHT!”

The group disperses, and as the children are gathering their things and getting ready to leave, Lae’zel checks her notes and says:

“Arabella, Yenna, and Ide, I still haven’t gotten those permission slips back. If you don’t want to miss out on the last game of the season, I’ll need them by Wednesday.”

“Yes, Coach Medina,” the three girls in question say in a practiced unison.

The pitch eventually empties out as the children leave, along with some of the parents who were waiting on the bleachers. Lae’zel is gathering the orange plastic cones from the field as Eve makes her way down to help her.

When Lae turns around and meets her eyes, Eve breaks into dance with unparalleled enthusiasm:

“UP, DOWN, LEFT, AND RIGHT, CLINTON COMETS WIN THE FIGHT!”

“Do you have a problem with our battle cry?” Lae’zel asks, trying her best to look unamused.

“No, I love it. It’s adorable and so, so corny.”

“The girls wrote it themselves. I didn’t want to interfere with their creative process. It’s good for team morale and their self-esteem.”

“Of course. You know I would never question your pedagogy.”

They pick up the last of the cones and as they’re heading to Lae’zel’s office, Eve says:

“Oh, you know what I just remembered?”

“What?”

“UP, DOWN, LEFT, AND RIGHT–”

“Keep doing that and I will evict you.”

“Oh, but then who would drive you around?”

“I’ll take my chances with the bus.”

Once they put everything away, they make their way back to the car and head home. 

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Eve asks as she turns onto the main road.

Lae’zel picks up her phone and then directs the screen towards her. 

“Her, if all goes well.”

Eve glances sideways to catch a glimpse of a Hinge profile. Jen, 25, the caption informs her. The girl in the photo sports heavy makeup and short bangs, her hair split down the middle with half-white, half-black dye.

“Pretty.”

But Lae’zel just hums approvingly in lieu of a response.

Before Eve can probe any further, her phone rings, and a message appears on the center screen: Call from: Wyll Ravengard 😎

“Hi Wyll,” she answers. “You’re on speaker. I’m in the car with Lae’zel.”

“Hello Lae’zel,” the man responds in his signature friendly tone. 

“Hello. Don’t worry, I’m not paying attention,” Lae says, not looking up from her phone. 

“She’s not paying attention, she’s busy texting a goth girl on Hinge.”

“Been there. Anyways, Eve, sorry to disturb your Friday evening, I just wanted to confirm that we’re still on for coffee, Monday at 4?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Perfect. And you remember that I scheduled that… consultation appointment for you at 2 pm that same day?”

Eve sighs softly. Another therapist. Agent Ravengard has been relentless in trying to find a good match for her. She’s pretty sure she’s gone through everyone within a 20-mile radius.

“Yup. I do remember that.”

“Mhm. And do you plan on attending?”

She pauses for a second, and then says, unconvincingly:

“I do.” 

“Lovely. Can’t wait to hear all about it over coffee.”

“Sounds delightful,” she says dryly.

“I’ll text you the details again, just in case. It’s up in Fairview, so about a half hour drive. You should have plenty of time to be back by 4.”

“Okay.”

“Alright then, have a wonderful weekend, Eve, and I’ll see you soon, yes?”

“Yes. I– Thank you, Wyll. I appreciate you.”

“Happy to help. Bye now!”

“Bye, have a good one!”

The moment he hangs up, Eve lets out a pained groan. 

“You sound frustrated,” Lae’zel remarks, still typing. And when Eve doesn’t respond, she adds: “Maybe you should sleep with him.”

“With Wyll?!”

“Yes. You are attracted to him, are you not?”

“I suppose I am, a little. I mean, have you seen him? But no, that is either illegal or unethical or both.”

“I don’t see the issue.”

“Well, I do. Plus, not all of life’s problems can be solved with sex, you know?”

“It sounds like you just haven’t had great sex, then.”

“It sounds like you really want to walk home. I can pull over at any moment, just say the word.”

There is a moment of silence before Lae’zel asks:

“In all seriousness though, do you want to talk about it? This appointment of yours?”

“No. That’s the last thing I want to be thinking about right now.”

“Understood.” Lae’zel seems to ponder something, then adds: “I’m meeting her for drinks at 9, so I still have some free time. Do you want to pick up ramen and watch people be idiots on the Game Show Network?”

“Yes, please.”

Lae’zel calls the ramen place on the first floor of their building to put in their usual order. Once they get back to the apartment, she goes to pick up the food while Eve heads to her room to change.

The space is quite bare, especially in comparison to Lae’zel’s room, which is full of photos, trinkets, and memorabilia to remind her of home. Eve doesn’t have any of those, but she still tried to make her room her own, whatever that means. A couple plants line the windowsill, and her shelves are overflowing with books she thrifted: mostly non-fiction, with the occasional Stephen King novel tucked between her usual reads. There are plenty of lights, too: a salt lamp, numerous candles, and a cascade of fairy lights above her bed. Anything to not have to turn on the harsh overhead light. 

Before they sit down to eat, she wants to get rid of that ever-present diner smell. When she pulls her jeans off, a piece of paper flies down onto the wooden floors. She snatches it up, ready to toss it into the trash, when she spots the now familiar, swirly handwriting. 

Eve chuckles, remembering this oddly charming man, looking entirely out of place, who probably had an even worse day than she did, somehow. 

She unfolds the paper fully, straightening out the wrinkles, and heads over to the small desk in the corner of the room. There is a cork board above it with a couple ticket stubs from events she went to with Lae’zel and a few holiday cards from Wyll. It’s the closest she can have to a picture board, ever since she was explicitly instructed to never allow herself to be photographed.

She isn’t sure what propels her to pin the receipt to one of the empty spaces on the board. 

But it fits right in.

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid this is all we have time for today,” says Therapist Number Nine, or Halsin, as he insisted she call him. “Thank you for your honesty, Eve. I’m truly glad you decided to take this first step in coming here. Does the same time next week work for you?”

Eve is currently channeling all of her energy into maintaining a neutral expression, so the most she can manage is a nod. 

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks,” she mutters before grabbing her bag and walking out of the office. 

The perky receptionist attempts to talk to her, but Eve is already reaching out for the door. She needs to get out, needs to breathe, needs to–

The afternoon air is too warm to offer her any relief. It envelops her in a constricting embrace, making it even harder to breathe.

She rushes back to her car and as soon as she closes the door, her body jerks with a loud sob. She rests her forehead on the steering wheel as the tears keep falling.

This is why she keeps changing therapists, why she never makes it past the first couple sessions. Because after all the formalities and testing the waters, they start digging, and when they dig, she starts to remember, and she doesn’t want to remember. She just wants it to stop hurting. To make it through the day without despising herself. Why is that so much to ask? 

But this one, this Halsin, with his kind, insightful eyes that made Eve feel like he was peering into the very core of her rotten soul, he didn’t seem to have a need for your standard interview. No, he had to get straight to the point, to call it as it is, or rather, as he saw it.

Abuse.

It echoes painfully against her skull, the concept rattling around her mind looking for fertile ground to take root, but she won’t let it. She doesn’t want it to stick, doesn’t want to face it head on.

The tears don’t stop and it scares her, the sheer force with which the pain seizes her body. It’s not that she doesn’t usually cry—it’s just never about this. Never about him. 

There is no relief to be found in those tears, only an increasingly hollow feeling, the gaping hole in her chest widening with every trembling sob.

She can’t stay here, because the longer she stays, the more details come back to her, the more vivid his voice grows in her mind—after she went through such great lengths to never have to hear it again. But she can’t find it in herself to force her muscles to move.

It’s not until someone pulls into a parking spot to her left that Eve is snapped back to the present, the sudden movement reminding her that the world around her carries on. She sits up and retrieves some tissues from the glove compartment to try to manage the sniffling mess her face has become.

She’s still too shaken to drive, so she decides to walk to a CVS down the street to get some water and a Twix bar. When she’s waiting to check out, she spots some discounted face masks and grabs one for her and one for Lae’zel. Surely the “Exfoliating Strawberry” will fix her.

When Eve finally makes it back to Clinton, she is, of course, late. And while she looks like a chewed-up possum, with her puffy cheeks and wrinkled jumpsuit wrangled out from the jaws of her dryer, Agent Ravengard looks like a model, all lean muscle and perfect smile. This time, his locks are pulled up into a bun, eyes obscured by a pair of round rimless sunglasses. He waits for her on a bench outside the coffee shop, his iced mocha and her chai latte in hand.

Gentleman that he is, Wyll tactfully ignores her frazzled state as he rises and hands her the beverage, then nods towards the park on the other side of the street.

“How was your weekend?” he asks as they start walking.

“It was fine,” she says, her voice still a bit hoarse. She clears her throat and continues: “Lae’zel dragged me out on a hike yesterday. And Saturday was not particularly exciting, since I had to work. My manager was giving me a hard time. This lady yelled at me because we were out of Smirnoff Ice. You know, the usual.”

“Have you thought about looking for a different job? Every time I ask about it, you sound exasperated.”

“Oh, every single day. But there is only so much you can do with a high school diploma, no employment history, and no references.”

“You know you can always put me down as a reference, right? We do that sometimes. Just give me a heads up, so I can prep. But I’m also quite good at making things up on the spot—I was in an improv group in college, have I ever told you that?”

“No, you haven’t,” she laughs. “But that seems very on-brand.”

They sit on one of the few remaining benches in the shade and Wyll asks her about her support network: whether she’s made any new friends or found a way to get involved with the local community. It feels like he is actively avoiding the subject of therapy.

But then there is a lull in the conversation and finally, trying to make himself sound as casual as possible, he asks:

“Oh, and how was your appointment today?” 

There it is. The real question, the one he was warming her up for.

“I don’t like this guy.” Eve avoids his gaze as she speaks, watching a bird perched on a bench a few feet away, ruffling its feathers.

“Mhm. And why is that?”

“He’s too nice,” she sighs as she turns to face him, painfully aware of how silly she sounds. “He treats me like I’ve never done anything wrong in my life.”

“Eve, you know I like you, but this feels like you’re just making up excuses at this point.”

“I’m not,” she insists. 

“He’s too nice? That’s the issue?”

“Yes. And there is another thing, he just– He’s barely met me and he thinks that he can tell me the truth about my life, when he doesn’t even understand the full picture.”

“So maybe with time, he will begin to understand the full picture? If you let him.”

Eve takes a large sip of her beverage to stall.

He doesn’t get it. And after all, why would he? We are nothing alike.

“Eve, you know I can’t force you to do this,” Wyll continues when she doesn’t respond. “It’s your life. I’m here to connect you with resources, but it’s up to you whether you use them or not. But you said it yourself, not so long ago: that you wanted to feel better, that you’re tired of living like this. I understand that whatever he said made you uncomfortable, and you can bring it up to him during your next session. But if you truly want things to change, you will have to deal with that discomfort. For a while, perhaps. I know you know this, too. And I understand that it’s hard to accept. But please just give it an honest try, will you? Not for me. For yourself.”

She’d rather do it for him, honestly. And so, to not make his job any harder than it already is, she says, however reluctantly:

“Okay. I’ll give it a try.”

“Splendid.” After a moment, he adds: “I know it’s not easy, Eve, but I think you’ll find it to be a good choice in the long run.”

She nods, thoroughly unconvinced.

In a great display of mercy, Wyll changes the subject and asks about Lae’zel. Eve jumps on the opportunity to divert from her problems and update him on the highs and lows of the youth soccer league.

When he walks her back to her car, she asks:

“Has there been any progress with the investigation?”

“No, nothing new. I’m sorry, Eve.”

“But you’ll tell me if there is, yes? I’m still avoiding the news.”

“Of course.”

After they say their goodbyes, Eve heads to the elementary school, but this time she chooses to wait in her car. The drive home is quiet, Lae’zel glued to her phone, probably on the prowl for her next hook-up.

As soon as they make their way back to the apartment, Eve heads to her room and engages in the titillating activity of lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling, her gaze following the branching out cracks in the paint.

She knows she needs to find a distraction soon to avoid a repeat of her outburst in the car, but that would necessitate moving, which currently seems like an insurmountable task. 

There is a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.”

She turns her head to watch as Lae’zel walks in, an unusual hint of concern in her hazel eyes. She grabs the chair from Eve’s desk and sits facing the back, her elbows propped on the plastic as she speaks.

“Talk to me, boluda, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

But in the silence that follows, Eve eventually finds the right words and recounts the unfortunate appointment, skimming over the details of what exactly she told Halsin. She’s still facing the ceiling as she talks, which makes it a bit easier.

Lae’zel listens thoughtfully, refraining from any comments. When Eve finishes, she waits for a moment before asking:

“Do you need a distraction, company, space, or…?”

“I don’t know, I kinda want to rot in bed for a bit. But company might be nice.”

Lae’zel nods, her gaze gliding around the room. When it lands on the corkboard above the desk, she leans towards it, brows furrowed.

“What’s this about?” she asks, pointing to the pinned note.

“Oh, that. It’s kind of a long story,” Eve says, waving her hand dismissively.

But Lae’zel just cocks her eyebrow and Eve sighs, sitting up as she explains: 

“Okay, so there was this guy…”

“Uh-huh,” Lae mutters in a this will be good tone.

“...who came into the Blushing Mermaid on Friday. A new customer. Um– and he was a bit… frazzled, let’s say. Anyways, I go up to take his order and I don’t know what it is about him, but I get this feeling that he looks familiar, like we’ve met before. So I ask him about it, and then he just snaps at me, starts talking nonsense–”

“Sounds like a douchebag.”

“Well, yeah, But then I called him out on it, and he instantly apologized, which literally never happens. And he seemed genuinely sorry, like– It just felt like he was going through some stuff and wasn’t himself. Which I can understand.”

“And then what?”

“Well, we talked for a bit. You know, just your usual customer small-talk. And then he left and I saw that he wrote that note on the receipt and gave me a tip that was higher than his total. He came in on Saturday again and we chatted for a bit and that’s kind of it. Left a standard tip this time.”

“And you kept the note because…?”

Eve opens her mouth and closes it shortly, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Uh– I don’t know. It comes with a funny anecdote, I guess?”

“Mhm,” Lae’zel says. She has a talent for conveying entire sentences with hums and weighted stares. This particular one seems to communicate: you’re full of shit. After a moment of silence, she asks: “Was he hot?”

Eve can feel the blush that spreads across her cheeks under this sudden interrogation.

“I– He–” she stutters. And then, carefully choosing her words, she responds: “He had a certain charm about him, yes.”

“A certain charm. Mhm. And he came back on Saturday.”

“Yeah…” Eve says, already fretting where this is going.

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t–”

“Is the food that good?” Lae interrupts her.

“No, not really–”

“So maybe it’s the ambiance… is it cozy and inviting?”

“No but–”

“Eve, I went to the Mermaid one time to support you, and I will never step foot in that shithole again. Unless you ask me to murder your manager, which I would happily do.”

Eve takes a mental note of the generous offer before asking:

“Okay, so what’s your point?”

“What is so great about that place that he would come back the next day?” Lae asks, like she’s trying to get Eve to understand a math equation.

“I don’t know, but we have a lot of regulars! So people clearly like coming back.”

“Yes, but they’re mostly truckers, or older people who don’t want to eat alone, or men who want to watch a game with their bros. So which category does this mysterious stranger fall into, out of those three?”

“None. But he’s new in town and said he wanted to check out the local scene.”

“Right. So wouldn’t it make sense for him to go to a different restaurant next time to see what else is around here?”

“…maybe.”

“Unless, of course, there was something compelling him to come back. Like, maybe a cute, funny, feisty waitress, who wasn’t afraid to talk back, who has a beautiful smile and a great ass to match?”

“I, uh– Well thank you, but–”

“If you don’t want to make a pass at Wyll, then maybe you should bang Note Guy.”

“Can we go back to the part where you were showering me with compliments?”

“Gladly. You’re also very smart.”

“Aww, thanks.”

“Which doesn’t stop you from being a dumbass about certain things, this being one of them.”

“Okay, well, thank you Lae, this was a very helpful distraction, but I think this conversation is over now.”

“If you say so,” Lae says, standing up. She heads for the door, turning back to add: “When he comes back tomorrow, which he will, you should get his number.”

“Go away,” Eve says exasperated as she tosses a pillow at Lae’zel. She dodges without as much as batting an eye.

Left to her own devices, Eve fetches her laptop and as she scrolls through the selection of horror movies on Netflix, she tries not to think too hard about Note Guy’s smile.

***

The night is restless.

A gunshot.

Blood. 

There is so much blood.

He’s still holding the gun with one hand when the other grabs her chin, forcing her to look at the body.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he commands, voice dripping with venom. “You made me do this. This is your fucking fault.”

The gun clatters to the floor and Eve startles when his hands come up to cradle her face.

Tears.

But not hers– His.

She might have been impressed by how quickly he managed to make them fall, were she not hypnotized by the growing pool of crimson on the plastic tarp.

“You know I love you, babygirl. You know that, right? I have to keep you safe. This is how I keep you safe.”

Her throat is too tight to utter a sound, but she manages a curt nod. He leans in to shower her with quick, frantic kisses, lips wandering around her face and neck, whispering praises and declarations of love against her skin.

But all Eve can do is stare at the unfortunate eyewitness. She was so beautiful, full of color and life. But now, her long purple hair sticks to her scalp in clumps, darkened with blood, her golden eyes wide open, frozen in terror.

Wrong place. Wrong time. 

That’s all it took.

The body turns its head to look straight at her.

Eve jerks awake, drenched in cold sweat. It takes her a moment to realize where she is, that she’s safe.

It’s not even 7 a.m. but she doesn’t want to go back to sleep, doesn’t want to risk seeing him again. She just needs to find a way to stay occupied until noon and then her shift will start, giving her something else to stress about. 

But no matter what she does, she can’t shake how visceral the dream felt. She keeps hearing his voice, fragmented memories resurfacing through the haze.

“You look terrible,” Wulbren greets her when she finally makes it into the diner.

“Thanks for noticing!” she responds, a little louder than intended, as she walks past him.

The next couple hours pass in a blur. 

It’s not her best day. One might even say that it’s one of the worst days in her illustrious career at the Blushing Mermaid. She confuses people’s orders multiple times. She nearly snaps at a customer for asking her why the prices are so high, as if that was somehow her decision.

Contrary to Lae’zel’s predictions, Note Guy doesn’t show up at his usual time, which Eve feels strangely grateful for. She doesn’t want him to see her like this, when her brain is so scattered, when just being here physically hurts. And it’s more than wanting to make a good impression on a customer—no, it’s something uniquely about him, about how he might perceive her. Though why would she care about his opinion in the first place? 

Half-way through the day, she is carrying a tray full of glasses when all of a sudden, she loses her balance. The tray tops over, glass shattering into a thousand pieces as it hits the floor.

Someone claps and cheers, like she’s a fucking court jester who went for ye olde broken glass gimmick in a desperate attempt to liven up the crowd.

Thank you. That’s so helpful and exactly what I needed right now.

She rushes to a couple seated at the nearest table, assessing for damage.

“Are you okay? I’m very sorry.”

“We’re okay sweetie,” the older woman reassures her. “Are you?”

The simplicity of the question hits her like a brick wall.

No.

“I’m okay, thank you. I’ll be right back to clean up.”

But as she heads for the kitchen, Lakrissa emerges with a broom and mop in hand.

“I’ve got it,” she whispers as they pass. “Go drink some water or something.”

Of course, it’s not long before Wulbren shows up looking for her, because apparently having a breakdown and needing a couple minutes to compose herself outside of her scheduled lunch break is highly unprofessional.

A couple hours later, as she enters the bar room, she spots the familiar white curls and curses under her breath. This time, Note Guy is wearing a lilac linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She briefly notes how much the color suits him before the dread of talking to him in her current state takes over.

“Welcome back,” she says when she comes up to his table.

He smiles with that stupidly charming smile of his and makes some comment about how busy the place is for a Tuesday night. His attempt at striking up a conversation goes completely over her head and instead of acknowledging it in any way, she just asks:

“What can I get you?”

Smooth. Keep up the attitude and he will stop coming back.

He must notice that something is off because he eases on the cheeriness and doesn’t force her into small talk, which Eve is eternally grateful for. Small mercies. 

By some miracle, she makes it to the last few minutes of her shift. 

She checks in on a booth full of men who have grown increasingly drunk and obnoxious throughout the evening. As she’s picking up the empty beer glasses off their table, she feels a hand rest on her waist as another man scoots behind her to join the group.

“Scuse me,” he mutters.

Because of course how could you possibly pass someone without touching them? It makes her skin crawl, her jaw tense as she picks up the pace.

“Aw, always with the frown,” the man says as he sits down, his speech slurring slightly. “What’s the problem, sweetie? You can tell me, I’m a good listener.”

“Anything else I can get you?” she asks, looking at the other people at the table.

“Get us another round,” the man says.

“Nah, Rick, you’ve had enough,” another one chimes in.

An argument breaks out, and Eve grasps at the opportunity to excuse herself:

“I’ll give you a moment to decide. I’m heading out soon, but I’ll have my colleague check up on you.”

When she turns away, she catches Note Guy’s gaze for a second, before he averts his eyes hurriedly.

She walks up to his table and asks:

“Anything I can get you before I’m off?”

“Just the check, please.” And then he looks like he might say something more, but instead he opts for a short: “Thank you.”

Eve goes through the motions of finishing up her shift, her mind miles away. When she eventually clocks out, she throws on her denim jacket and leaves through the back floor. Relief washes over her as she steps into the crisp night air, grateful that this disastrous day is finally over.

But the relief is short-lived as a familiar voice reaches her from the steps leading up to the front door of the diner.

“Oh, it’s you!” says Rick or Nick or whoever else, a limp cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Eve tenses immediately, her palms closing around a small can in her jacket pocket. She doesn’t particularly want to finish this day off by treating some drunk to a helping of pepper spray, though if he gives her the faintest reason, she won’t hesitate.

But the man seems harmless enough, though no less insufferable, as he stumbles down the steps and onto the parking lot, positioning himself rather inconveniently on the path to her car. 

“Didn’t mean to bother you back there, Miss,” he slurs as Eve walks briskly, eyes fixed on her destination. 

“It’s just– You looked so sad today and I know that look. My wife left me and it’s still hard sometimes. She took the dog, you know, my Millie–”

He continues his sorry tale as Eve keeps walking, refusing to acknowledge his existence.

“You know, sometimes when I get groceries I accidentally buy those chewy treats she liked so much. It’s a habit. Honest to god, I just forget–”

The diner door opens and shuts, but she doesn’t let it distract her as she passes the man in a wide berth.

But then she hears slow footsteps behind her, and her muscles tense anew, fingers gripping the spray as she flicks the safety mechanism to the side. And because apparently the situation is not aggravating enough, the familiar voice slithers into her mind, dripping with affection that makes her skin crawl:

“You gotta learn how to fight, baby, in case I’m not there to protect you. I need to know you can take care of yourself before I send you on a job all alone.”

“Twenty years of marriage and all of a sudden she wants a divorce, no warning, she says I stopped trying–”

Eve is almost by the car when another, chipper voice cuts through Dick’s drunken rant.

“There you are, darling! I told you to wait for me.”

Eve’s head snaps back in disbelief as she sees Note Guy jog towards them, his mouth curled up into a fond smile.

He stops beside her, and Eve catches a glimpse of his arm snaking up to her shoulders, but no touch follows. It’s as if he’s hovering his palm over her back in some exaggerated pantomime of affection.

“Is there a problem?” he asks sweetly, but his expression is tense as he looks up and down the man before them.

The customer ceases his sloppy soliloquy as his eyes flit back and forth between the two of them. Eve can almost hear the booze-soaked cogs turn in his mind as he tries to piece together the puzzle before him.

“Nah, no problem. Miss and I were just talking.” He gestures to Eve as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

“Mhm,” Note Guy hums, and then makes a show of checking his watch. “I think it’s time to go home, don’t you?” But he makes no effort to move, instead looking at the customer pointedly.

“Right, I ‘spose,” the man says, palming at his jacket pockets. “Shit, the boys took my keys.” He sighs, as if he wanted to say: don’t you hate it when that happens? “It’s not that far, guess I’ll just– I’ll be off then. Night, Miss,” he says before heading down the street.

Eve’s finger is still on the pepper spray when she turns to the man at her side. He takes a large step back, looking a touch embarrassed.

“Darling?” she asks incredulously.

“I briefly considered ‘babe,’ but that seemed even more awkward,” he says, fidgeting with his sleeves.

“Well, either way, this was unnecessary,” Eve says coldly. 

“Oh. Right. Well, I just– I saw him bother you in the restaurant and then– I didn’t want to just walk past without saying something when he was clearly making you uncomfortable. But I won’t take up more of your time,” he says, taking another step back. “Good night.” 

A tinge of guilt grips at her chest as she watches him turn around and briskly walk away. Her mouth opens before she can question it.

“Wait!”

He stops and turns halfway to glance back at her.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, before resuming his walk.

She stands there for a moment, eyes fixed on his silhouette, hoping that the next time she sees him, she will feel more like herself—and not like she wants to curl up into a ball and hide from the world.

Once she’s back at her apartment building, she starts putting in the code to the door when it swings open, and a woman steps out, smiling to herself.

As the woman holds the door open, Eve recognizes her from the Hinge photo Lae’zel showed her last week—Jen, 25. Even prettier in person.

“Thanks,” Eve says, grabbing the handle, and watches Jen walk away, swaying slightly on her chunky platform boots. Her black night slip of a dress does absolutely nothing to shield her from the evening chill, but she doesn’t seem to care.

Eve can’t help but smile, head shaking in disbelief as she makes her way upstairs. 

When she gets to the apartment, she finds Lae in the kitchen in nothing but a tank top and underwear. She’s chopping some vegetables, the countertop full of neatly arranged tupperware containers.

“So that’s what you do after sex? Meal prep?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lae’zel says, not looking away from the task at hand.

“I think you do,” Eve says, leaning against the fridge with her arms crossed. And then in a pointed tone, she adds: “I passed Jen on my way out.” 

But Lae’zel seems thoroughly unfazed.

“And?”

“It seems like you’re breaking your own rules. Need I remind you? Lae’zel’s Sex Codex, Rule Number One: ‘No second dates. Always leave them wanting more.”

“I left her wanting more, trust me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” 

“How was work?” Lae’zel asks, making it abundantly clear that she will not be discussing her entanglement with Jen any further.

“Just about everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong.”

“What about Note Guy?”

“Oh. Like I said: everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. Including Note Guy.”

This prompts Lae’zel to finally turn away from her chopping board.

“I need to know everything,” she demands, knife in hand.

“I desperately need a shower, but meet me in ten for face masks and story time?”

“It’s a date.”

Chapter Text

It’s been over a month since her first appointment with Halsin and Eve somehow managed to drag herself back to that office every Monday. At least it made Wyll happy. Following his advice, she did tell Halsin about her reaction to his assessment, and he assured her that they didn’t have to return to the subject before she was ready. Instead, they spent the last few sessions exploring Eve’s beliefs about herself and developing some more practical tools to deal with her anxiety (which she was reluctantly grateful for, as much as she’d hate to admit it).

Outside of work, she was more busy than ever. With the school year being over, Lae’zel had a lot more time on her hands and was always coming up with Fun Summer Activities for them to do. This mostly boiled down to various forms of physical exertion, which Eve bravely endured. The things we do for love.

After coming back from yet another hike, Eve collapses on the couch, bitching and moaning like she just crossed the entire country on foot. Lae’zel, however, seems to have endless reserves of energy, because she immediately heads to the kitchen to make them both protein shakes. She places one of them on the coffee table next to Eve, which she acknowledges with a light groan of gratitude.

“Don’t be dramatic. It was only seven miles,” Lae’zel says before she takes a sip of her shake.

“Yeah, it was also eighty-five degrees.”

“It would have been cooler if you woke up at six like I suggested.”

Eve doesn’t grace that with a response. She just watches as Lae downs her drink and starts to pace restlessly around the apartment.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m bored,” Lae says absentmindedly. Then, she stops in her tracks and looks at Eve with an odd glint in her eyes. “We should throw a party,” she says, before resuming her pacing.

This finally prompts Eve to sit up, against the collective protest from her muscles. She observes Lae’zel warily and says:

“I’m sorry, I think the heat is getting to me. I could swear I just heard you say you want to throw a party.”

“Correct.” 

“Are you on drugs?”

“It might be nice to see everyone before I leave for Córdoba.”

“Who is everyone?”

“You know, friends.” Lae gestures vaguely.

“I’m gonna need names,” Eve says. “And for the love of god, please sit down, you’re freaking me out.”

Lae’zel finally comes to a halt and sits on the armchair. She looks almost embarrassed, which is worrying in its own way.

“Who are these friends you’re talking about?”

“Wyll…?” Lae offers weakly.

“Wyll is not your friend, you met him one time ages ago when he came in here for the assessment. He’s not even my friend, it’s literally his job to spend time with me. So who else?”

“People from work.”

“What, like the biology teacher who has a crush on you? What was his name again?”

“Rath. And he doesn’t have a crush on me.”

“Sure.”

“Also Dammon.”

“Okay, that I can understand, you two actually hang out sometimes. Who else?”

“Zevlor.”

“Who the fuck is Zevlor? I have never heard that name from your mouth.”

“He’s my accountability partner at the gym.”

“Accountability partner…” Eve sighs, massaging her temples. “Lae, be for fucking real: is this about Jen?”

“You’re right, we could also invite Jen,” Lae’zel says with feigned excitement as if this has never occurred to her before. “That’s a great idea. You’re so smart.”

“And you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Fine,” Lae’zel sighs, exasperated. “Of course this is about her, who else?”

“I don’t get it, you already see each other a couple times a week. And you text, like, all the time.”

“Yes, but…” Lae’zel drops her gaze in a way that Eve would characterize as bashful, if she didn’t know any better. “Texting is nice, but when I see her, we don’t really talk, we’re busy with other things. And I would just like to… get to know her better.”

A foreign sort of warmth spreads through Eve’s chest as she listens to her friend describe what can only be considered a crush. Like a champ, she fights down the urge to yell I knew it!

“I see,” Eve starts gently, as if this version of Lae’zel were a precious fawn who could be easily startled by any sudden movement or snapping twig. “Have you considered asking her on a date?”

“I don’t do dates, Eve,” Lae’zel huffs with a determination that is likely meant to convince herself more than anything. “But if we throw a party, she will be just one of many guests, so it won’t be as obvious that I…” She trails off and shakes her head. “It has to happen before I go home. I’ll be gone for a month and I’m worried that if sex is all we have, then she’ll just find someone else to replace me. And that will be the end of it.”

“We can’t have that,” Eve says with a soft smile. “A party it is, then.”

“A party it is.” Lae’zel smiles back, her confidence returning. “I’ll need your help. As you pointed out, I don’t actually know that many people.”

“Me neither, but I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

“You should invite Note Guy.”

“I– Uh– Well, I guess if I find no other alternatives, then I might. For you. Just to make sure we have enough guests to make this party believable.” 

“Of course.” Lae’zel nods sagely. “No other reason.”

***

As Eve heads to work on Tuesday, it’s with an unusual sort of determination. She’s on a mission.

When it comes to party guests, Lakrissa is the obvious choice. Although they have never spent time together outside of work, Eve genuinely likes her, and they share this unique sense of camaraderie, being the only constants in the ever-changing array of waitstaff. A lot of people would join the team at the Blushing Mermaid only to quit after a couple months, or even weeks, but the two of them have held their post ever since Eve got the job a year and a half ago. She is not sure if it’s a testament to their determination or desperation—but either way, she finds Lakrissa’s presence grounding amidst all the chaos. 

Plus, Lakrissa seems to have a bustling social life, always sharing stories about her nights out, so Eve decides to extend the invitation to some of her friends. 

“Amazing!” she gasps when Eve chats her up in the kitchen. She pulls out her phone and starts typing rapidly. “I’ll text Kaldani and Rikka. Oh, and Danis too! He’ll probably bring his fiancé, is that alright?” 

“That’s perfect.”

On a whim, Eve also invites one of the line cooks, Minsc. He is a truly puzzling yet charming man with a thick Slavic accent—Eve is not sure what kind of Slavic exactly, because Minsc never talks about himself. He does, however, talk at length about his hamster Boo, to whoever will listen. He is a bit odd, to be sure, but he always seems to be in a good mood and equipped with a bottomless arsenal of anecdotes, making him the perfect guest.

After securing at least six new people for their party, Eve is pulled back into the whirlwind of clients and orders. Like clockwork, at 4 p.m. she finds herself carrying a plate of chicken tenders to the man at booth four.

“Hello Sir, what’s new?” she asks when she brings him the food.

“Thy wheel of fate turns ever to the light,” he says solemnly.

“Oh, that’s beautiful. Is it from a poem?”

“No.”

Eve waits for him to elaborate, but instead he picks up the utensils and starts cutting the chicken into little pieces. 

“Alright.” She shrugs. “Enjoy your meal.” 

“I will.”

Eve turns around and smiles when she sees that Note Guy has just arrived.

She was worried when he didn’t show up for a couple days after The Day When Everything That Could Have Gone Wrong, Went Wrong. It was a sudden change of routine that Eve felt personally to blame for, even if she realized how irrational and self-centered that was.

But then, one Friday, he came back, and it was as if that night had never happened. He was just as friendly as before, and she was once again in the right headspace to return his energy.

The days when he would come in felt lighter somehow. He was easy to talk to, even if their conversations were entirely surface-level. He quickly became her second-favorite regular—after all, the enigmatic Chicken Tenders Man would always have a special place in her heart. The two of them gave her something to look forward to during her otherwise arduous shifts. 

It’s no different this time, the two of them engaging in the now familiar banter as she takes his order.

Shortly after, Eve is heading over with his food, when Lakrissa stops her just a couple feet away from his table to ask if she should bring anything to the party. They briefly discuss the logistics before returning to work, Note Guy donning a curious smile when she finally walks up to him. 

“Hosting a party?” he asks.

“Yes. Well– It’s more of an elaborate excuse for my roommate to hang out with her crush, who she insists is not actually her crush.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she wants to spend more time with her, but she convinced herself that she doesn’t do romance, so she can’t just ask her out. It has to be a whole thing.”

“Naturally,” he says, amused. “And you’re organizing it?”

“Well, we both are, but I guess I was tasked with recruiting more guests, since we rarely do these types of things, it will be sort of like a patchwork situation…” 

Eve trails off once she realizes she’s rambling. 

Why are you telling him all these details?

“That sounds fun.”

Eve can’t tell if he genuinely thinks that, or if he’s just trying to be polite. There is a moment of silence, as they regard one another, her thoughts racing.

Ask him. 

Isn’t that weird though? We barely know each other.

If he thinks it’s weird, he can say no. Just ask him, goddammit.

“Anyways, enjoy your meal,” she blurts out before turning on her heel and walking away, cursing herself.

Good job.

When she eventually comes back to check up on him, she is still a bit embarrassed by her impressive inability to play it cool.

“Everything alright over here?”

“It’s perfect,” he says, as if their BLT were the most delicious meal known to man. Doubtful, but she appreciates the enthusiasm.

“Great, love to hear it. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, just the check, please, when you have a moment.”

Eve nods, ready to turn away, but then something inside her shifts. 

Fuck it.

“So um– About the party. I was just thinking that if you’re not doing anything Friday night, you could drop by if you wanted. It’s nothing crazy, just like ten or twelve people at our apartment. Could be a good way to meet some people since you’re new around here. No pressure, of course, I know this might be kinda weird cause we don’t really–”

“I’d love that,” he says with a genuineness that both reassures her and somehow makes her more nervous.

“Oh! Perfect. We’d love to have you. Um– It starts at seven, this Friday, like I said, and uh– Here, I’ll write down the address for you,” she says, fishing out her pen and notepad.

“You could also text it to me.”

She freezes for a moment and then can’t help but laugh as she puts the notepad away. The tension in her body eases along with the laughter and she feels more comfortable now in this familiar back-and-forth.

“Damn, that was smooth,” she admits, grabbing her phone instead.

“Yeah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” he says with a delightful grin.

Eve creates a new contact and hands the phone to him. When he returns it, she sees he saved his number as Astarion 🔥. She reads the name out loud, enjoying how it rolls off her tongue. 

“I’ve never met an Astarion before, it’s a pretty name. But why would you put fire next to it?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asks, flashing her his most charming smile.

Eve rolls her eyes and replaces the 🔥 with 🤓.

“I think this is more fitting,” she says, showing him the screen.

Astarion’s grin falters, eyes widening in genuine shock.

“I’ve never been more insulted in my life.”

“Why?” She checks the screen, then places it next to his face as her eyes move back and forth between the two. “It’s pretty accurate. You have the same glasses.”

“Hardly. And my teeth look nothing like that.”

Eve chuckles as she pockets her phone.

“What’s so funny?” he asks with a deep frown.

“It’s just a silly thing to get so defensive about.”

“I’m not defensive,” he scoffs. “It’s just–”

“I’ll be back with your check,” she cuts him off with a sweet smile, delighted by the annoyed huff he lets out as she starts walking away.

***

Eve spends the next three days dreading the consequences of her actions. 

Playful banter with a customer is one thing, but it’s something else entirely to have him in her home, on equal footing, with no predetermined structure and rehearsed pleasantries to fall back on. Eve is not sure how she feels about it, other than being utterly ridden with anxiety, though that’s nothing new.

On the upside, the apartment has never looked more pristine—a joint effort born out of the desire to make a good impression on their respective Special Guests, which neither of the women acknowledge out loud.

Suddenly, sooner than Eve would like, it’s the end of her Friday shift and she has two hours to pick up the final supplies for the party, make herself look presentable, and not smell like fries.

When she gets home, Lae’zel is finishing up her extensive hair routine. She’s wearing a boxy cropped tee and black bike shorts—nothing flashy, though Eve supposes the outfit is still more party-appropriate than Lae’s usual tracksuit.

Lae’zel takes the grocery bags off her hands and begins to unpack them, freezing when she pulls out an excessively large bottle of diet cherry Coke, which Eve put into her cart last-minute.

“What did you buy this for? This is a Pepsi household.”

“You never know, our guests might prefer Coke,” Eve says evasively before darting into the bathroom.

She hops into the shower and washes her freshly-dyed hair. Lae helped her with it last night after they both decided that her roots had gotten out of control and the intended mauve pink had washed out into an odd, pale shade of orange. 

When she makes it back to her room, she spends the next fifteen minutes trapped in a purgatory of indecision, before eventually settling for a sleeveless burgundy mock neck top and a pair of distressed baggy jeans. She puts on some green gel eyeliner and then wipes it off disgruntled, only to apply it again minutes later. After fiddling with her hair for way too long, she eventually puts the upper half of it into a bun, the rest brushing softly against her shoulders.

She almost jumps when the buzzer rings at 7 p.m. sharp.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Astarion. From the restaurant.”

“Thank you for specifying,” she chuckles as she buzzes him in. “Come on up.”

Her chest is tight with nerves as she lingers in the hallway. Finally, there is a light knock and something odd happens in Eve’s brain the moment she opens the door and sees him. For a second, all she can do is stare.

Astarion is wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, tucked into a pair of white wide-leg pants. It seems he opted for contacts today, because the familiar round glasses are gone, replaced by a pair of Lennon shades pushed up atop his orchestrated disarray of white curls.

“Hi,” he says with an awkward handwave, snapping her out of her stupor. 

She notices then the silver rings adorning his fingers, his well-groomed nails painted black. Eve suddenly feels very self-conscious about her torn jeans and bitten nails.

Before she gets a chance to respond, she hears Lae’zel’s voice from behind her:

“You’re early, Note Guy.”

Astarion checks his watch, brows furrowed.

“I thought you said seven.”

“No one ever shows up on time to parties,” Lae’zel says, “which means you’re early.”

“I see.” And then he cocks his head curiously when he says: “Wait, did you call me Note G–”

“Astarion, this is my roommate, Lae’zel,” Eve rushes in. “Lae’zel, this is Astarion.” She places emphasis on his actual name as she glares at her friend.

“I know,” Lae says and takes Astarion’s outstretched hand, gripping it harder than necessary. “Eve has told me a lot about you.”

“Has she now?” he asks, clearly amused. 

“Yes, I heard you’re rude to waitstaff.”

There is a moment of tense silence during which Eve wishes for the ground to come up and swallow her whole. But then Astarion pulls a bottle out of his tote bag and presents it to them with a weak smile.

“I brought gin.” 

“Great, come in, please.” Eve takes the bottle and beckons him inside. “Lae, could you check on the appetizers?”

“I don’t have to, they’re done.”

“Great, but could you please check? Just to make sure?”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes and heads to the kitchen, muttering something in Spanish under her breath.

Eve gives Astarion a very brief tour of the premises: shoes off (yes, ma’am), here’s the bathroom (got it), there’s the balcony if you want to smoke (I quit). Once that’s out of the way, she finds herself utterly at a loss for how to proceed. Perhaps Astarion senses that, because he looks around the empty apartment and offers:

“Can I help you with anything?”

“I think we’ve mostly got it covered–”

“You can be in charge of the music,” Lae’zel says, rejoining them with trays of food. She turns the TV on and navigates to device pairing. “But keep in mind that your Bluetooth privileges will be revoked if you fail,” she warns Astarion as she hands him the remote.

“I won’t let you down,” he says solemnly with an exaggerated salute. He turns to Eve with wide eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips as if to say she’s fun! When he’s done setting up, he asks: “Any requests?”

They both shake their heads. 

“Okay, well, this is a lot of pressure.” He laughs nervously. “Guess I’ll just queue things up as I go. Ummm– Maybe let’s start with something calmer and go from there… This should work.”

Sounds that Eve can only describe as funky fill their living room. She doesn’t recognize the title of the song nor the name of the artist when they show up on the TV.

“I like it,” she says with a nod after a couple moments.

Astarion seems visibly relieved.

“Lae’zel, what’s the verdict?” he asks. 

“It will do for now.”

“That’s the spirit!” he says with a wide grin. “So what sort of music do you usually listen to?”

“I like eighties rock,” Lae’zel says.

“That makes sense, somehow. And you?” he asks, turning to Eve.

“I don’t really listen to music.”

“What do you mean?” Astarion asks, sounding genuinely baffled. 

“I don’t know,” she says, suddenly feeling embarrassed, like she failed some secret social test. “I guess I’ll just listen to whatever is playing, but I don’t really seek it out on my own. What about you?”

Apparently, Astarion listens to everything, which doesn’t exactly overlap with her nothing, but they somehow manage to keep the conversation going for a bit until Lakrissa mercifully shows up with her four friends. 

They all seem lovely and completely ignore Eve’s earlier insistence that they didn’t have to bring anything. Danis’ fiancé (Becky, was it? Eve already forgot half their names) hands her a baking dish of brownies, which Eve eyes cautiously.

“Are these…?”

“No, nothing funny in there!” the woman rushes to explain. “Well, except for a whole lot of chocolate and some raspberries. I just love baking! Danis and I are saving up to open a cat café.”

Shortly after, they’re joined by Dammon and Rath, followed by Minsc, who shows up with sunflowers.

“Eve, my friend, these are for you!” he bellows excitedly.

“Aw, you didn’t have to,” she says as she takes the ridiculously large bouquet off his hands.

“Oh, but I did have to! You are much like a sunflower, you see. Always brightening up Minsc’s day at work. It’s the least Minsc could do.”

Eve is not sure how exactly she brightens up his day, since they rarely interact and she is always in a sour mood at work. But the sincerity in Minsc’s tone leaves no space for disagreement.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “Boo helped pick the perfect bouquet.”

“I love it, thank you so much! And how did he help you, exactly?”

“Minsc hovered his hand above the flower display until Boo squeaked. It was much like a claw machine, where Minsc’s hand was the claw, and Boo was the child with a quarter.”

“You make a fantastic team then,” is all Eve can think to say to that as she nods thoughtfully and invites him inside.

The party slowly settles into a comfortable rhythm as people chat, eat, and drink, all to the sounds of Astarion’s improvised playlist. Eve is thoroughly relieved that despite not knowing one another, their guests manage to mingle and enjoy each other’s company.

At one point, Lae’zel pulls her aside to say:

“Eve, there is a rodent in our home.” 

She points to Minsc and sure enough, there is Boo, perched contentedly on the man’s muscular shoulder, looking comically tiny in comparison. 

“Oh that’s just Boo,” Eve explains with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, I heard he’s very well-trained. He won a bunch of gold medals at the Hamster Olympics.”

“That’s not a thing that exists.”

“Maybe not. But Minsc’s anecdotes are always so fun and detailed, I just don’t have the heart to fact-check him.”

She leaves Lae’zel confused and heads to the kitchen to fish out her designated drink for the night from the back of the fridge. It’s an overpriced craft IPA from a local brewery, because if she’s only going to have one, she might as well splurge. A single drink is all she ever allows herself, painfully aware that she cannot afford to let her guard down, lest she starts openly spilling information about her life that only a select few are privy to.

Jen shows up fashionably late, a fact that Lae’zel seems both relieved and distressed by. And yet, it is not too long before the two of them are off in a corner together, laughing and completely ignoring the commotion around them. 

Eve, on the other hand, finds herself pulled into a discussion about movies, which shortly leads to her and Astarion both freaking out about the third installment of the Knives Out series, the title of which was just announced a couple weeks ago.

A loud chime erupts from Lakrissa’s phone and she pulls it out of her pocket.

“It’s BeReal time!” she announces, angling her phone to take a selfie with the group. 

But before she can take the picture, Eve grabs the nearest chip bowl and excuses herself, rushing to the kitchen. She runs into Jen and Lae, the latter mixing their drinks, the former studying the space curiously.

“What’s this about?” Jen asks, pointing to a white board on their fridge.

Aside from more mundane notes like what kitchen staples they’re running low on, the board houses a list, sectioned off in the corner, that reads:

- ghost
- poet
- ghost poet
- philosophy professor (tenured)
- retired living statue
- PI
- alien studying our culture

“It’s about Eve’s old man,” Lae’zel says, looking over her shoulder.

“He is not my old man,” Eve clarifies and then regales Jen with the tales of her favorite regular, making sure to quote some of his signature lines that he always refuses to elaborate on.

“We have a running list of theories about who he might be,” Lae’zel adds.

Jen hums curiously, then grabs a marker and adds another item to the bottom of the list: god of death(?)

“What do you mean?” Eve asks.

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.” Jen shrugs.

“You say the weirdest things sometimes,” Lae’zel says, shaking her head, as she hands her the drink.

“And you love it.” Jen takes the cup and turns on her heel to go join a conversation between Lakrissa’s friends.

Lae just stands there for a moment, staring blankly ahead.

“Well done,” Eve says, patting her on the shoulder.

When she returns to the living room, she catches Astarion’s gaze and he comes up to her, phone in one hand, drink in the other.

“There you are! I was thinking I could put on some Chappell Roan to liven up the crowd. What do you think, Eve?” he asks before taking a very generous sip of his gin and tonic.

“Who is Chappell Roan?”

Astarion drops his phone, gasping dramatically as his free hand clutches at his chest.

“You heathen! You did not just ask me that.”

Eve can’t help but laugh at his theatrics.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You’ve definitely heard some of her songs,” Rath chimes in. “Do you know Pink Pony Club?”

“Oh, that one! I’m sorry, I have nothing against her, but if I have to listen to that song one more time, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Excuse you, it’s a great song,” Astarion mutters as he picks his phone off the ground and checks for damage.

“It might be, but it gets so overplayed on the radio, and I have to listen to it at work, which tends to ruin a lot of songs for me.”

“Hmmm… Okay, that’s fair,” he decides, graciously. “So I’m assuming Good Luck, Babe! is off the table, too. Let’s see…” He scrolls on his phone until he’s satisfied. “Oh! This will do. Eve, your task for this weekend is to listen to this album and let me know what you think. Where is your phone?”

She opens Spotify and hands the phone to him. 

“Why do you have Spotify Premium if you don’t listen to music?”

“Podcasts,” she explains. “And ambient noise.”

“You’re fascinating,” he says, clicking something. “Here, I saved it for you.”

The song that’s currently playing is mellowing out and Astarion hands the phone back to her before looking around the room.

“Jen!” he exclaims, pointing at the woman in question with a surprising level of familiarity.

She turns in their direction.

“Huh?”

“You look like you might know the lyrics. I’m counting on you to sing along.”

“What is that supposed to–”

But then the song starts playing and Jen’s eyes widen with excitement as she laughs.

She way a playboy, Brigitte Bardot–

“That’s a weird way to out me, but you’re not wrong!”

She showed me things I didn’t know–

Astarion leans in towards Eve, brushing lightly against her side.

“I think she outed herself when she was kissing Lae’zel on the couch,” he whispers into her ear. “But what do I know?”

She did it right there, out on the deck–

Astarion pulls away to sing the next line in unison with Jen:

“Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck!”

Apparently everyone but Eve is quite fond of Chappell Roan, because more and more people start getting up and singing along, though the only person who manages to hit all the notes is Jen. During the chorus, she gets up onto the coffee table and dances, looking absolutely ethereal. Eve finds herself entranced as she watches her sway and sing, but it is Lae’zel who looks like the whole world just blurred around her and only Jen remains in focus.

The people demand more dance songs and the DJ is happy to deliver. Eve dims the lights and then leans against the wall, sipping her beer and watching with amusement as the guests lose their minds over a song that apparently holds no small amount of nostalgia. 

Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine–

Astarion catches her gaze and pushes past Dammon and Lae’zel to get to her. 

Just as she puts the bottle up to her lips for another sip, he grabs it and deposits it on a low table beside her.

“Excuse you–” she protests, however weakly.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, putting his hand out as he bows with an exaggerated flourish.

“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs, hoping the blush in her cheeks is not as obvious in the low light. “Sorry to disappoint yet again, but I can’t dance. Comes with being a heathen.”

He smiles, rising back to his full height, looking at her curiously like she is a puzzle he hopes to solve one day.

“You don’t need to know how to dance to enjoy it,” he assures her. “You can just jump around and sing along, and it’s great.”

“But I don’t know the lyrics!” she yells over the people singing what she assumes to be the chorus.

“They’re super repetitive, you’ll catch on!”

And so, with no arguments left, Eve takes Astarion’s hand and lets him pull her into the flurry of laughing, dancing bodies, yelling in unison:

“STARTED OUT WITH A KISS, HOW DID IT END UP LIKE THIS?”

“IT WAS ONLY A KISS,” Astarion shouts and then points at Eve in a your turn gesture.

“IT WAS ONLY A KISS!” they sing together.

Once the song ends, some people go to sit down, but as soon as the next one starts, they change their mind, because of course you can’t not dance to that. And so it goes on, Astarion queueing things up on the spot, balancing his musical responsibilities with making sure his glass is never empty. He intersperses throwback hits with more recent songs, making it impossible to catch a breath.

It’s almost midnight by the time their collective energy fizzles out and then they’re back to sitting around, chatting, and drinking, utterly spent. 

Eve is listening, captivated, to another of Minsc’s anecdotes of doubtful veracity, when she gets distracted by Astarion’s agitated voice. He is sitting on the floor, engrossed in some heated discussion with Danis, and he has been getting increasingly louder and more blunt with each passing minute.

“What do you mean it comes with the job?! Harassment? Oh for fuck’s sake, you can’t be serious!”

She doesn’t hear what Danis is trying to tell him, but Astarion shortly cuts him off:

“Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean anyone is entitled to their time and attention 24/7!”

Eve is not sure what they’re talking about exactly, but she can’t shake the impression that there is something odd under the layer of irritation, like this matter is important to him on more than just the ideological level.

“Did someone knock?” Lakrissa asks, prompting Eve to look away from Astarion.

“Huh?” 

But then there is a louder pounding at the door that cuts through the music, followed by the unmistakable voice of their upstairs neighbor:

“OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR.”

“Hi, Aradin,” Eve says sweetly when she grants him his wish. “Would you like to join us?”

“What I would like is to go to sleep. It’s one in the fucking morning, Eve, don’t make me call the cops.”

“Alright alright. We’ll be quiet.”

She closes the door unceremoniously in his face, then asks Astarion to turn down the music. He mumbles something incomprehensive, searching for his phone, but eventually complies.

Most guests decide to take this as their cue to leave, thanking Eve and Lae profusely for the invitation. Eve hugs people goodbye, but Lae just waves her hand from the couch, too invested in the hushed conversation she’s having with Jen.

Danis gets up from the floor, stumbling a little, and Astarion tries to follow. He props himself on a chair but loses his balance, the chair flipping over and clattering to the floor. With the lights on, the music quiet, and the crowd dispersed, his unfortunate state quickly becomes apparent. 

“Are you okay?” Eve asks as she rushes to pull him up from the floor.

He manages to stand up, swaying a little, his hand grabbing her shoulder for balance.

“Sorry ‘bout that…” he slurs as he takes his hand away.

“You can go lay down in my room if you’re not feeling well,” she offers.

He barks out a laugh.

“How forward of you.”

“Yup, okay, I think it’s time to go home.”

With Minsc’s help, she gathers Astarion’s things and manages to lead him outside and to her car.

“Do you wish for Minsc to come with you?” the man asks after he deposits Astarion onto her passenger seat and buckles him in.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you. And thank you again for the beautiful flowers, they made my day.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” Minsc says with a wide grin.

They exchange their goodbyes and Eve gets inside, the small space already reeking of alcohol. Astarion is leaning against the window with his eyes closed. 

“What’s your address?” she asks as she starts the car and plugs her phone in.

“124– Wait. 120–” He groans. “Something like that.”

“Cool. Do you have your license on you?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Astarion, please don’t make me go through your pockets.”

He groans again before fishing out his wallet from the tote bag and handing it to her.

Eve searches for his license, finding instead a non-driver ID. She doesn’t particularly want to pry, but it only takes one glance to learn quite a lot about him. Astarion Ancunín, the ID informs her. He somehow managed to look good in the photo, which Eve supposes shouldn’t come as a surprise. He was born only four years before her, on June 21st. 

Eve reads the date again, then looks at the screen on the center console of the car.

06/22/2024. 1:21 AM. 

A bittersweet feeling settles in her chest as she looks up at Astarion, who seems to have fallen asleep against the window. It’s almost flattering in a way, that he would choose her company, though a part of her wishes he could have spent his birthday with someone closer, not just some random waitress and her patchwork of friends. And yet, she is glad that he didn’t have to be alone. After all, he seemed like he was enjoying himself, even if this conclusion to the night is less than ideal.

Eve returns her attention to the document in her hand, and the address she was looking for in the first place. She types it into the navigation and notes with relief that it’s only a 12-minute drive across town. 

Astarion remains quiet as she pulls out of the parking lot. 

But it only takes two minutes or so before he peels himself off the window and sits up, informing her in a pained voice:

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

Oh, fuck me.

Since she can’t easily pull over at the moment, Eve reaches back to grab one of her reusable bags from the backseat and hands it to him.

Astarion bends forward and clutches the bag tightly as an unfortunate sound erupts from his throat, the sour smell of vomit immediately filling the car. Eve rolls all the windows down, the fresh air bringing a faint sort of relief.

It continues for a while before Astarion rests his forehead on the dashboard and groans:

“Fuck, you must think I’m a mess.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I jusss– Guess I don’t really know my limits.”

“So I take it you don’t drink too often, then?”

His body starts to shake and Eve is not entirely sure if he’s laughing or crying.

“No... He never let me. Didn’t want the alcohol to dull the pain.” 

Eve grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white as she glances to the side, a raw mixture of pain and understanding in her eyes. But Astarion is not looking at her as he cradles his face in his hands and chokes out an apology:

“I’m so sorry, Eve.”

They stop at a red light and to distract him, Eve grabs her phone and opens Spotify.

“What’s your favorite band?”

“Bah,” he mumbles against his palms.

“Bah?” she asks, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

“AAAA–bah.”

“Oh, okay,” she says and starts typing into the search bar.

“A-B–”

“Yes, I got it.”

“B-A.”

She selects the top album that comes up, and the speakers hum to life as the first song opens with a piano slide. Astarion lifts himself ever so slightly to look at the screen in the center of the console.

“900 weeks on the UK Albums Chart,” he mumbles, sounding surprisingly coherent all of a sudden. “Longest running top-100 album of all time.”

“Hm,” Eve hums noncommittally, unsure what to add.

“21 times Platinum as of this January.” 

“Oh, wow. What does that even mean, 21 times Platinum?”

“It means it fucking slaps.” And to emphasize his point, he throws up yet again.

Anybody could be that guy,
Night is young and the music’s high–

The navigation says 6 minutes, but Eve hopes to get there sooner, given how empty the roads are at this hour.

“Only se-ven-teeeeen,” Astarion mumbles beside her.

He hums for the remainder of the song, somehow managing to stay on pitch. 

Eve doesn’t recognize the next track. She feels her muscles tense once the chorus comes on.

Breaking up is never easy, I know,
But I have to go.
Knowing me, knowing you,
It’s the best I can do–

His face flashes before her eyes. The look of pure disbelief when they took him away. The betrayal. The disappointment.

“After everything I’ve done for you–”

Eve skips to the next song, glad to hear no protests from Astarion. She takes a deep breath as she eyes the navigation.

“We’re only two minutes away.”

“Why are you so kind?” he slurs.

Eve’s throat tightens. Kind. Nice. Good. Words that feel like a mistake whenever they are used to describe her. Like a slip of the tongue.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

But even in his drunken stupor, Astarion is too insightful for his own good.

“Not an answer.”

And then, because she knows he won’t remember this conversation come morning, Eve says:

“Because I finally have a choice.”

Astarion hums semi-thoughtfully but, to her relief, doesn’t continue down this line of questioning. 

The navigation informs her she is on the correct street, and that Astarion’s place should be coming up soon. But instead of the apartment buildings she was expecting, it’s a series of single-family houses.

“Your destination is on your right,” the voice informs her.

It’s a small house, all the lights are off. 

“Is this you?” she asks, wondering if she somehow mistyped the address.

But Astarion hums a confirmation when he lifts his head to look out the window. 

Eve pulls into the driveway and helps him get out of the car. She watches patiently as he struggles to fit the key into the door, before finally offering to do it for him.

Once they’re inside, he sways dangerously, and she reaches out to support him, which is apparently a mistake. 

“Don’t touch me,” he barks, and Eve lets go instantly. She stands there, stunned, as she watches him stumble into the living room before collapsing onto the couch with his shoes on.

Eve takes a deep breath and heads to the kitchen to get him a cup of water. When she doesn’t find a medicine cabinet anywhere, she runs back to her car to grab some Advil. 

“You should take this,” she says when she returns, placing the pills on the coffee table by the cup. “Future Astarion will thank you.”

Present Astarion groans his dissent.

“At least take out your contacts?” 

No response this time. 

She sighs as she looks around the space. It’s not at all what she expected his home to look like. Astarion is so expressive when it comes to his clothes and general demeanor, but this—this feels so bland and impersonal. It’s as if he got the house along with all the staging furniture and then didn’t bother to change a single thing about it.

Light snoring reaches her from the couch and Eve decides she has overstayed her welcome. When the door locks behind her, she stands there for a moment, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air in an attempt to ground herself, to drown out the echo of Astarion’s words, running on loop in her mind. 

“He never let me. Didn’t want the alcohol to dull the pain.”

A car drives past and it snaps her back to the present. She makes her way back to poor Gizmo to assess the damage. Astarion’s aim left a lot to be desired, judging from the stains on the floor and car seat which become apparent in the light. She tosses the grocery bag into a bin by his driveway (it’s reusable, sure, but is it that reusable?) and then tries to clean up the rest with some wet wipes, but it’s a losing battle.

When she eventually makes it home, the lights are off in the living room, but she sees a thin slither of light coming from underneath Lae’s door. She walks over, hoping to get all of this off her chest, but as she reaches out to knock, she hears muffled conversation and Lae’zel laughing softly. Despite everything, she can’t help but smile as she takes her hand back. 

Chapter Text

The judge clears his throat before addressing the defendant:

“Enver Gortash, the jury having found you guilty of murder in the first degree, trafficking in firearms, forced labor…”

Eve’s throat tightens as she listens to the list of charges, wondering how much shorter it could have been, had she found the courage to act sooner. Had she not been a coward, a mad dog adoring the hand yanking at its leash.

She is safe now, or so they keep telling her. Tucked away in a different building, her back aching against the plastic chair as she watches the proceedings through a livestream.

But despite the physical distance between them, she still feels Enver’s grip on her, as if at any moment he could reach through the screen and drag her right back to rock bottom.

Eve feels outside herself, the judge’s monotonous voice fading into the background. She doesn’t want to focus on the charges, doesn’t want to think about how many of them she was complicit in, how many she could have prevented. Instead, she fixates on the blurry silhouette of the man she fell in love with all those years ago—the first person who made her feel understood. 

The first person who made her feel disposable.

The judge eventually reaches the end of the list, his tone assuming a finality that snaps Eve back to the present.

“...I hereby remand you to the custody of the Metropolitan Correctional Center where you will be held, pending sentencing.”

She watches, transfixed, as two officers approach Enver, prompting him to stand up before closing a pair of metal handcuffs around his wrists—a sight she is sure she’ll be replaying in her mind for years. But before Eve can begin to parse the disarray of emotions that surge in her chest like a tidal wave, Enver’s manic laughter tears forcefully through her thoughts. He struggles against the guards, barking out a plea that feels more like a command:

“Let me talk to her. Let me fucking talk to her.”

Eve grasps her thigh, nails sinking into the flesh as her eyes trace his movements in the courtroom, not daring to blink.

As they escort him away, he spots the camera and looks straight into it, the sinking feeling gripping at Eve’s chest suddenly unbearable. 

He is close now, so close that despite the low video quality, she can see the umber of his eyes, the thin line of the tattoo running down his throat. She swallows hard, reaching up to tug at her turtleneck, pulling it up higher.

“I know you’re watching this.” There is a sick sort of fondness in his tone as he addresses her directly. “After everything I’ve done for you, everything we’ve built together, you can’t even look me in the eye when you fuck me over?”

Gavel against wood. 

“Silence!” 

A commotion.

The guards manage to drag him away from the camera, but there is nothing they can do to stop the vitriol spewing from his lips.

“You think you have the moral high ground, sweetheart? We both know what you’ve done. You might have fooled them all, but you can’t fool yourself, can you? I hope it eats away at you, you conniving little bitch!”

Eve gasps hard as she jolts awake.

Her chest rising and falling frantically, she sits up and looks around the room, noticing the details that begin to ground her. 

Instead of the hard plastic chair she feels the softness of the mattress, the bedding gentle against her skin. Her eyes trace the swirling shapes of wildflowers that adorn her comforter as she takes a deep breath.

She is here. Now.

The trial is long over. It’s Saturday morning and she’s working the closing shift. There was a party last night and–

Fuck.

Eve groans lightly as she remembers driving Astarion home, and the subsequent state of her car. She needs to deal with that as soon as possible, before the heat rises back again after the night. She gets out of bed, the lingering spectre of her dream drowned out by the urgency of the task ahead.

When she emerges from her room, she finds that Lae’zel has already cleaned up after the party and is now doing her daily yoga practice—the familiar space and her best friend’s routine reminding her that she is, in fact, safe.

“Thank you for cleaning.”

“Thank you for everything else,” Lae’zel responds from her downward dog.

Eve gets ready for the day and fixes a quick breakfast before rejoining Lae in the living room with a cup of coffee and some eggs on toast.

“So, given how inseparable the two of you were last night, I’m assuming your plan worked?” she asks as she settles down on the couch and takes a bite.

“It did,” Lae’zel responds, her legs folded up and over her head. “And try to keep your voice down, Jen is still asleep.” 

Eve somehow manages not to choke on her toast. She eyes Lae carefully, not daring to believe what she just heard.

“Oh, is she now?”

“Yes, why are you acting strange?”

“Do I have to pull out the sacred text again? Lae’zel’s Sex Codex, Rule Number Four: No staying over.”

“I’m afraid the Codex has become obsolete,” Lae’zel says solemnly as she shifts into a spinal twist.

Eve gasps dramatically, placing the back of her hand to her forehead as if she’s in danger of fainting.

“Oh but the texts, the ancient texts…”

“It’s the dawn of a new era, Eve, one that holds no place for such strict dogma.”

“Then I have no choice but to accept it…” Eve sighs, sipping her coffee. “So, in this new era, will you still insist that you don’t have a…” she lowers her voice into a dramatic whisper “...crush on Jen?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Lae’zel huffs, her patience wearing thin.

“I do, actually. I’ll leave you to your delusions.”

Eve downs the rest of the coffee and packs a bag before starting the dreaded walk back to her car.

The interior has already begun to warm up, making the smell unbearable. Her efforts to clean up last night, however valiant, didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Resigned, Eve rolls the windows down and heads to the nearest car wash.

The woman at the counter informs her that they might need to use an ozone treatment to deodorize her car, bringing Eve’s total up to nearly $200. Three bad days in tips, or two good ones. Delightful.

It will take about two and a half hours—time Eve uses to go on her stupid daily walk for her stupid mental health. She catches a bus to a mild hiking trail nearby. Lae’zel would be proud.

Once there, she puts on headphones, ready to search for the latest episode of her favorite podcast. But when she opens the app, she sees the album that Astarion saved for her last night. She puts it on, letting Chappell swipe her away on a journey of romantic highs and lows, allowing Eve to forget about her life for a while.

About an hour into the walk, her phone buzzes:

The dots disappear and reappear a couple times before he eventually asks:

Eve sighs, trying to figure out how much to tell him. She leans against a tree on the side of the path and starts typing rapidly:

She decides to omit his weird comment when she suggested he could rest in her room.

And mentioned a him who sounded like the worst person on Earth (well, the second-worst), though perhaps now is not the time.

Before she can send out an explanation for why it cost so much, the ozone generator and all, her phone buzzes with a notification. Astarion just venmoed her the money. Eve deletes all that and just says:

Eve scoffs, not without amusement. She starts typing her response, but then catches a glimpse of something white and fluffy running up to her. Scratch, the collar proclaims. Eve grins as she scratches behind his ear, before the owner catches up to them and beckons the dog back, apologizing profusely. She reassures them it’s fine and returns her attention to her phone.

Eve chuckles as she slips the phone into her pocket, resuming the hike with a fresh spring in her step.

***

Once she picks up her car, she heads to Panera for lunch, and by the time she makes it back to the apartment, it’s almost 3 p.m. The last thing she expects at this hour is for Jen to still be there, and yet–

“Hi, Jen!” 

She finds the two women on the couch, looking at something on Lae’s laptop.

“Hi, Eve.”

“Did you have a good time last night?” She smiles, looking pointedly at Lae’zel.

“Mhm,” Jen responds weakly.

There is a palpable tension in her voice, and it doesn’t escape Eve’s attention that the woman’s grip on the laptop tightens and she looks nervously to Lae.

“Eve do you have a moment?” Lae’zel says calmly. “We need to talk about Astarion.”

“Well, that sounds ominous,” Eve laughs, but Lae’zel’s serious expression doesn’t budge. “Look, I know he got quite drunk last night–”

“It’s not about–” Lae tries but Eve rambles on:

“...but I was just texting him and–”

“Eve, he killed a man.”

Lae’zel’s bluntness stills the words that were coming out of Eve’s mouth. Her stomach drops, shards of ice splintering in her ribcage.

“What– What are you–” she stutters.

Lae’zel takes the laptop from Jen and turns it around so Eve can read the big, bulky headline of an online article:

DIRECTOR, PRODUCER CAZADOR SZARR DEAD AT 52

Lae switches to another tab:

SZARR’S SPOUSE ADMITS TO KILLING. FACES FIRST-DEGREE MURDER CHARGES

And then another:

WHO IS ASTARION SZARR? 

Eve just stands there, staring at the photo beneath the headline. The man’s hair is darker and he is not wearing glasses, but other than that, the likeness is undeniable.

“But that’s not his name,” she claims, however weakly. “I saw his ID. His last name is Ancunín.”

“The ID could be fake,” Lae says.

“Or he could have just changed his name,” Jen suggests quietly. “Understandable, given… everything.”

“Do you want to sit down?” Lae’zel asks. 

They shift to make some space and Eve finally wills her muscles to move, settling beside Lae’zel as she stares at the screen.

“He was cleared of all charges,” Jen explains. “Apparently he had a really good lawyer. And nearly a decade’s worth of evidence for ongoing domestic abuse. I guess one day he couldn’t take it anymore and he just… snapped. Usually to argue for self-defense you have to prove imminent threat to life at the moment of the killing. But it wasn’t quite that, it was just… I’m not sure. The public opinion was split. The first jury was hung, but then there was a retrial and that time they found him not guilty. The whole thing dragged on for over a year.”

Eve doesn’t respond, her vision blurry as she keeps staring at the photo. Jen takes that as a sign to continue:

“I was following the trial pretty closely back when it was going on. I thought he seemed familiar last night. Astarion is not a common name, but I thought maybe it was just a coincidence. But looking at this now… it’s definitely him.”

The blunt tension inside her gives way to irrational anger, bubbling up dangerously as it searches for an outlet. She gets up abruptly, her voice breaking when she asks:

“Why are you telling me this? What are you saying? That what, this makes him a bad person? That I can’t be friends with him because he killed someone who ruined his life?”

She cuts herself off before she says too much.

I’ve done worse. So why are you still here?

Lae’zel stands up, Jen correctly assuming she should stay out of this. When Lae starts talking, it seems it’s taking her a lot of effort to remain calm:

“I’m telling you, Eve, because this is not the type of information you keep from your best friend. I am in no position to judge his character and I don’t support the hate that people spew at him in the fucking comments sections, all these conspiracy theories that he faked it all and killed for the inheritance. What I am saying is that there is a lot about him and his life that you don’t know. What I am saying is that he killed a man. And in your situation, it seems like this is important information to have.”

Eve swallows, suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. But when she doesn’t respond, Lae’zel looks at her curiously and asks:

“I assume he hasn’t mentioned any of this to you?”

“Of course you would know me from somewhere. Are you one of those true crime freaks?”

Eve laughs nervously.

“Ummm… there might have been hints, I guess. He did say some weird stuff when I first met him.”

She relays their first encounter at the restaurant, Lae’zel’s eyes growing wider with each word.

“And you just… ignored that?” Lae’zel asks, trying and failing to not sound judgemental.

“I guess I did. In my defense, he looked like he was going through something and he wasn’t making a lot of sense. Plus, I’ve heard customers tell me weirder shit. A week ago this guy wouldn’t shut up about seeing Mothman on his roof.”

“That’s impossible,” Jen chimes in. “Mothman is endemic to West Virginia.”

Lae’zel sighs and rubs her temples, muttering:

“Estoy rodeada de boludas.” She takes a deep breath and says, “You really need to find a different job.”

“I know. And, to be fair, if he was some dangerous serial killer on the loose, he wouldn’t be yapping about it in a restaurant, so I just assumed he was not a threat. Just an odd guy, who looked thoroughly tired of life.” 

And perhaps it is that bone-deep exhaustion that she recognized within him, that made him seem familiar when they first met. The longer she thought about it, the more she felt that Astarion had a certain air about him, one of a person who has been through something dreadful, who knows true helplessness—an elusive gut feeling that his drunken confession last night only seemed to confirm. What she hasn’t seen a trace of, however, is cruelty—and that Eve knows all too well. 

She recalls how he stood up for her in the parking lot that one night, not daring to touch her even if it would have made his performance more convincing. How he never brought it up again, never made her feel like she owed him something.

“I trust him,” she says with a decisiveness that surprises even herself. “And I’m seeing him tomorrow night, just so you know.”

Lae’zel doesn’t respond at first, she just assesses her intently. 

“And before you say anything: no, it’s not a date. It’s literally just… his way of apologizing for puking in my car.”

“What a catch,” Lae notes dryly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Need I remind you about your 25th birthday at Moonrise?”

“I, for one, would love to hear about your 25th birthday at Moonrise,” says Jen, thoroughly amused. 

Lae’zel turns around to glare at her, Jen’s smile widening in response.

“Point taken,” Lae’zel admits reluctantly when she turns back to Eve. “And… are you planning to tell him about all this?” She gestures vaguely to the laptop behind her. “To tell him that you know?”

Now, that’s a question Eve can’t even begin to ponder, not with how scattered her thoughts are in the light of these revelations.

“I don’t know. Probably not tomorrow, because how do you even bring that up, in a restaurant of all places? And I don’t even know if I’ll see him again after that and I… I just don’t know. Maybe there is no point in bringing it up, maybe it won’t even matter.”

Lae’zel nods thoughtfully, a tinge of sadness in her gaze, as if she wants to help but doesn’t know how.

“I trust your judgement, but can you just… share your location with me, please?”

“I will.”

“And you should call Wyll.”

“I know.”

Lae’zel sighs and pulls her into a hug.

“We were going to walk down to those food trucks by Park Row, do you want to join?” she mutters against Eve’s hair.

“No, I’m good,” Eve says when they pull away. “I have a lot to think about.”

When Jen and Lae’zel leave, Eve heads to her room and calls Agent Ravengard.

“Hello, Eve. Is everything okay? We weren’t scheduled for a call today.”

“Hi. Um, yes, I’m fine. Do you have a moment?”

“Always at your service,” he says in that warm tone that never fails to calm her nerves.

“So, I know that I can’t be in regular contact with anyone who, to my knowledge, has a criminal record.”

“But…?” he asks, voice tinted with worry.

“But what about someone who faced felony charges but was eventually acquitted?”

“That doesn’t break the rules of the program, no. Would you like us to run a background check on this person just to be sure?”

“Um, maybe? But don’t tell me what you find out exactly, just let me know if I have to break contact.”

“No problem. Do you have their name, date of birth…?”

“Astarion Ancunín. Formerly Szarr.”

In the silence that follows, it quickly becomes clear that the name struck some chord with him.

“Mhm,” Wyll hums in a tone that doesn’t betray any particular emotion, as he begins typing.

“Born June 21st, 1992.”

“On it. I will get back to you in an hour tops, probably sooner. Now, Eve, are you and Mr. Ancunín… involved in any way?”

“Is this your polite way to ask if we’re fucking?”

Wyll is silent for a moment, then clears his throat and says:

“I meant romantic involvement.” 

“No. And we’re also not fucking, just for the record.”

“I will take note of that, thank you. Would you describe your relationship as friendly, then?”

“I don’t think there is a relationship to describe. But yes, friends would be the closest term, I guess.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re making new friends, Eve. Now, if your not-quite-friendship with Mr. Ancunín–”

“Astarion,” she corrects him, the honorific somehow making all of this even stranger.

“...with Astarion, grows stronger, I just want to remind you that it is up to your discretion how much you choose to share with him. But if you wouldn’t mind, please keep me updated on how this is developing, because it might influence my risk assessments.”

“Of course.”

“Now, how much do you know about the Szarr case?”

“Not a lot.”

“You don’t have to read about it of course, but I just need to warn you that Astarion was in the public eye for a while, given how much of a household name Szarr was in the film industry. Of course, the news cycle is insatiable. Once the trial ended, there was some coverage of the fallout, but people quickly lost interest and moved on to the next exciting new drama. Still, some might recognize him and well… I just want you to be conscious of the non-insignificant risk of garnering unwanted attention if you’re in public with him.”

“He looks a lot different now,” she says, thinking back to the photo from the arrest. Of course, that didn’t prevent Jen from recognizing him, so she supposes Wyll does have a point. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

And then his voice softens, devoid of the practiced lingo when he adds:

“Now, that being said… Eve, at the risk of overstepping, let me just add: you don’t have to choose solitude. I understand how hard it can be, nay, impossible, to build a genuine connection with someone without being vulnerable and honest. We want you to be able to lead a normal, fulfilling life. I want that for you.”

It flusters her, the genuineness with which he outlines this imagined future, this normal, fulfilling life, whatever that means for people like her.

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself here, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

And when she doesn’t say anything else, he continues:

“Perhaps I am. My apologies. I will text you about that background check. Now, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Alright. Remember we’re still on for coffee, Monday at 4.”

“Yes. My favorite part of the week.”

He chuckles softly at that.

“Oh I’m sure it is. Take care, Eve. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you. And Wyll–”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for everything.”

“You’re very welcome.” 

Wyll hangs up and Eve stares out the window for a second before reaching for her laptop and googling the name Szarr.

The face that stares at her from the screen is unfamiliar. She scrolls through a list of his movies: it’s that specific brand of pretentious cinema about men who feel deeply misunderstood by the world and act like that’s an excuse to treat everyone around them poorly. The kind of cinema where female characters are props. The kind that, for some reason unknown to her, keeps getting nominated for major awards.

Date of death: July 19th 2022. Shortly after she was relocated here. 

When she googles Astarion’s old name, most of the pictures she sees are either from the arrest or the trial. But then she finds one red carpet photo of the two of them, from the premiere of Szarr’s 2019 film Ascension.

If it weren’t for the familiar steel blue of Astarion’s eyes, she might not have recognized him. His hair is a light brown color, slicked back with inordinate amounts of product. He is wearing fitted leather pants and a silk blouse with an excessively deep v-shaped neckline, revealing half of his pale chest. The whole getup is skin tight, showing off his slender figure and leaving very little to the imagination. 

He looks like something to be paraded around, yet another pretty accessory to Cazador’s ornate three-piece suit. Cazador’s jet black hair is similarly slicked back, thin lips turned up in a faint smirk. His right hand rests on Astarion’s shoulder in a manner that feels more possessive than affectionate.

“Don’t touch me.”

Despite her better judgement, Eve plunges head-first down a rabbit hole of articles, links, and the cesspit of comments that she promised herself she wouldn’t look at. It’s like a trance, her eyes skimming the pages, thoughts racing faster than she can process them.

CAZADOR SZARR FOUND DEAD IN L.A. PENTHOUSE 

SZARR TRIAL TO START JAN 9TH. WHAT DO WE KNOW ABOUT THE SUSPECT?

trophy husband

NEW EVIDENCE IN THE SZARR CASE

“Of course you would know me from somewhere. What else did I expect?”

IN LOVING MEMORY: HOLLYWOOD REFLECTS ON SZARR’S LIFE AND WORK

Let’s face it, he is NOTHING without Cazador

ASTARION SZARR CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES IN GROUNDBREAKING VERDICT

i’ll fucking kill him

WHAT DOES THE SZARR RULING MEAN FOR THE FUTURE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE CASES?

Sue his ass for defamation!!!

“He never let me drink, you know. Didn’t want the alcohol to dull the pain.”

HUSBAND INHERITS THE SZARR ESTATE

Karma will get him eventually.

ASTARION SZARR SPOTTED IN PUBLIC FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE TRIAL

what a sad little man 

SZARR PENTHOUSE BOUGHT BY KANYE WEST

“You move halfway across the country to finally get a break for once–”

ASTARION SZARR WAIVES RIGHTS TO SZARR’S FILMS

get cazadors name out of ur mouth u filhty gold diggin fa–

Eve’s phone chimes and she slams her laptop shut, tossing it away from her on the bed as if it burned.

Eve lets the relief wash over her, closing her eyes and counting to ten. When she reopens them, she types a quick thank you before reaching back for her laptop. She closes all tabs and clears her browser history as if that could somehow erase this knowledge she didn’t want to begin with.

Her gaze lingers on the time in the corner of the screen. 3:41 PM.

Fuck. 

She’s going to be late for work again.

Chapter Text

Eve needs to leave within ten minutes if she doesn’t want to be late. But instead, here she is, in nothing but her underwear, staring at the contents of her closet scattered haphazardly across the bed. 

Perhaps it’s like one of those puzzles where if she looks hard enough, an entirely new picture will emerge, providing answers to all her troubles. Though in actuality, just one answer would suffice:

What does one wear to a non-date with a barely-friend?

Over the past half hour, Eve has tried on outfit after outfit, stuck in an endless loop of a makeover scene straight from a 2000s teen movie.

The overalls are too laid-back, the white sundress too virginal.

Eve groans in frustration as she tosses yet another item onto the pile on the floor. 

It’s ridiculous. After all, it’s Astarion who should be worried about making a good impression, given their last encounter. But as much as Eve tries to convince herself that she doesn’t care, that she shouldn’t care about this, it does little to change the fact that she does value his opinion and wants to look nice for him. 

For him? 

Around him. She wants to look nice around him. And it’s only because he seems to put so much thought into his outfits, and she doesn’t want to appear sloppy in comparison.

Eve glances at her alarm clock: she’s running out of time. In a last ditch effort to put something presentable together, she fetches an olive green wrap dress and a pair of chunky brown sandals. She rarely wears dresses and worries that it might look like she’s trying too hard, but it beats leaving in her underwear or cancelling altogether because she couldn’t make a simple fucking choice.

When she finally emerges into the living room, Lae’zel whistles at her from the couch.

“You look good,” she says, nodding approvingly.

“Good?!” Jen scoffs in disbelief, her non-date with Lae now going on 45 hours. “Eve, you look piping hot.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” Eve asks, suddenly self-conscious as she looks down at the dress.

“This is Astarion we’re talking about,” Lae reminds her. “I don’t think it’s possible to be overdressed around him.”

“I guess,” Eve says, grabbing her keys and rushing out. “Either way, it’s too late to change now. Bye!”

“Have fun on your date!” Lae’zel yells after her.

“Not a date!” 

As she’s speed-walking to the car, she shares her location with Lae’zel to save her some worries and save herself a lecture.

When Eve finally makes it to the restaurant, she is, to no one’s surprise, late. 

It’s not a huge space, roughly half of the tables already occupied. The interior is a perfect mix of homey and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows, plenty of plants and wooden surfaces. Through the mix of chatter, she singles out some soft music playing in the background, a feminine voice singing in what she assumes to be Arabic.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Eve is approached by a waitress, a long braid swung over her shoulder. 

She blanks for a moment, realizing she doesn’t remember the last time she was in the role of a customer at a place like this. Usually Lae and her just get takeout. 

“I’m looking for my friend,” she says, the last word coming to her with surprising ease.

“Would that be him right there?” the woman asks, nodding towards the far corner of the room.

She spots Astarion tucked away in a booth and a curious feeling flutters in her chest when he meets her eyes and waves.

“Yes, thank you,” Eve says as she turns to head to him.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Astarion looks as dapper as she expected, wearing a cream colored button-up with some simple vine-like embroidery running down one side in black thread. He gets up as Eve approaches, and suddenly her chest tightens, thoughts racing once she realizes she has no game plan. 

Am I supposed to hug him? No, that’s awkward. Shake his hand? That’s even worse.

But before she can settle on an acceptable greeting, she finally takes in the sight of him and realizes that his shirt is tucked into high-waisted pants that are almost the same color as her dress. Her eyes widen in surprise and then for a moment they’re just standing there, appraising one another, Astarion’s lips pulled up into a smirk.

“Great minds think alike,” he says.

She chuckles, louder than intended, her blood a traitor as it rushes to her cheeks. 

“Hi,” she blurts out with an awkward wave of her hand.

“Hi.” He returns the gesture, his smirk widening into a full-on grin.

Eve stands there for a moment before Astarion gestures for her to take a seat, mercifully snapping her out of it. As she slides into the booth, she begins to feel more at ease: there is structure. There is protocol. They will order food and eat, and then she will go home. Alone. 

“I took the liberty of getting us some water.” Astarion reaches for a tall carafe, mint leaves and citrus slices swirling inside as he begins to fill her glass.

“You made such an important decision without me?” she gasps. “How presumptuous.”

“I know, I’m the worst,” he says as he slides the glass toward her. “You should add that to your list.”

“I should,” Eve agrees and pulls her phone out.

“Wait, do you actually have it written down?” 

“Sure do.” She opens her notes app and shows it to him, thumb scrolling down to reveal more points.

“Damn, that’s long,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“And it’s getting longer by the minute,” Eve says as she starts typing, adding another item to the list.

“This better be the best dinner of your life then. Or else I’m not getting away with all that.”

“That’s the hope,” she says as she reaches for the menu. 

Most of the names mean nothing to her, but thankfully, each item is accompanied by a picture. 

“Do you know what you’re getting?” she asks, hoping for some help.

“Well, since this is your first time, I thought we could get the appetizer sampler, so you can try a bunch of things out. And then for the main course, I’ll probably get the lamb kafta.”

Eve hums thoughtfully as she keeps perusing the menu.

When the waitress shows up to take their order, Eve still hasn’t decided what she wants, but instead of asking for more time, she panics and settles on a shish tawook. It looks good in the photo, at least. 

The woman walks away with their menus, and suddenly there is nothing left to occupy Eve’s attention save for the man in front of her—nothing to do with her hands other than clutch nervously at the glass of water. She takes a large sip as she looks out the window.

“I like your tattoo. The line work is gorgeous.”

Oh god.

Her grip on the glass tightens as she turns to meet Astarion’s gaze. 

On the list of possible conversation topics, this has got to be among the last she wanted to breach tonight, though she can’t exactly blame him. The tattoo is right there, after all, exposed by the V-neckline of her dress, so different from the collared shirts he’s seen her in before.

She puts the glass down and settles for a terse:

“Thanks.”

“Do you have any other ones?”

“Not anywhere you’d be allowed to see.”

“Right,” he says, lowering his gaze to flick some non-existent piece of dust off his sleeve. And is that… a tinge of blush in his cheeks? Perhaps Eve would find that adorable were she not already annoyed. “Sorry.”

Why are you giving him such a hard time?

“You’re fine,” she backtracks. “I don’t actually have any others.”

“Oh.” Astarion looks up, seemingly at ease again. “That’s interesting. I guess it’s uncommon to get your first tattoo on your neck, of all places.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she says dryly, meeting his gaze. She holds it for a moment and perhaps imagines the glimmer of understanding in his eyes, as her silent plea not to pry any further seems to take hold in his mind.

But then a tinge of guilt settles in her chest.

He’s just trying to make conversation. He doesn’t know.

So instead, Eve tells him just enough of the truth to make him understand.

“I’m sorry,” she says, fingers tracing the patterns carved into her glass as she avoids his gaze. “I’m just a bit touchy about it, I guess. It’s a cover-up of a tattoo I got when I was twenty. My… old friend had the same one. And let’s just say that I don’t remember him, or that period of my life, fondly. So I covered it up with this.”

Astarion doesn’t pry any further. Instead, he nods thoughtfully and says:

“You can’t tell that it’s a cover-up, honestly. It looks like its own thing.”

Eve looks up with a soft smile. It’s sobering, in a way, to hear that others don’t dissect the design in the same way she does. That for him it truly is just a dragonfly, no tragic tale attached.

“Thanks. I briefly considered getting it removed, but that process is very long and painful and expensive. So I settled for this.”

“I think that’s poignant in a way, more so than removing it would have been.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t erase the past, can you? But what you can do instead is build on it and create something new for yourself, something… better, or just different.”

She considers his words for a moment, but Astarion seems in a rush to fill the silence. He sounds almost bashful when he says:

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get this deep before appetizers.” He laughs nervously and takes a sip of his water.

“Right, this is really more of a dessert conversation. Read the room, Astarion,” Eve chuckles, relieved when Astarion’s tension seems to ease as he smiles back. After a moment, she adds: “No, but I– I guess I’ve just never thought about it in this way. But I like it.”

Silence settles between them, and Eve notes, with no small amount of wonder, that she is comfortable in this moment with him. She takes a look around the room as the song changes to a more upbeat tune.

“Oh, by the way: I listened to that Midwest Princess album.”

“Oh, do tell,” Astarion says, propping himself on his elbows as he leans forward almost conspiratorially. “Highs? Lows?”

“No real lows. I didn’t skip any of the songs, even the ones that the radio ruined for me.”

“What a trooper you are,” he says with a smirk.

“I know! And to be fair, I think the context makes a huge difference. They were a lot more fun to listen to on a hike than at work.”

“So, did you have a favorite?”

“I loved California.”

“Unpopular choice. But I agree.”

“Also Coffee. And Casual. Those were my top three, I think.”

“Casual is my favorite. So I take that to mean you like sad songs.”

“Well…” She shrugs, suddenly abashed by this assessment.

“Or, bittersweet, more like.”

“Bittersweet, yes.” She nods. “I like bittersweet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and before Eve can even begin to ponder what he means by that, the waitress shows up with bowls and plates and baskets, and suddenly the whole table is full of food.

“And we’re still supposed to eat the main course after this?” she asks once the the woman leaves.

“We can do this,” he says, determined, before giving her a brief tour of what’s before her. 

Every single thing she tries is better than the last. The stuffed grape leaves, the various dips, the pita that is so fresh that swirls of steam rise from the dough as she tears it apart. It’s a veritable feast and they haven’t even made it to the main part yet.

“So you mentioned that you listen to podcasts more than music,” Astarion says as they’re nearing the end of the sampler. “What kinds?”

“Do you know Gale Dekarios?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Well, he has this book podcast where he goes through his very extensive and very niche book collection and he does reviews, recommendations, and interviews authors sometimes. I just like listening to him talk. He has this soothing voice and he gets very into these things and you can just hear how passionate he is about them, even if I don’t end up reading most of the stuff he recommends. And he recently launched a second podcast with his friend, called FolkLands, where they get into various bits of forgotten British folklore–”

You’re rambling.

“Yeah,” she cuts herself off, suddenly embarrassed. “So I mostly just listen to him.” 

But Astarion doesn’t seem bored or put off when he asks:

“So you’re an avid reader then?”

“I don’t know if I would call myself that, but yes, I do like reading. Mostly non-fiction, I love memoirs. But I also like the occasional horror or thriller.”

“Do you have a favorite book?”

“I…” she hesitates. 

It’s a touchy subject, one that she usually avoids. It reminds her of all the times Enver made her feel not smart enough, not cultured enough, not good enough.

“Did you find everything alright?” The waitress appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“It was perfect, thank you,” Eve says, Astarion nodding along enthusiastically.

When she takes the dishes away, Eve finally responds:

“I don’t think I do. What about you?”

“Well, over the years I've fallen out of the habit. Life just got really hectic, I guess…” 

He pauses, and in the heavy silence that follows, Eve prays her facial expression doesn’t betray her thoughts. 

It’s an opening, one she could use– should use. 

But they’ve been having such a good time, and Eve doesn’t want to tarnish this evening with the weight of years past. She doesn’t want to wipe the smile off his face, to smother this curious companionship growing between them. 

And so, perhaps selfishly, she decides this is not the time to have that conversation. 

Luckily, Astarion resumes, his tone lighter again:

“But I’ve been slowly getting back into reading the past few months. And I suppose if I had to choose, my favorite would be Metamorphosis.”

“Hmm,” Eve hums noncommittally. “I had to read that in high school.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled. I’m assuming you didn’t enjoy it, then.”

“Oh, I don’t think the book itself was the issue. I was just a bad student in general,” she repeats the words she has uttered countless of times, words that most people just accepted at face value. 

But it seems Astarion is not most people:

“Maybe you just had a bad teacher.”

His retort throws her off, a sentiment she is not sure how to fit into the narrative she’s accepted for herself.

“Maybe,” she says reluctantly. “I guess they didn’t really manage to make it interesting enough for me to care. But in general, I just didn’t like to read what I was told. So it was a losing battle from the start…” She shrugs. “But maybe I would enjoy it if I gave it a second chance nowadays. So, tell me, why is it your favorite?”

Astarion opens his mouth and promptly closes it, shaking his head with a hesitant smile.

“Do you really want to sit here and listen to a guy ramble on about Kafka?”

“I want to listen to you ramble on about Kafka. If you don’t mind.”

His eyes widen as if he doesn’t fully believe her, but he acquiesces, and soon enough, Eve finds herself hanging onto his every word. 

Eventually their conversation shifts to movies, their tastes apparently quite aligned at least in this one department. They chat about her work for a bit, Astarion contributing his own theories about the identity of Eve’s enigmatic regular. At some point Eve realizes she has no idea what Astarion does for a living—he explains he’s working on a novel, but doesn’t seem eager to share any details, so she drops it. 

The food arrives and Eve is presented with chicken skewers served along grilled vegetables, a creamy garlic sauce, and, oh god, even more pita. It smells divine and tastes just so.

Astarion smiles widely when he sees her reaction to the first bite: the contented hum and the bliss that must be painted so unabashedly on her face. 

“Do you want to try mine?” he asks after a moment.

“Sure.” She reaches over to cut off a piece of the kafta, her eyelids fluttering shut the moment the flavor blossoms on her tongue.

“Yours is somehow even better. Not sure how that’s possible.”

“So switch with me,” he offers without hesitation. 

Eve chuckles before taking another bite of her chicken.

“I mean it,” Astarion insists.

“No, that’s silly, I ordered what I–” 

But her objections are cut short when Astarion grabs her plate unceremoniously and replaces it with his.

“There,” he says as he starts cutting into the tawook. “Perfect.”

“Well, if you insist,” Eve sighs, though she can’t hold back the smile tugging at her lips. 

The conversation quiets down as they both dive into their meals, their reverent silence the highest compliment a chef could ask for. Eve doesn’t recall the last time she ate this much, but she doesn’t dare to leave even a single bite. It’s just too good.

“Did you enjoy it?” Astarion asks eventually, as if it weren’t obvious by the state of her plate, all but licked clean.

“I did. Apology accepted.”

A hesitant smile graces his lips when he says:

“And there I was, thinking I would have to drag you to one place after another before you finally deemed one worthy of my atonement.”

“Luckily for you, that won’t be necessary. You got it right on the first try.”

“How… disappointing,” he says in an odd tone that makes Eve wonder if he actually means it.

A small part of her curses herself. She could have played along. Could have dragged this on, claimed that as good as the food was, it wasn’t enough to absolve him.

But now, they don’t owe each other anything. And that’s the end of whatever this was.

After he settles the bill, Astarion insists on walking Eve to her car. It seems unnecessary, but it does give them a chance, or an excuse rather, to prolong their time together. And she doesn’t exactly mind that.

It feels like they’re nearing the end of a play, and though Eve has convinced herself that this is a one-night-only event, she is not ready for the curtain to fall just yet. 

And so, she decides to go off-script—an encore, if you will. 

“Can I drive you home?”

Astarion seems stumped by the proposition, and Eve is not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to bother her or doesn’t want to make this whole ordeal any longer than it has to be.

“Oh, no worries, I can just catch an Uber…”

“Out here? On a Sunday evening? Good luck with that.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue, but she is faster.

“And it’s too hot to walk this far, so don’t be ridiculous. It’s really not a problem.” 

She’s already getting inside, waiting for him to follow as she pulls up the navigation.

When he does, it strikes her how different the circumstances are from the last time they were here together. Astarion must be thinking about it too, because he nods thoughtfully and says:

“Wow, your car is so clean.”

She looks up from her phone to meet his amused gaze with what she hopes is a deadly glare.

“To soon?” he asks and she can’t help but laugh.

“Yes, I suppose old Gizmo looks a little different than when you left him. Thank god.”

“Gizmo?” he asks, utterly confused.

“My car. Although it’s Mister Gizmo to you.”

“Is it now?”

“Mhm. I’m afraid you didn’t make the best first impression. He’ll need to warm up to you before you can be on a first name basis.”

“That’s fair. I’m sorry, Mister Gizmo,” Astarion says as he pats the dashboard gently, the very picture of regret.

“He will pout for a bit, but he’ll get over it, don’t worry.”

When she starts the car, the radio hums to life and they catch the snippet of a song before she switches it off:

….and then again I say
I'm hopin' we can make some wishes outta airplanes–

Astarion chuckles.

“I can’t believe they still play his music on the radio. I mean, I guess I’m not surprised, but still.”

“Who, the Airplanes guy?” Eve asks as she pulls out of the parking spot.

“Yeah, B.o.B. Do you know what he’s been up to the past couple of years?”

“No, what’s his deal?”

“Well… Do you want to hear about the bad bad stuff, or the funny bad stuff?”

“The funny bad stuff, please.”

“So, in 2016, he released this song that was basically a diss track aimed at Neil deGrasse Tyson, of all people–”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the lyrics were… interesting. He called science a cult and then said that heliocentrism is a hoax, among other things. He even started a GoFundMe to raise one million dollars, so he could go to space and prove that the Earth is flat.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Sadly, I am not.”

“Did he get the money?”

“No. And even if he did, it costs more than a million dollars to go to space, but I don’t think he did much research. Anyways, he said a lot of worse things back then, the not-so-funny bad stuff that I will spare you. People started cancelling his shows and such. And then I suppose he realized he fucked up his career, so a couple years later he went on an interview to explain that he was going through a tough time back then and was struggling with depression and that’s why he said all those things.”

“Damn. When I’m having a depressive episode, I eat instant ramen all day, I don’t harass astrophysicists.”

“Exactly… So anyways, that’s B.o.B for you.”

“So like, does he not believe in time zones? How do you explain time zones on a flat Earth?”

“Great question,” Astarion says as he pulls out his phone and types something. “Do you want the Flat Earth Wiki answer? There is also this forty minute YouTube video I could send you…”

“No, I think I’m fine, actually. I will just carry on, blissfully unaware.”

Astarion puts his phone back in his pocket. He looks out the window for a moment before turning back to her and saying:

“Damn, so you really just drive around in silence, huh?”

“I do. Well, sometimes I put on that podcast I told you about, but mostly it’s silence. I like driving like this, it’s relaxing.”

“I see.” After a moment, he says: “Oh, I almost forgot. Who are the Clinton Comets? I saw your bumper sticker.”

“Only the best team in the county.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” She clears her throat and chants: “Up, down, left, and right, Clinton Comets win the fight!”

“That was abysmal.”

“You’re no fun,” she declares. “Anyways, it’s Lae’zel’s soccer team. Well, she’s the coach. It’s a bunch of girls from the local elementary school.”

“Lae’zel being a soccer coach makes perfect sense, somehow.”

“She’s really good at it, and the kids love her. And I might have lied about them being the best. They scored second place this season. I missed the final game because my boss is a miserable little prick and didn’t let me switch shifts.” She sighs. “Lae’zel keeps offering to kill him for me, and the idea gets more tempting by the day.”

Fuck. She shouldn’t joke about that around him, should she? But Astarion doesn’t bat an eye as he says:

“You should definitely take her up on it. And then you’ll take over the Blushing Mermaid and rule your culinary empire with an iron fist.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you see the vision.”

When she finally pulls into his driveway, she tenses, unsure how to proceed.

“Well, thank you for giving me a chance to make up for my misdeeds,” Astarion says solemnly.

“You are very welcome.”

And then there is an odd beat of silence as they eye one another before Astarion reaches for the door.

“So, um– See you later, Eve.”

“See you.”

Her eyes trace his movements as he walks up to the front door and a pang of disappointment sinks into her chest when he doesn’t turn to look at her again.

When Eve gets home, the apartment is empty. She cleans up the disarray of clothes cluttering her room and changes into something comfier. 

After unlocking her phone for the 20th time for no particular reason, only to lock it again after a couple seconds, she realizes that she is waiting for a text from Astarion. Ridiculous. They literally just saw each other, why would he text her now? And why would she care?

She groans in frustration as she heads to the kitchen and tries to occupy her mind by tackling the pile of dishes that has accumulated over the weekend. She puts on her podcast and leaves the phone on the counter next to her, screen up. Just in case.

Lae’zel gets home around 8:30, her usual stoic expression replaced by an absentminded smile.

“Soooo how are things with Jen?” Eve asks and Lae’s smile immediately vanishes. “I was half-expecting to see a U-Haul by the time I got back.”

“Things are well,” Lae’zel says as she grabs a snack from the fridge and sits on the counter by Eve. “She’s not seeing other people at the moment. And she did seem disappointed that I’m leaving soon.”

“Score!” Eve exclaims, putting her soapy hand out for a high-five, which Lae’zel reluctantly accepts.

“How are things with Astarion?” she asks.

Eve recounts her evening, not skimming on the details. When she’s done, Lae’zel hums thoughtfully and says:

“I assume you didn’t talk about his past?”

“No,” Eve says, her entire body tensing at the suggestion. “I wasn’t really in the mood for trauma dumping with someone I barely know.”

“I get that, but… If you’re going to keep seeing him, you really should think about how and when to bring it up.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Eve insists.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t be seeing him again.”

“Why not? You like him. You had a good time. Why would you not see him again?”

“Because there is no reason anymore.” And when Lae looks at her in confusion, she explains: “Well, I invited him to the party because we needed more guests. He threw up in my car then took me out to an apology dinner. The apology was accepted. That concludes this chain of events. There is no reason for us to see each other again in a social context.”

“No reason?” Lae scoffs. “There doesn’t have to be a reason. What, do you think he was hanging out with you out of some obligation?”

Eve doesn’t grace that with a response. She’s painfully aware of how ridiculous she sounds. 

Lae’zel is relentless:

“What if he just asks you out again?”

“He won’t.”

“But what if he does?”

“Then I’ll worry about it then.”

“And I’ll be here when that happens.”

“If it happens.”

“Sure,” Lae’zel says, making a show of rolling her eyes.

And then, as if to prove Lae’s point, Eve’s phone chimes with a text. She glances over to find that it’s from none other than the man in question.

“I think he just sent me a playlist,” she says as she wipes her hands and reaches for the phone. 

“Of course he did.”

She clicks on the link and there it is, one hour and one minute long. Eve points the phone towards Lae’zel.

“Part one,” is all Lae says.

“What?”

“It’s called ‘for Eve part one.”

“And?”

“And that implies that more parts will follow.”

Trying desperately to ignore the feelings that stir up in her at the prospect, Eve shoves the phone into her back pocket. The moment she does, it chimes again.

“I guess you could see it that way,” she admits reluctantly.

“Eve, I love you, but you’re being an idiot.”

“I feel like you say that a lot, recently.”

Another chime.

“Yes, I wonder why that is.” Lae’zel sighs and hops off the counter. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Eve abandons the dishes altogether as she pulls out her phone to read two new texts from Astarion.

Neither of the names meaning anything to her, Eve responds:

Eve finds herself smiling at the screen, going back and forth on whether she should reply. Eventually, she just slips the phone back into her pocket, and it doesn’t chime again.

Later that night, she puts on her headphones as she nestles into bed. She lets the sounds cradle her as she drifts off to sleep mid-playlist. 

She sleeps well, for a change. Her dreams are blissfully vague, the details slipping her consciousness. The only elements she recalls upon waking are the music and the familiar smile.

Chapter Text

Eve brushes her hair with unordinary reverence as the silky voice of Alice Phoebe Lou fills the small space of her bathroom.

I'm taking back all the pieces of me
That were taken unwillingly

There is something dream-like about the way the words float around her as she puts toiletries back into the wall cabinet before her.

I'm offering myself up to the heavens
I'm ready to love what I've been given

When Eve slides the mirrored door shut, it is with uncharacteristic kindness that she locks eyes with her reflection, her gaze gentle as it assesses her features. 

I'm getting back to my own rhythm
It's such a new kind of living–

The hand-crafted flow of Astarion’s playlist came to an abrupt halt once Eve reached the fifth song. Instead of letting the rest play out, she has found herself replaying this one over and over again until the lyrics seeped into her very bones, the soft instrumentals embracing her like a friend she hasn’t seen in ages.

Alice’s voice replaces the usual silence on Eve’s drive to work and resides within her throughout the hectic hours of her shift. Now that the summer is in full swing, the pace at the restaurant has picked up even more and Eve’s already scarce reserves of patience for the customers have been wearing thin.

Half-way through the shift, she spots Astarion, her face lighting up at the sight. Initially, Eve thought that it would be strange to see him again in this context after their very much not a date, although maybe…? But the only things that stir up in her chest right now are warmth and familiarity as she approaches him, notepad in hand.

“Fancy seeing you here–” she starts, but Astarion puts his hands flat on the table and leans towards her, face set in determination.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. What did you think about the playlist?”

“Oh, I actually haven’t finished it. I’ve been… savoring it, you could say.”

“Savoring?” Astarion seems genuinely baffled. “Well, whatever suits you. But I believe it works better if you just listen to it all in one go.”

“Ah yes, the curated musical experience.”

“Exactly.” He smiles brightly at that, a curious glint in his eye. “And if you’re worried about running out, I can always make more of these, you know.”

Eve is sure her cheeks betray her right there and then, blush blooming across them at his offer.

“How generous of you,” she says, Astarion’s smile widening. “Either way, I’m loving it so far. I think my favorite might be Open My Door.”

“That’s one of my favorites too.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but then a customer calls out for her in an irritated voice, snapping her back into work mode. Eve wasn’t aware that she started to lean against Astarion’s table until she has to right herself, shoulder blades rolling back and her fond smile dimming into a polite and professional one. 

Hastily, she jots down his order before checking in on the other customer, and in the whirlwind that follows, she doesn’t get a chance to slow down and chat with Astarion again.

The apartment is empty when she returns, Lae’zel out and about with Jen. The two of them have been spending even more time together, presumably in anticipation of Lae’s trip home.

Eve restarts the playlist and listens to it as she cleans the apartment and folds her laundry. She can’t help but think about how behind every song there is a decision that Astarion made, with her in mind. How neither the choice of songs nor their order is arbitrary. An absentminded smile graces her lips and she tries not to focus too much on the warmth that blossoms in her chest at such a thought.

When she gets to the two-part song Astarion mentioned in his texts, the singer’s voice strikes her as familiar, though she can’t put her finger on it. She lets the song play out till the end and then pauses to google the lead singer of Genesis. 

Phil Collins. Where has she heard that name before? She scrolls through his Wikipedia page for a second before she finds exactly what she was looking for.

She chuckles and pulls up her chat with Astarion.

She can almost hear the annoyed “hmpf” and can’t help but laugh as she slips the phone back in her pocket.

Eventually an ABBA song comes on—of course Astarion had to sneak one in there. It’s a catchy tune, until Eve gets to the chorus and her throat runs dry.

He'll take your heart and you must pay the price
Look into his angel eyes
You'll think you're in paradise
And one day, you'll find out he wears a disguise
Don't look too deep into those angel eyes–

Skip. 

The playlist loops back to the beginning. At least it’s the last one, so she can more easily avoid it.

Fuck me, is every ABBA song about heartbreak and betrayal? 

At this rate she’s going to hate his favorite band.

***

“How is your culinary coup d’état coming along?” Astarion asks her at work the next day.

“We’re gathering forces,” she whispers conspiratorially. “The revolution is nearing.”

“This place could use some change, honestly. I’m rooting for you.”

“Thank you,” she says with a solemn nod. “Oh, and by the way, I finished the playlist last night. I listened to it in one go and it was very good. I like how it all flowed together.”

“I’m glad. Now, be honest with me, were there any misses?”

“Um…” She shifts her weight uneasily. 

“So that’s a yes. Which ones?”

“I’m almost afraid to say…”

Astarion looks confused, but then his eyes widen in recognition.

“Oh, no. It was ABBA, wasn’t it? That’s why you don’t want to tell me?”

“...yes. I loved the music!” she rushes to clarify. “But the lyrics, they just… reminded me of someone I’d rather forget.”

He doesn’t seem upset or disappointed—instead, he gives her an understanding nod.

“Yeah, ABBA will do that to you sometimes. Say no more.”

“But other than that, I really did enjoy every song. I don’t know how you do that.”

“I’m a natural,” he says, flashing a smile. “So, is Open My Door still your favorite?”

“One of them, yes. If I had to choose a top three, then Hozier and Dusty Springfield would also make the cut. But the whole thing was just very… me.” His lips turn up into a warm smile at her words. “So thank you, I really do appreciate–”

“Excuse me, any chance I could order today?!”

“Be right with you!” she responds to the guy at booth three. She turns back to Astarion and says: “Sorry, it turns out that when I’m at work, I do actually need to work sometimes.”

“A travesty,” he says with a weak smile. “I’ll see you around, Eve.”

***

Friday after work, Eve drives Lae’zel to the airport and it’s with a heavy heart that she says her goodbyes. They have been apart before, but only for two weeks at a time—never this long.

“Keep me updated, alright?” Lae’zel pulls Eve into a tight but brief hug in the middle of the departures terminal, abuzz with foot traffic despite the late hour. “And if you need anything, we can always Facetime.”

“Have a good trip, Lae. Tell Xan I say hi.” Eve smiles, thinking about Lae’s nephew who came to visit around Halloween last year.

“Will do. He was very disappointed to hear you would not be coming with me.”

“Maybe one day,” Eve says, knowing full well that international travel is not the smartest choice in her current situation. “Oh, also, can you get me a tacky souvenir of some sort?”

“Only the tackiest for you.”

***

Saturday is torturous, the Mermaid busier than ever, with no Astarion this time to distract her. Eve decides to stay home the next day and rest, but spending the whole day in bed only makes her feel worse.

Eventually she finds herself yet again on the green velvet couch in Halsin’s office. He pours each of them a cup of green tea as he asks:

“So, now that you’ve had some time to sit with the revelations you shared with me last week—how are you feeling about it all?”

“I don’t know. Well, it still doesn’t matter to me what he did; what he went through. But I guess I’m conflicted about whether I should tell him that I know. It’s just… You’re not supposed to just randomly know these things about people. They’re supposed to tell you when they’re ready, when they trust you, if they trust you. But now it feels like this… order of things was disturbed, and I don’t really know what to do with that.”

“That makes a lot of sense. And at the end of the day, I am not here to tell you what to do, Eve. But I do wonder: what exactly makes you not want to tell him? Is it just that inherent awkwardness, this… disturbed order of things, like you said, or is there something more?”

“I… I don’t know.”

When she stays silent for a moment, he asks:

“What do you think would happen if you told Astarion the truth?”

“I’m not really sure how he would react, I don’t know him well enough to say.”

“How do you think you would feel?”

“Relieved? Except… no, I guess not really.” She sighs. “Okay, you know what the problem is? Yes, I do like him and I want to get to know him better and keep seeing him. So I know that I eventually will have to deal with this, but… I guess it just feels wrong that I know about the worst thing that happened to him, but I can’t tell him– I shouldn’t tell him about mine. And then it would just feel imbalanced.”

“But that imbalance already exists: you know, and he doesn’t.”

“Yes, but he is not aware of that, so it’s not a problem yet.”

“But you are aware of it. And it’s clearly bothering you.”

She doesn’t have a response for that.

“Eve, let’s assume for a moment that you two become really close and develop shared trust. Let’s assume that you tell him what you’ve learned about his life and that you decide to tell him about yours. Maybe not in great detail, but enough for him to understand. How does this hypothetical make you feel?”

She takes a moment to consider her answer.

“It’s terrifying, honestly.”

“Which part?”

“Telling him… about me. About what I’ve done.”

“Why?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” she snaps.

“I don’t think anything we talk about here is obvious. So, please, go ahead and explain it to me if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t want him to know. Because then he’ll think about me differently, and um… Well, sure, he likes me now. I think. But it’s not the real me he likes, just this… sanitized, abridged version that I created. But if he got to know the truth, I–”

Her voice breaks and she looks down.

“You don’t think he would still care about you if he knew about your past?”

“No. And I can’t exactly blame him, can I?”

“But you learned about what he did and that didn’t make you–”

“That is not the same thing,” she cuts him off, her voice trembling. “Not even close. Astarion killed in self-defense. He’s a survivor. And I’m… I’m a perpetrator.” The word barely comes out of her throat. “And he would hate me if he found out.”

Her words resonate heavily in the silence that follows. She avoids Halsin’s eyes, taking a sip of her tea. It burns her tongue, which still seems preferable to saying another word. 

“Lae’zel doesn’t hate you,” Halsin points out after a moment.

“She doesn’t know the details.”

“What about your case agent? He knows all the details and from what you’ve told me, and from my interactions with him, he seems quite fond of you.”

“That doesn’t count. It’s his job to spend time with me, it’s his job to support me, even if he doesn’t agree with it.”

“Just because it’s part of his job, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t genuinely care about you. I care about my patients, I like them as people. I treasure our time together. Just because this is my work, doesn’t make the connections any less real.”

“Okay, well, if that’s how you feel then that’s fine, but I still think that’s different. I just… I don’t know how to do this. The only person who has known everything about me, who has loved me in spite of it all is now in prison. That doesn’t exactly bode well for me, does it?”

***

When she gets out of the office, she checks her phone to find three missed calls from Wulbren and a series of texts:

As soon as the message is delivered, Wulbren calls her, but Eve has learned not to pick up. Not after some of the heinous things he told her when he knew there would be no record of it.

He calls her again. She rejects the call.

Eve laughs out loud at how fucking pathetic that sounds. Your future at the Blushing Mermaid. Is that supposed to intimidate her? Is she supposed to be worried about this so-called future and cave in? If anything, it’s the last straw.

Incoming call. Reject.

She takes screenshots of the text exchange just in case and, before Wulbren gets a chance to reply, she blocks his number.

Eve’s hands are trembling as she walks back to her car. She can’t fully believe she just… did that. 

Once she’s on her way back to Clinton, she gives Lakrissa a quick call to inform her of the newest developments.

“Also, how are you feeling? Do you want me to get you groceries or something?”

“I’m fine,” Lakrissa croaks, the state of her voice conveying the exact opposite. “Don’t worry about it. Eve, can I tell you something?”

“Shoot.” 

“I’m gonna miss working with you. I just… I’ve always admired you, you know? You don’t give a fuck what others think. You can stand up for yourself. And you stay kind through it all.” She goes into a coughing fit and when she composes herself, she adds: “You made working there bearable. But I’m glad you quit, cause you deserve a lot better than that shithole could ever offer you. Sorry, I think the fever is making me all sentimental. But I meant every word. Just… let’s stay in touch, okay?”

“You got it,” Eve says, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’ll see you around. And if you need anything, just let me know, okay?”

“Thank you. Bye, Eve.”

When she makes it to her meeting with Wyll, he seems to spot her anxious energy right away. His signature smile drops as she gets closer. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I quit my job,” she blurts out. “An hour ago.”

“What happened?” he asks, handing her the usual latte as they start walking.

Eve shows him the text exchange, Wyll’s eyes widening as he scrolls through the messages.

“I’m proud of you for how you handled that. He really is an asshole, isn’t he?”

“Asshole doesn’t quite cut it, but yes. So um… is this bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, will I get in trouble with the program?”

“No, you’re fine. Well, do you have any savings?”

“I have some.”

“I will put in a request today for a temporary stipend while you look for something else. Would you like me to help you with the job search?”

“I, uh– I don’t know, I haven’t thought this through yet. I still don’t fully comprehend that I finally just… did that.”

“That makes sense, and there is no rush. Poke around, see what’s out there. I’ll try to look too if I have a spare moment.”

“You don’t have to–” she tries, but he cuts her off:

“That’s what I’m here for, Eve. Oh, and– would you like me to drop those things off for you so you don’t have to see this guy again? The uniform and the card?”

“No, that’s okay. But I appreciate the thought.”

***

As she’s driving home, Eve decides that there is no point in putting this off until tomorrow, so she stops by the apartment to gather everything and then heads straight to the Blushing Mermaid. Hopefully things will be busy at this hour and Wulbren will be less likely to make a scene in front of all the customers.

When she gets there, the place is indeed quite full, and much to her delight, she spots none of the waitstaff. Instead, it’s Wulbren himself, a black apron tied around his waist, balancing two trays and looking like he’s having the worst day of his life.

Good. 

When he spots her, she holds up the bag and says:

“I’ll leave this in the backroom.”

She turns to leave, but Wulbren is already putting the trays away onto an empty table and rushing after her with an expression that could almost pass as apologetic if Eve didn’t know the man well enough.

“Wait, wait!”

But she doesn’t stop as she heads into the backroom and drops the bag onto a counter in the corner.

Eve turns around to find Wulbren in the doorway, hands on his waist as he’s trying to catch his breath.

“Look, do you want a raise, is that it?” he huffs. “I can give you a raise. And an extra vacation day.”

It takes all of Eve’s willpower not to scoff at him. Instead, she meets his gaze, eyes widening.

“A whole extra day?” she asks, feigned awe in her voice.

“Yes. And a raise. 10 cents per hour. What do you say?”

“I say shove it up your ass,” she hisses as she pushes past him to head back to the main room. She is already reaching for the front door, when she hesitates and turns around. “Actually, give me one second.”

“I knew it!” Wulbran says triumphantly. “I knew you still felt some loyalty to this place.”

“What? No, fuck off. I need to talk to Minsc before I go.”

Eve makes her way to the kitchen and informs the man in question that she is leaving. They exchange numbers and Minsc pulls her into a tight hug that feels quite unexpected but very much needed. 

Once she heads out, Wulbren makes one last desperate attempt to stop her, but she waves him off, eyes fixed on the exit.

Eve steps into the warm evening air, feeling much lighter than when she arrived just minutes ago. The door clicking shut behind her is the most beautiful symphony to her ears.

***

The next morning, Eve wakes up with a newfound sense of determination. 

She will get a new job: one where she is actually appreciated, one that doesn’t deplete her will to live with every shift.

She pours herself a cup of coffee and pulls up her entirely fabricated resume, filled with an eclectic array of service industry jobs. The only true elements on it are her contact information and the fact that she finished high school, though not the one listed. She adds a new position at the top of the list, embellishing her daily responsibilities with wording that makes it all sound much more dignified than it actually was.

Satisfied with her work, she drives to the town library. The space is surprisingly busy at this hour, some associates setting up for an author event, a small group of children playing in the corner. She heads for one of the computers and logs onto her email to pull up her resume and give it some final touches. 

Too focused on her task, she barely registers when someone takes a seat at the workstation to her left.

“So, do you come here often?”

Eve jumps at Astarion’s voice and turns to meet his amused gaze.

“Hi,” she blurts out, closing out of the document. 

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt. I guess I’m just surprised to see you here, I thought you’d be at work by now.”

“Oh, about that.” She chuckles nervously. “I quit. Yesterday, actually.”

“Oh!” Astarion’s eyes widen. “Is this a congratulations situation or an I’m sorry situation?”

“We’ll see about that. But for now it feels more like a congratulations.” 

“Well done then,” he says as he reaches out to shake her hand. “Are you going to celebrate with Lae’zel? Toast your newfound freedom from the service industry shackles?”

“Lae’s in Argentina until the end of the month, so it’s just me. And I might celebrate tomorrow, but for now I’m just… trying to not be unemployed, I guess. So anyways, that’s why I’m here.” She pulls her resume back up and shifts the monitor so Astarion can see it. “To print these out.” 

“Eve Turner,” he reads.

“Mhm,” she hums noncommittally, realizing this is the first time he’s seen her last name. It still sounds a bit odd to her, unfamiliar—she hasn’t gotten used to it in the same way she’s gotten used to Eve.

Astarion snaps her out of her thoughts when he asks in an exaggerated seductive lilt:

“Are your initials E.T.? Because you are out of this world.”

She stares at him blankly for a second before bursting into a chuckle. A wide smile blooms on Astarion’s lips in response.

“That was the corniest thing I’ve ever heard,” Eve declares.

“Well, but it made you laugh.” He shrugs. “So it was worth it.”

It flusters her, how unabashedly honest his admission seems. In an attempt to detract from the warmth rushing to her cheeks, she asks:

“And what are you doing here?”

“I like to come here to work on my writing. It beats sitting at home by myself. Plus, I seem to have fallen into Jaheira’s good graces, so she sneaks me some free coffee or pastries from time to time. What’s not to like?”

“Jaheira?”

“The head librarian. I’ll introduce you one day. But I’d hate to stop you know, you look like you’re in a rush.”

“I suppose I am,” she says as she clicks the Print button. “I have plenty to do today.”

“Anything I can help you with?” he asks and the genuineness in his voice takes her aback yet again.

“No, I’m good, but thank you.” 

She collects the stack of resumes from the printer and turns back to see Astarion standing just feet away.

“So that’s the end of an era, then, isn’t it?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ll never take my order again. At least not at that… establishment.”

“I guess you’ll have to find a different excuse to see me now.”

Fuck. Did I really just say that out loud?

But Astarion seems nothing if not amused as he eyes her carefully and says:

“I guess I’ll have to get creative, then.” He smiles and it only serves to deepen the red of her cheeks. “I’ll see you around, Eve.” 

“You will,” she says with the last traces of confidence before rushing out of the building.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of heat and forced smiles as she walks down Main Street and hands out her resume to any business with a “Help Wanted” sign. She repeats the process up in Fairview and at two nearby malls, and by the time she’s done, it’s almost 8 pm.

When Eve gets home, she feels tired but not in the usual, drained way. It’s a type of tiredness that comes with a sense of accomplishment. She feels like she did all she could for the time being and now all that is left is to wait for calls or emails. 

Now that that’s done, she doesn’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, no schedule to adhere to, and she can do anything her heart desires. Maybe a beach day is in order? Yes, Eve could do with a beach day.

But the weather seems utterly inconsiderate of her plans as she wakes up the next day to cloudy skies, a soft but persistent patter of rain against her window.

And so Eve does not drive out to the lake, opting instead to rot on the couch, flicking absentmindedly through TV channels. This is rest, she tells herself, yet when she falls asleep that night it’s with an odd sense of heaviness.

***

Orin pins her to the ground, a heady scent of blood and roses assaulting Eve’s senses. The woman’s knife presses against her cheek, not enough to cut, but enough to send a clear message. 

“Coward. Weakling. Pushover,” Orin hisses into her ear, each word dripping with poison, a personalized bullet that goes straight to Eve’s head. “You don’t deserve his attention. You don’t deserve his respect.”

Eve struggles against her.

Blade breaks skin.

“Pathetic little maggot,” Orin resumes once Eve stills under the sting. “Wriggling on the floor, so small and desperate. You’ve been dragging your feet, haven’t you, little one? It’s all getting away from you. Why else do you think he needed me to step in and replace you?”

“You’re not replacing me,” Eve spits out. “And don’t act like you know me. You don’t know shit.”

The hot trickle of blood traveling down her face finally makes it to Eve’s eye. She blinks rapidly, vision red and blurry.

“Oh, but I do.” Orin’s disgusting grin grows ever wider. “I can smell a bleeding heart from miles away. You’re not cut out for this. Too weak, too pathetic.” Orin punctuates her words with a kick to the ribs and Eve stifles a groan, not daring to give her the satisfaction. “So why are you even here, hm? Mommy and Daddy didn’t give you enough attention? Not enough love?” The way she spits out the last word makes it sound like an insult. “So you threw yourself into the tyrant’s lap because he was the first person who made you feel special? Tell me I’m wrong.”

Eve grits her teeth but doesn’t say a word.

“Well, let me tell you a secret: you’re not special. Those round fuck-me eyes and a nice piece of ass, that’s all there is to you. You don’t really believe he took you seriously, do you? And now that I’m here, he has no use for you anymore.” She leans even closer, lips grazing Eve’s ear as she whispers: “You’re expendable, little one. Disposable.” 

Eve turns her head to the side, glancing away as if that could somehow protect her from the vitriol dripping directly into her skull. 

Her heart freezes when she sees Enver leaning against the doorway, observing the scene with a detached expression. 

She’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, but one thing quickly becomes clear. 

He has no intention of stepping in.

Orin’s shrill laughter is still ringing in Eve’s ears as she jolts awake.

Her hand darts up to touch her cheek, fingers tracing down the line of her scar. There are days she can swear she still feels it sting.

Today is one of them.

Eve gets up hastily as if moving away from the bed will keep the memories at bay. She heads into the living room, the quiet, empty space doing nothing to soothe her nerves. 

She is not sure what to do with herself. Leaving the apartment seems like the right choice, but suddenly just getting ready for the day stretches into an impossibly long list of tasks that she isn’t sure she can tackle. It doesn’t help that the weather hasn’t changed much, the gloomy skies filling her with a bone-deep desire to curl in on herself and hide from the world.

Eve picks up a book but after a few pages, she finds that she hasn’t retained any information. She starts over but gives up after the first chapter.

She wanders aimlessly around the apartment, trying to figure out some chore that she could do to occupy herself, but everything she tries requires much more energy than she can spare.

Eventually she lies on the couch, mindlessly watching TV as she plays a game on her phone, trying her best to eradicate the possibility of forming a single coherent thought.

It feels like there is a gaping hole in her chest, pulsating with a dull ache that radiates outwards, gripping at her limbs and trapping them in helpless inaction.

At some point her phone buzzes, snapping her out of this vegetative state.

Fireworks?

She stares blankly at the screen before it dawns on her.

It’s the Fourth of July. She completely forgot.

Eve knows leaving the house would probably do her good, and so would seeing Astarion. After all, he never fails to brighten up her day. 

But the truth is, she is not sure if she deserves that. Orin’s mocking grin flashes in her mind, reminding Eve that the reason she is in this situation in the first place, the reason she is feeling all of these mind-numbing, chest-hollowing emotions, is a series of decisions that she made, that nobody forced on her.

Halsin’s voice fights for attention in her mind. She knows what he would tell her if he were here:

“You won’t be able to move on from your past if you keep punishing yourself for it.”

But Halsin is not here right now. 

And besides, she doesn’t want to burden Astarion with the weight of all her regrets, doesn’t want him to see her when she feels like a husk of herself.

So she doesn’t respond.

Hours stretch into an odd limbo. Eve orders groceries to be delivered to her door, the convenience both a blessing and a curse, the way it enables her current state. 

The apartment darkens around her, the only light coming from her TV screen.

Eventually, over the talk show she is watching despite not caring about either the host or the guest, she hears the distant thuds of fireworks.

Something propels her to get up and head out onto the balcony. She spots them in the distance, bright bursts of color painting the night sky. 

She wonders if Astarion is watching them too, if he’s a part of the crowd at the river bank. If he found someone else to go with, someone who won’t burden him with their mess.

She hopes the answer is yes.

The fireworks blur before her eyes. Eve’s body jerks with a quiet sob and she just stands there, arms hanging heavily along her sides, cheeks damp with tears she doesn’t fully understand. 

*** 

Eve doesn’t hear back about any of the jobs. The rational part of her tries to remind her that it’s only been a couple days, that people might have taken time off around the holiday, and that she should give it at least until the end of next week before being dramatic about it. 

But that part gets drowned out by the cacophony of intrusive thoughts and self-blame, the lack of calls or emails only serving as proof, legitimizing her worst beliefs about herself.

Astarion texts her again on two separate occasions. He sends her a song that reminded him of her. He tries to make conversation, to ask how she’s been.

He never gets a response.

Perhaps driving him away now is the kinder choice; kinder than letting him get close and start to care about her, before he inevitably realizes she is not worth his concern.

Lae’zel reaches out at some point and they message for a bit, Eve pretending that everything is alright. She doesn’t want to worry Lae when she should be enjoying time with her friends and family.

The days blend together into an unstructured haze, and if it weren’t for Wyll’s usual coffee reminder, Eve would have missed that fact that it’s Monday again. She groans at the prospect of this meeting, but even worse, at the prospect of seeing Halsin.

She can’t bear the thought of driving all the way to Fairview just to sit there for an hour and explain that yes, she’s still feeling terrible, and yes, it’s still all her fault. She phones the office and cancels, citing some non-existent health problems, the excuse sounding weak even to her. But the receptionist doesn’t question it and wishes her a speedy recovery.

This, of course, doesn’t fly with Wyll.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but we can’t cancel. If you’re not feeling up for leaving the house, I could come over and do a shorter home visit.”

Her stomach drops at the prospect as she eyes the empty takeout containers cluttering the coffee table and falling onto the floor.

“Ummm… No, that’s fine. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop.”

“Lovely. See you soon.”

Eve avoids her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she heads into the shower for the first time in days.

The sun is almost blinding as she steps outside, the bright colors of summer a striking contrast to the dull grays and whites of her half-dark apartment. She feels odd walking to her car, as if she doesn’t belong amidst all this life and warmth and it’s only a matter of time before someone realizes that.

Wyll is kind as always, but doesn’t coddle her. They come up with a list of more places and jobs she could apply to and set goals for the upcoming week, ones that they will check in on during their next meeting.

But despite Wyll’s friendly attitude, Eve can’t shake the feeling that she is a continuous disappointment to him. He’s such a wonderful person: kind, bright, and motivated, and he has to deal with her mess and her inability to move past everything that put her here in the first place.

She can’t do much about all that—but those goals they set? She can try to work on those. If only to not make Wyll’s job any harder.

But it seems easier said than done, because the next day, Eve finds herself confined to her apartment yet again. She’s splayed out across the couch, watching HGTV, when her phone chimes. She glances at her lock screen, the short preview of Astarion’s message enough to convey that he is, in fact, worried about her.

Eve knows she can’t keep avoiding him, that she doesn’t want to. And so with a pained sigh, she sits up and opens the chat.

Eve doesn’t get why he seems to care this much. She starts typing out a response, but then deletes it and tosses the phone back onto the coffee table.

A few hours later, she is half-way through another Love It or List It episode when the buzzer rings. Since she is expecting neither a guest nor a package, she ignores it. 

But then it buzzes again. 

By the third time, she groans in frustration and gets up.

“Yes?” she speaks into the intercom, not bothering to hide her irritation.

The last thing she expected was to hear Astarion’s distorted voice:

“Hi, I know you don’t want to talk, but I just wanted to drop something off. I can just leave it at your door, you don’t have to come out.”

She blinks, staring at the device in silence as if she could read Astarion’s expression from the white plastic.

“This is Astarion, by the way,” he adds when she doesn’t respond.

She smiles softly at that.

“Yes, thank you for clarifying.”

She buzzes him in and then leans against the door, observing the staircase through the peephole. When Astarion appears, carrying a plastic bag, he looks put together as always, his pastel button down a sobering contrast to her wrinkled sleep shirt with multiple food stains that she has been choosing to ignore.

Astarion leans down to put the bag in front of the door, then looks towards her, a bittersweet smile on his face. Eve wonders if he expects her to be watching him. 

He doesn’t linger, turning on his heel and heading downstairs. Eve waits a couple seconds until she hears the faint thud of the door to the apartment building. 

She opens the door and inspects the bag, finding a folded piece of paper resting on top of a takeout container. She sets the bag on the kitchen counter before turning her attention to the note. It seems to be ripped out of a journal, Astarion’s familiar handwriting filling the page almost entirely:

I know we don’t know each other that well, but at the risk of making a complete fool of myself, I must admit you’re one of the only people I like in this town. (You and your roommate, though she does scare me a bit.) I’m sorry life has been shit recently. If you ever want to talk about it (or, if you just want a distraction and do literally anything but talk about it,) let me know. I have way too much free time for my own good, so don’t worry about bothering me or anything idiotic like that. 

–Note Guy

She smiles at the signature, tears pricking her eyes at the sentiment, at the fact that his concern before was not just empty platitudes. She puts the note away and opens the takeout box. More tears fall as she recognizes the lamb kafta from Beirut Grill. The one that he ordered but ended up giving to her instead.

It’s warm and aromatic and makes Eve realize that the only food she had today was a stale bagel with some cream cheese. She decides the lamb is too good to eat out of the styrofoam, so she transfers it onto a plate, and for the first time in a week, sits at the small table in their living room to eat it.

She washes the plate and utensils right away, along with a couple glasses, since she’s already there. It’s not much. But it’s more than she’s done in a week and it makes her feel not quite so hopeless.

The note is still on the counter and Eve rereads it before reaching for her phone. 

Enough.

She looks around the apartment, a painful testament to her mental state these past few days. Wyll’s kind voice echoes in her mind as she thinks back to the list they wrote up yesterday.

1. Leave the house every day, even if it’s just for a 15-minute walk.

Chapter Text

And so, they go to the movies (they both cry). 

By the time they leave the theatre, they already have plans for the next day.

They go to a sports bar and, despite not knowing the rules of soccer, cheer loudly when Argentina defeats Canada and makes its way to the Copa América finals. (Astarion does have to bribe the bartender to change the channel from the Yankees vs Rays game. They get some weird looks, but Lae’zel’s joy when Eve recounts it to her later makes it worth it.)

After that, it’s a used books fair (unfortunately, no Kafka in sight).

Then, an antiques store housed in a two-story barn, and a pool tournament at the arcade (they score fourth place).

Frozen yoghurt and pretzels and Korean barbecue (they have to drive an hour for that last one, but it’s worth it).

A walk and a hike and a window-shopping stroll down Main Street.

Soon enough, the question is not whether they will see each other the next day, but rather, what they’re going to do.

Regardless of what the activity is, above all else, they talk. They talk about what they like and what they don’t. About the things that excite them and the ones that irk them. What they look forward to and what they dread.

There is an ease to it, a comfort, as if they had known each other for a long time.

But no matter how many conversation topics they breach, they always seem to be grounded in the present, the future, or the hypothetical. Astarion never brings up, nor asks Eve about family, childhood, school. He isn’t curious about past jobs or past relationships. 

Perhaps he refrains from asking her the questions he would rather not answer himself. And so, she doesn’t ask either. Doesn’t breach the subject she has been avoiding for weeks now.

It seems to suit them both, this play-pretend of a blank slate. Eve, for one, is grateful for it.

When she’s around Astarion, she is not the woman with blood on her hands. She is not the woman who can’t make it two nights without waking up in cold sweat, haunted by regret. 

Around him, she is someone she tolerates.

Around him, she can almost forget.

***

On Sunday morning, Eve is texting Astarion about their plans, an absent-minded grin on her face, when she gets a text from Wyll:

Ah, yes. The goals they set on Monday. That she definitely didn’t forget about or flat-out ignore. 

2. Send out 5 online job applications.

Five applications in seven days. Wyll set the bar so embarrassingly low, Eve can’t bear the thought of showing up tomorrow with nothing.

Since their last meeting, the most she’s done regarding her employment (or lack thereof) was going to an interview after eventually hearing back from one of the places she left her resume at. Unfortunately, the way the recruiter spoke to her raised some red flags, and she ended up rejecting the offer. She didn’t quit her job just to end up with another Wulbren.

Although Eve has put the job search on hold, she does feel like she has more of a grip on everything else than she did a week ago. It’s been good to have structure again, to have a clear incentive to leave the house. To get up at a reasonable hour and shower and put some thought into her appearance. 

Every night when Eve returned home, she was still fuelled by the energy Astarion brought out in her, so she has been, slowly but surely, cleaning the apartment. At this point, it no longer looked like the depression den it was only days ago. It no longer bore the evidence of her shame.

And that has to count for something. Surely.

She’s not getting out of this one, is she?

Eve switches to her conversation with Astarion:

She chuckles and considers it for a moment before deciding:

***

They settle into one of the nooks in the main reading room, the sunlight seeping in through the large window and spilling lazily onto the wooden table. Eve pulls out her laptop, expecting Astarion to do the same, but instead he opts for a notebook and a fountain pen. 

“You’re writing your book by hand?” she asks, bewildered. 

“Yes,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious choice in the world. “Well, the first draft, at least. I’ve tried writing on a computer, but then I would just get stuck editing what I already have. But if I write it down on paper, then it’s harder to do that. I can cross some stuff off, add a word here and there, but for the most part, I just need to deal with it and keep going.” 

“That makes sense. It’s kind of like that guy in The Plague who kept saying he was working on a novel. But instead of writing it, he would just revise the first sentence for months, because it had to be ‘perfect.”

“Joseph Grand,” he says with a slight smile.

“Maybe.” Eve shrugs. “I’m bad with names.”

“So you hated Kafka, but read Camus? They’re quite similar in many ways.”

“Well, for one, no one made me read Camus, so he had that going for him. Basically, the library where I lived did this display of their employees’ favorite books, and The Plague was one of them. It’s not the kind of story I’d usually pick up, but I liked it. That was years ago, but there are these little details that stuck with me to this day.”  

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asks with a smirk and there is something lingering in his gaze, something searching that makes her shy away and return her attention to the screen before her. 

They settle into a quiet rhythm, Astarion’s pen scratching against paper, Eve’s fingers dancing across the keyboard as she drafts a cover letter template. She peruses online job postings, the focused silence interrupted when she asks: 

“Do you think I would be a good school bus driver?”

“Well, you’re a good driver,” Astarion says, not looking up from the page. “And the kids would get along with you for sure.”

“Why do you think that?”

This prompts him to pause and meet her eyes.

“Because you’re easy to like. So why wouldn’t they?”

She has no idea what to respond to that, so she just nods, painfully aware of the blush in her cheeks. But before she can get back to the application, Astarion says:

“I must say, you seem a lot more… at ease since you quit your job.”

“Yeah… It’s been a long time coming, honestly. The first time I seriously thought about quitting was in February. But I’m glad I stuck it out for a couple more months.”

“Why?”

Great question. Why? Why would you say that to him?

But she suspects Astarion already knows the answer.

“Well, because… I might not have met you otherwise.”

A curious smile blooms on his face. 

“Noted. In that case, I’m glad you stuck it out, too.”

They both just nod before returning to their work in silence.

Eve applies for the bus driver job, followed by a hodgepodge of positions that she is vaguely qualified for and that don’t sound like hell on Earth: receptionist at a dental office, medical courier for a lab company, mail clerk at a college campus.  

She’s one application away from her Wyll-imposed benchmark when an older woman appears at their table, placing a plastic food container rather unceremoniously on top of Astarion’s open notebook.

“Leftovers from this morning’s event,” she informs him, fixing the green shawl draped across her shoulders. “You still haven’t returned my good tupperware.”

“My apologies.” Astarion flashes his most charming smile, which the woman seems thoroughly unimpressed by. He meets Eve’s eyes and says: “Eve, this is Jaheira, she basically runs this place. Jaheira, this is my friend, Eve.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eve says, and Jaheira’s glare softens as it moves from Astarion to her.

“Likewise. Would you like some coffee?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

“I would love some coffee,” Astarion chimes in.

“Then make me some while you’re at it,” Jaheira says curtly before turning on her heel and walking away.

“Did you do something to annoy her?” Eve asks in a hushed tone.

But Astarion seems completely unbothered as he opens the container and reveals a couple lemon squares stacked on top of each other. 

“No, she’s just like this. She loves me though. Want one?” he asks, pushing the tupperware towards her on the table.

“Sure.”

She bites into a lemon square and returns to the application. 

But then a thought strikes her.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, putting the dessert down. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

In lieu of a response, Astarion reaches out to brush his thumb against the corner of her mouth, the tenderness of the gesture rendering her speechless. He seems surprised by it himself, because he clears his throat and returns his gaze to the notebook as he mutters:

“Not anymore.”

“Thanks,” Eve says quietly and gets up. As she walks away from their table, she tries her best to ignore the tempestuous beating of her heart. 

She quickly spots Jaheira at the front desk and heads straight over, before she has the chance to talk herself out of this.

“Hi, I’m sorry if this is too forward, but are you hiring, by any chance?”

Jaheira turns away from the computer, her amber eyes inquisitive, though not unkindly so.

“Well… No, not actively. But…” She sighs and looks around the space. “Truth be told, we are a bit understaffed. It’s really just Barcus and I, except for some volunteers and students working part-time.” Jaheira pauses for a moment, as if considering something, then adds: “Look, this week is a bit hectic, but can you stop by on the twenty-second? We can talk then, some time in the morning. And just email me your resume, my address is on our website.”

“That’s perfect, thank you. I’ll see you then.”

“Take care.” 

Eve turns to walk away when Jaheira says:

“And Eve?”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re here. It’s good to see Astarion happy.”

The woman’s lips are turned up into a barely noticeable smile—one that Eve can’t help but return. She nods before walking away, warmth blossoming in her chest at Jaheira’s words. 

When she makes it back to her seat, the happy man in question leans across the table and asks conspiratorially:

“Did she try to recruit you for the CIA?”

Eve stares at him blankly for a moment before saying:

“Okay, you’re gonna have to elaborate.”

Astarion makes a show of looking around as if wanting to make sure no one is listening to them, then drops his voice to a theatrical whisper:

“I have this working theory that Jaheira’s a retired spy.”

Eve tries her best to don a serious expression as she matches his tone:

“I see. Do you think it’s safe to discuss this here?”

He nods solemnly, brows furrowed.

“You’re right, maybe later.”

Eve somehow manages to finish her last application, only occasionally distracted by stealing glances across the table.

***

***

They don’t see each other on Monday—Eve wanting to focus on her meetings and Astarion claiming he has some errands to run. 

It feels odd. 

Should it feel odd? After all, they’ve been hanging out only for a handful of days. But by the evening, Eve finds herself… missing him. There is no denying it.

For the first time in a week, she doesn’t have concrete plans to see Astarion again. 

And that just won’t do.

Since Astarion is usually the one to come up with plans for them, Eve decides she should take some initiative this time. She fetches her laptop and goes down a rabbit hole of community bulletin boards and local Facebook groups, until she comes across The Night Orchid—a queer nightclub hosting themed events all throughout the summer. She scrolls down their calendar, her eyes widening once they reach July 19th.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she whispers to herself, smiling as she pulls up her texts with Astarion.

Eve finds herself grinning widely at the screen. Before she can type out a response, her phone buzzes with an incoming call. 

He’s never called her before.

“Hi ther–”

“GET OUT YOUR DANCING SHOES, EVE TURNER, WE’RE GOING OUT.”

“Why are you yelling?”

“This is serious business, we need outfits.”

“I don’t think I have anything in my closet that screams disco.”

“Then I suppose a shopping trip is in order, hm?”

***

The thrift store is surprisingly busy in the middle of a weekday, the clientele ranging from older couples to gaggles of teenagers on summer vacation. Country music plays softly from the speakers above them:

I took a Louisville Slugger to both headlights
Slashed a hole in all four tires–

“Ugh, I love this song,” Astarion declares, before clasping his hands together in determination. “Alright, so we’re looking for dramatic sleeves, funky patterns, bold colors. And if all else fails: some white and silver.”

He texted her some reference photos last night, so Eve has a vague idea of outfits she could look for, but still–

“I’m gonna need your help with this.” 

“Of course, that’s why I’m here.” He grabs a cart from a line by the door and then points towards the women’s section. “Dresses or tops?” 

“We can start with dresses.”

Astarion flicks through the hangers with the efficiency of someone who has done this hundreds of times before. He’s very methodical, while Eve’s strategy is more about pulling out random items that catch her eye. 

They manage to select a few options before moving onto the next section. At one point, while Eve is examining a sequined tube top, she notices an odd movement in the corner of her eye, and turns to see Astarion lowering his phone before beginning to type.

Her chest tightens instantly. She does her best to keep her voice steady when she asks:

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

He looks up to meet her eyes, an oblivious smile on his lips.

“Oh! Yes, look.” 

He turns the phone towards her. It’s the first photo of herself she’s seen in years, but she doesn’t exactly have the time to ponder the novelty. The room suddenly feels far too warm, Eve’s clothes too tight and constricting.

“It’s a nice candid,” Astarion says. “Karlach was just texting me, asking what I’m up to. She’s a friend from–”

“Can you delete it?” she cuts him off. “Please?”

Fuck, this is weird. He’ll think I’m weird.

Better weird than dead.

“You don’t like it?” Astarion’s smile fades when he looks at the photo again.

“No, it’s nice, I just can’t–” Damn it. She corrects herself: “Don’t like having pictures of me taken.”

Astarion doesn’t question it, doesn’t attempt to convince her that no, look, it really is a nice picture–

“Okay.” He points the screen towards her as he deletes the photo, then navigates to the ‘recently deleted’ folder to permanently erase it. “It’s gone. Sorry about that.”

“No it’s fine, you didn’t know.”

There is a beat of awkward silence before Astarion points to the top in her hands.

“This looks fun.” 

Eve completely forgot about it. She hums in agreement and tosses it into the cart.

“Do you want to start trying things on?” he asks. “I think you have plenty of options.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Go ahead and start without me. I’ll just check out the men’s shirts. I don’t have high hopes though.”

They split up and Eve heads over to claim one of the changing rooms. She draws the curtain shut and meets her eyes in the reflection as she takes a deep breath.

It’s fine. She’s fine. He deleted it and he won’t do it again because he’s not the type of person who would just disregard someone’s boundaries.

She’s not sure how she knows that, but there is no doubt in her mind about it.

Eve attempts to ground herself as she brushes her hand against the various garments hung up along the wall. She starts with the metallic silver jumpsuit that she was particularly excited about, but sighs in frustration when the fabric refuses to pass over her thighs.

None of the dresses fit quite right. She pulls yet another one off when she hears Astarion’s distant voice.

“Eve?”

“First one on the left!” she informs him. 

Eve rarely bothers with a bra and today is no exception. So when the faint thuds of Astarion’s steps reach the outside of her dressing room, she is wearing nothing but a pair of high-waisted black thongs. And suddenly all she can think about is how the only thing separating Astarion from her practically naked body is a single flimsy curtain—and as proficient as she is at lying to herself, she can’t pretend there isn’t something intriguing about that realization. 

“How is it going?” he asks, luckily stopping Eve’s train of thought before it goes off the rails.

“No luck so far.”

“Same. The men’s section was a misunderstanding. I’ve never seen this much camo in my life.”

Eve scoffs, though not without amusement.

“Okay, city boy.”

Fuck. This is not information she should know. He’s never told her that. 

But Astarion just laughs.

“What gave it away? My impeccable sense of style, my highbrow tastes–”

“Your style, obviously,” she rushes to reply, thankful for the out. 

“Well, technically I was more of a suburbs boy. But I did spend a lot of my life in LA and I guess that place rubs off on you.” He pauses for a moment before changing the subject: “Anyways, I found this Def Leppard tour tee that definitely belonged to someone’s dad. Do you think Lae’zel would like it?”

Astarion slides the shirt through the side and Eve can’t help but smile as she grabs it from him. That is in fact one of Lae’s favorite bands.

“You remember the smallest things,” she says, voice tinged with fondness that has become increasingly harder to conceal.

Astarion is silent for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, sounding flustered. “It’s not that small, she told me a whole story about it.”

“What?”

“Well, at the party, I started pestering her some more about her music taste and she said it all started with her grandpa and a Def Leppard CD that got stuck in the car radio.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one.”

“So this was after Lae’zel had a couple drinks. She was surprisingly talkative and nice, so I’m pretty sure she was just nervous about whether Jen would show up or not, and she needed a distraction. Anyways, when she was a kid her grandpa was the one to drive her around to school and soccer practice and whatnot. One day the CD player in his car broke and it wouldn’t eject the disc. And so the choice of music was either whatever was playing on the radio, or Hysteria by Def Leppard. They just listened to it on loop and that really shaped her music taste going forward.”

Eve smiles as she pictures little Lae’zel and her abuelo banging their heads along to the music.

“Well, you two clearly have something special going on, because she’s never told me this,” she says as she reaches for another dress and undoes the zipper running down the back.

“Jealous much?”

“Maybe a little.”

Eve steps into the dress but despite her best efforts, she can’t reach the zipper.

“Astarion, could you give me a hand?”

“Meaning?”

“Can you zip me up?”

“Oh. Do you– Uh–” he stutters, as if she just issued him the most indecent proposal. “Am I supposed to come in?”

“Unless you can manipulate objects with your mind, then yes, please come in.”

Eve turns away from the entrance, her back fully exposed, and watches in the mirror as Astarion slips inside. It’s quite a tight fit with the two of them in there, but she doesn’t exactly mind that.

For a moment, their eyes meet in the reflection before he glances down to her back. He holds the bottom of the split with one hand, seemingly making great effort to not touch her skin, and uses the other hand to fasten the dress. Eve finds herself holding her breath, as if waiting for something that likely won’t ever happen.

When she turns around, she finds Astarion standing much closer than expected. If she didn’t know any better, she could swear there is the faintest tinge of blush to his cheeks.

His gaze is a tad scattered as he shuffles back, then opens the curtain and steps outside.

Eve feels oddly exposed as Astarion’s eyes glide up and down her body, head cocked to the side. After a moment, he decides:

“It wears you, not the other way around. Doesn’t do you any favors.”

Eve takes a second to assess her reflection, the fabric too loose and bunching up in odd places.

“Yeah, I kinda hate it.” She turns to Astarion and gestures towards her back. “Could you…?”

“Ah, yes– Sure.”

He steps behind her, and as the zipper slides down, a small part of her wonders if she could perhaps get used to being undressed by him.

“There you go,” Astarion mutters, leaving in a hurry as soon as the task is done.

Pushing the errant thoughts away, Eve turns her attention to the tops, slowly losing hope with each item she tries on. The sequin tube top is too loose around her chest. The zebra print button-up feels too constricting, uncomfortably tight around her stomach. 

At least Astarion is there, keeping her distracted by reading out the IMDb trivia page for A Quiet Place: Day One.

“Did you know that the cat was actually played by two cats? Their names are Nico and Schnitzel.”

“Schnitzel is a great name for a cat,” Eve says as she grabs a flowery long-sleeve top off the rack.

“It is. Though if I had a cat, I’d name him Donatello.”

“After… the artist?”

“No, after the ninja turtle.”

Eve’s lips stretch into a disbelieving smile and she glances at the curtain as if she could read Astarion’s expression through the fabric.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” she says as she pulls the top over her head.

“Oh, I’m quite serious. Donnie was always my favorite. You seem more like a Leonardo type.”

“I’ll just go ahead and assume that’s a compliment. Also, I think I finally found something.”

“Oh!”

The top is slightly cropped and tied in the front, sleeves flaring out into a bell-shape. The orange and pink floral pattern pairs nicely with the high-waisted brown shorts she wore today.

“I think I’ll just wear this,” she says as she pulls the curtain to the side. “It works with the shorts, right? I don’t need to buy new ones.”

Astarion’s brows quirk up and he nods slowly as he traces the shape of the garment.

“Yes,” he says after a moment.

“That’s all?” Astarion has so many opinions on the smallest things and never hesitates to make them known. But suddenly, all he can voice is a single word?

“Oh, I’m sorry.” His face seems to relax, a familiar smirk gracing his lips. “Are you fishing for compliments right now?”

“Nevermind,” Eve says and draws the curtain shut, but not before she blushes yet again. 

That doesn’t shut Astarion up:

“My mortal eyes are not worthy of beholding the perfection that is this outfit,” he says with a healthy dose of theatrical flair. “You will be the most breathtaking creature to ever grace that dance floor and we will all be lucky to bask in your presence and witness such otherworldly beauty.”

“You’re welcome,” she chuckles as she changes back into her shirt.

Once she’s done, Astarion helps her move all of the other clothes to a rack outside the dressing rooms. Eve hesitates when she spots the zebra shirt again. 

She pulls it out to give it another look. It’s a button down with a deep v-shaped neckline and balloon sleeves. The shimmery satin-like fabric feels smooth under her touch.

“Having second thoughts?” Astarion asks. 

“No, this was too small on me. But I think it might fit you.” 

Eve turns to face him, but Astarion doesn’t take the garment, just eyes it curiously, seeming unconvinced. 

“What?” she asks. “You said dramatic sleeves and funky patterns. This checks all the boxes. And if anyone can pull this look off, it’s you.”

“Hm.” He considers it for a moment before taking the shirt and heading back to the dressing room. “Alright. I suppose this would pair well with my bell-bottoms.”

“You own bell-bottoms?” Eve asks incredulously as she follows him. “Actually, why am I surprised? Of course you do.”

She waits outside as Astarion changes, thinking about all of the outfits she’s seen him in—the myriad of different cuts, colors, and styles. 

“Your wardrobe must be huge,” she says. 

“I have amassed quite a lot of clothes over the past few months, that’s true. I guess I just– for a lot of my life, I wore what was… expected of me. Appropriate.”

A photograph sparks up in her mind: Astarion beside Cazador on the red carpet. How different he looked back then. She wonders if that’s what he means now—that he did not have much of a say in his appearance.

“But recently I’ve been trying out new things and just wearing whatever feels like… me. Even if it’s too much or too flashy or too out there. It’s been… freeing, honestly.”

The admission feels surprisingly vulnerable, the curtain between them a makeshift confessional.

Before she can ponder his words for too long, Astarion snaps her back into the present:

“You were right, this does fit me.”

When Astarion steps out, Eve’s brain seems to stop working. 

Of course he would make this flashy shirt look like the most tantalizing thing a man could put on his body. It seems like it was custom-tailored especially for him.

“You’re oddly quiet. So it’s a pass, then?”

Eve blinks and looks up to meet his eyes. 

“No, you, uh– You look great,” she manages.

“Really?” His face lights up at her words. And then, because apparently Eve is not blushing enough, he spins slowly in place and asks: “Anything in particular?”

“It, uh–” She stutters, trying desperately to think of a single, normal thing to say. “Your waist, it, um– It looks nice.”

“My waist looks nice,” he repeats slowly, tormenting her with a self-satisfied smile. “Well, I’d be a fool not to buy it, then. If you like it so much.”

“Mhm,” she hums nervously and Astarion takes some mercy on her as he steps back inside to change.

Eve somehow manages not to embarrass herself any further as they gather their things and head over to the cashier. Next to the register, they spot a large bowl of $1 belt buckles and Astarion fishes out a silver, star-shaped one that, in his words, will “spice things up.”

They discuss the logistics of their Friday outing as they leave the store, the heat enveloping them the instant they step onto the sidewalk. 

“I have to figure out what to do for my makeup,” Eve says as they head towards her car. 

“Maybe I can help?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I can come over earlier and do your makeup.” Astarion hesitates for a moment and adds: “If– if you want, of course.”

They’ve been spending all this time together, and yet he hasn’t been to her apartment. Not since the party at least, which was almost a month ago now.

“Yeah,” she decides. “That sounds fun. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

***

After she drops Astarion off, Eve can’t seem to stop grinning to herself on the drive back to her apartment.

But the moment she steps inside, she is hit with a wave of doubt, inspecting the space with uncharacteristic scrutiny. She has managed to bring the apartment back into its usual state, but now she is starting to wonder whether that’s enough.

When was the last time I dusted the ceiling fan?

She puts on an ABBA playlist and plunges head-first into a whirlwind of arguably unnecessary chores. All the while, she can’t get the image of Astarion in that goddamned zebra shirt out of her mind. 

Chapter Text

“Oh shit, oh no, no, fuck–” Eve mutters as the first lock falls limply onto her forehead. 

She tries another one. Then another. And oh god, it just keeps getting worse. The paper towel pieces fall into the sink one by one until she’s sure she got them all. 

There is exasperation in her eyes when she assesses herself in the mirror, her head a regrettable conglomeration of curls that are all different shapes and sizes, facing different directions. What in the hell compelled her to give this a try in the first place?

In a last-ditch attempt to salvage this fashion fiasco, Eve runs a brush through a few of the curls, which somehow makes matters even worse. She looks like a pink poodle, and not a particularly well-groomed one at that.

Her computer sits on the edge of the tub, the paused tutorial video mocking her efforts. She glares at the youtuber whose name she already forgot, all perfect smile and easy, effortless, no-heat curls–

“Fuck you,” she grumbles and shuts the laptop.

It’s fine, she just has to wash it again, and then go with her regular hairstyle–

The buzzer rings and she groans. 

“Can’t you be late for once in your life?”

Once she reaches the intercom, she says in a calmer tone:

“Hello.”

“Hi. This is Astarion.”

“I know your voice, you don’t have to announce yourself every time.”

“I’m just committed to the bit at this point.”

Eve chuckles and then remembers the state of her appearance:

“So um… I think I need more time to get ready.”

“I thought we were supposed to be getting ready together? I mean– like, are you decent?”

“I am wearing clothes, yes, but I wouldn’t call anything about this decent.”

“Um– okay. Can I come up and help you then?”

“...sure,” she says, resigned, as she buzzes him in.

Something flutters in her chest when she opens the door. 

The ridiculous zebra print shirt that Astarion somehow managed to make look incredible is tucked into a pair of white denim bell-bottoms, his waist accentuated by a black belt with the huge star buckle they thrifted. Her gaze travels down the flare of his pants to the pear-green pointed toe boots with a slight heel.

Eve looks up to meet Astarion’s eyes, glinting curiously beyond the silver wire of his glasses. His hair is meticulously sculpted, as always. 

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to stare?” he reprimands her with a self-satisfied smile, snapping her back to the present. 

Heat rushing to her cheeks, she starts to mumble an apology, but he cuts her off:

“Relax, I’m just teasing. Love the hair.” He points to the questionable state of her head as he steps inside. “Very disco.”

“Disaster, more like. You don’t have to be nice about it.”

“Disaster? Sure, it’s a little messy, but it’s nothing a little pomade can’t fix. I’ll help you out. Oh, wait, you missed one–” He says and Eve freezes, mortified, as Astarion reaches to the back of her head and carefully pulls out a crumpled paper towel piece. “What a curious technique.”

Eve buries her face in her hands and groans against them.

“It’s fine,” she says as she looks up again. “Everything is fine. Please just come in, make yourself comfortable.”

Astarion seems thoroughly unbothered.

“I think we can focus on the makeup first, and then address the hair situation. I brought supplies.” He points to his tote bag. “Where do you want to do this?”

“My room’s fine,” Eve says nonchalantly as if she didn’t spend the last two days making her room presentable specifically for this occasion. 

She opens the door and invites him in, feeling almost exposed as Astarion looks around the space, the only one she can really call her own.

“All of my makeup is on that desk there,” she says, pointing to the corner of the room. “I’ll grab us another chair, give me a sec.” 

When she returns, Astarion is seated at her desk, lips curled up into a curious smile.

“You saved them,” he says. 

“Saved what?” Eve asks as she puts the dining chair down and turns to him.

But Astarion is not looking in her direction. He is pointing to the corkboard above her desk, both of his notes pinned there.

Heat blooms across Eve’s face as she curses herself. All this time cleaning and it didn’t occur to her to take these off. 

But then again, why should she?

“Uh– yeah…” she mutters. “I did. Is that weird?”

“No.” He turns to meet her eyes, an undeniable fondness in his gaze. “It’s… sweet.”

“Well, it was sweet of you to write them in the first place, so…” she trails off. “Yeah.”

And then, before she says something she would surely regret, she points to the bag Astarion placed on the desk.

“So, what did you bring?”

Astarion starts unpacking the bag, presenting her with a wide array of makeup, including an impressively large eyeshadow palette. Some of it is new, still wrapped in plastic, but some of it is clearly his own.

Eve pulls her hair back with a wide headband and sits in front of Astarion, suddenly second-guessing whether inviting him here was a good idea. She’s nervous—though about what exactly, she’s not sure.

“So.” Astarion brings his hands together. “Any requests?”

“Nope. I trust your judgement.”

“Bold of you to say that,” he chuckles as he studies the eyeshadow palette. “Okay, so my infallible instincts tell me that for amber eyes, we should go with green, purple, or some sort of burgundy. Or we can disregard color theory and just do whatever feels good.”

“Let’s do burgundy.”

“Alright. And– I don’t think I’ve seen you wear face makeup outside of your job. Do you want me to just do your eyes?”

Eve can’t help but smile—it’s endearing that he would notice that. It’s true, she doesn’t usually wear face makeup, but the one time she went to work without it, she was told she looked “tired” and “unapproachable,” and the tips seemed to reflect that. 

“Yeah, usually I just put on some eyeliner, if anything. But, if we’re already doing this, then let’s go all out. I’d love some dramatic temple blush, the works.”

“Can do.”

Astarion offers to put on some music, and since Eve has been listening to ABBA all day to prepare for the party, they decide to go with something different and settle on The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess.

He starts with her eyes, and when Eve lets her eyelids fall, she finds this situation oddly vulnerable, but not unpleasantly so. She is suddenly hyper aware of how close he’s sitting, how he is focusing all of his attention on her face. 

They’ve been spending so much time together these past two weeks, but this feels different somehow, more… intimate. They were always out in public, surrounded by other people, focused on some activity or other. But now, it’s just the two of them in her bedroom of all places, Astarion’s touch gentle and almost caring as he dabs primer onto her eyelids.

The room feels too warm all of a sudden, an unseen force tugging at Eve’s midsection as if to propel her closer to him. It’s a novel sensation, one that she is not sure what to do with.

And just as she is becoming aware of the change in her breathing, Astarion adds fuel to the fire when he says:

“It might be easier if you open your legs.”

“What?” Eve blurts out, dumbfounded, as she opens her eyes and follows his gaze down to their knees, almost touching.

“So I can move my chair closer–” he starts to explain but seems almost flustered as he abandons the idea. “Nevermind, I can just–”

“No, that’s fine,” she says and parts her thighs for him.

Astarion brings his chair forward, his knees slotting into the space she’s made for him between her legs. He is close now, so close she can trace the crinkles of his smile lines. 

Eve has no idea what to do with her hands, eventually settling them on top of her thighs. There is an odd ache in her fingers, a need to reach out that she tries to ignore.

“Close your eyes,” he says softly and Eve obeys. 

Perhaps that was a bad idea, because all other sensations are now amplified: the makeup brush pressing against her eyelid, the side of Astarion’s hand grazing her cheek in the process—a point of contact so innocuous and yet it still sets her skin on fire. Eve half-expects him to yank his hand away from the burn.

She wills her attention away from her face, which seems to be another bad idea, because now all she can think about are the two points at which his knees make contact with her inner thighs. 

Eve is caught off guard by the images that this sensation sparks in her mind: Astarion using his knee to spread her open before him. Pushing it even further, all the way to her center, making her grind against it in search of relief. 

Eve wonders how many muscles it would take for her to push off her chair and straddle him right this second.

The music fades into the distance and all that remains is the scent of him, herbal and citrusy with a darker edge to it. The body warmth she swears she can feel radiating off his chest. The mental images of their chests pressed together, skin against skin, limbs intertwined.

Alright, maybe it’s best not to think about that while he is studying her face so closely, when he can see the blush on her cheeks, presented before him on a silver platter.

Eve’s heartbeat thrums in her skull and she wonders if he hears it too, if he knows he is the cause of it.

“So…” she starts and it seems too loud, too invasive, but she needs to fill this silence, before she goes up in flames. “Are you also getting your makeup done?”

“That’s the plan,” he says, in that same soft tone, focused on his task. “I also bought some body glitter. Care to partake?”

“Well, do I want to wear body glitter for the party? Sure. Do I want to keep finding bits of glitter on my clothes and skin for the next two weeks? Absolutely not.”

“Fair enough.” He chuckles and she can feel his breath fanning against her skin. “I suppose that’s a risk I’m willing to take, for the aesthetic. Now, I don’t mean to hush you, but it’s a little hard to do this when your face is moving.”

“Okay,” she says and falls silent.

Time stretches mercilessly, and even the music fails to distract her from Astarion’s touch and her erratically erotic thoughts.

What’s gotten into me today?

Not him, sadly. Not yet, at least.

Shut up shut up shut up–

“You can open your eyes now,” he says softly and oh what a relief that is. 

When she follows Astarion’s instruction, she notices a faint tinge of blush in his cheeks. Maybe the room is too warm, after all.

Astarion moves onto the concealer and after a moment, asks:

“Did you always have so many freckles?”

“They come out in the sun. So I probably have more now than when we first met.”

“They’re beautiful,” he says before getting back to his task, and Eve turns his words over and over in her head as if they were the most intimate of confessions.

She thought it would be easier to contain whatever madness has gotten into her now that her eyes are open. But instead she finds herself studying Astarion’s face: the wrinkle that always forms between his brows when he tries to focus, the irregular speckles of color encircling his pupils, the pronounced cupid’s bow of those agonizingly kissable lips.

When Astarion finishes his work, he hands her a mirror, his smile hesitant yet proud.

“Damn,” is all she manages to say when she sees her reflection. 

“I’m glad we agree on that.”

Hair notwithstanding, she looks mesmerizing. It still feels like her, but the look is so different from her usual state that it gives her a certain degree of anonymity. There is something exhilarating about it: like she could be anyone she wants. 

Like anything is possible tonight.

“Oh, also,” Astarion starts and she looks away from the reflection to meet his gaze. “If you want mascara, I suggest you do it yourself. I don’t want to accidentally gouge your eye out and then, you know… be late to the party.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

Eve follows his advice and then proceeds to paint her nails while Astarion does his makeup. He opts for electric purple eyeshadow that makes his eyes look like two pearls nestled against all the color. 

He fetches the body glitter, but then leaves for the bathroom, deciding that the task requires a larger mirror. 

“Thoughts?” he asks when he returns.

Eve turns around to find Astarion standing a couple feet away, specks of glitter along the deep cut of his neckline, incandescent in the light of the setting sun.

“You look great,” she says, though it doesn’t quite cut it.

“Great?” He scoffs, lips twisted into a pained grimace when he says: “This is the skin of a killer, Eve.” 

She bursts into a sudden laugh, but Astarion’s scowl remains intact.

“I’m the world’s most dangerous predator.” His lips twitch slightly as she keeps laughing, but he’s committed: “Everything about me invites you in. My voice, my face, even my smell… As if I would need any of that.”

Eve watches in disbelief as Astarion sprints out of the room.

“AS IF YOU COULD OUTRUN ME,” he yells from the living room and Eve is bent double from laughter.

“Okay you need to stop,” she begs as she tries to catch her breath.

Astarion reemerges, his frown replaced by a wide grin as he bows with a flourish. 

“Bravo,” Eve says, clapping slowly. “Excellent performance.”

“I’m glad you too appreciate fine cinema.”

“It is objectively one of the best movies ever made. And it feels very on-brand that you can quote that scene.”

“Oh, I can quote the whole thing. But then we’d be here all day.”

Eve finds that she wouldn’t exactly mind that.

“Maybe whenever the weather gets worse, we can just stay inside and do a Twilight marathon,” she suggests.

“It’s a date,” he says with a smile. And before Eve has the chance to overanalyze his word choice, he adds: “Now, let’s see what we can do about your hair.”

They move to the bathroom, Astarion working his magic with a comb, hair spray, and some pomade. The smell of his cologne is even more prominent in the small space, the proximity of him near electrifying. 

He asks her to turn around to face him, then runs his fingers through Eve’s curls to guide their shape.

And it is in that moment that Chappell Roan, rather unhelpfully, sings:

If I don’t try then it’s my loss.
An inch away from more than just friends–

Eve screams internally. 

Goddammit, Chappell, not now.

But luckily it seems that Astarion is not paying attention to the music.

“I was thinking we could catch an Uber if that’s alright with you?”

“Oh, I’m okay with driving,” she says, grateful for the distraction. “I only ever have one drink a night, if any, so it’s not a problem.”

She has considered bending her rule for this occasion, but seeing as her tongue has been slipping more and more recently while fully sober… It might not be the wisest idea. 

Especially not right now, while she’s ovulating or possessed, or both.

“I insist. I just– Well, you always drive me around. Let me pay for a ride this time so that if you want to drink, you can, and if you don’t, at least you won’t have to drive when you’re tired. And you won’t have to worry about parking.”

The parking is what convinces her.

***

The person who checks their tickets and IDs looks like they’ve been transported straight from the 70s. They each get a purple orchid stamp on the back of their hands so they can go out and back in, if they so please. 

The club is not too big, but already full of vibrantly dressed people laughing and chattering excitedly. Astarion starts humming along to the song that’s playing as he looks around the space, then back to her with wide eyes.

“Fuck, I love the Bee Gees. The vibes are immaculate.” His excitement is so raw and genuine that she can’t help but smile, warmth spreading down her chest. “So, did you want anything to drink?”

“Sure, I’ll have a beer.”

“First round’s on me,” he says as they push their way through to the bar. Astarion leans against the counter, raising his voice to cut through all the commotion as he places their order:

“I’ll have a gin and tonic, and for my…” He hesitates for a split second as if trying to decide on the right term. “...lovely companion, let me guess.” He turns to Eve, giving her an inquisitive look. “How about… the most hoppy, face-scrunchingly bitter IPA you’ve got? Draft, preferably. But bottled will do in a pinch. Did I get that right?”

Yes, you did. You got it perfectly right because you’re a great listener and you always remember the little things–

Eve gives a firm nod to the bartender and they turn around to fetch their glasses.

“You didn’t have to make it sound like the worst thing in the world,” she says, all but leaning against his side. She can barely single out his voice otherwise. “Are you really so appalled by my drink of choice?”

“Appalled?” He smiles widely at that. “Hardly. If anything, it’s reassuring.”

“Reassuring?” Eve repeats, confused.

“Yes. It’s nice to know that you do actually have some flaws like the rest of us.”

“And you’re saying that my taste in beer is my main character flaw?”

The crowd erupts with enthusiastic cheers as a new song comes on, prompting Astarion to lean in and speak directly into her ear: 

“It’s the only one I can think of, honestly.”

The bartender mercifully excuses her from the need to come up with an answer as they hand her a tall glass with just the right amount of foam.

They chat and drink, listening to an eclectic array of late 70s and 80s music. At 10 p.m. the music fades out and they see a woman step onto a small stage across the room. She’s wearing a shimmery, silver a-line dress and a pair of white knee-high platform boots, her bright purple hair held back by a white headband.  

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, thank you for this amazing turnout! You all look incredible and I love your commitment to the theme. My name is Nocturne–” A few people cheer loudly and she waves at them. “Yes, thank you. I’m the manager of this fine establishment, so if you need anything, and I do mean anything, come find me. But you’re not here for me, are you? Tell me, are you ready for some ABBA?”

The crowd erupts with a cheer.

“I didn’t hear you! I asked: ARE YOU READY FOR SOME ABBA?”

The excitement is deafening this time.

“That’s the spirit,” she says, flashing them a wide smile. “Now, my lovelies, let’s go back to 1974. A Swedish pop group just won the Eurovision contest and finally got the breakthrough they’ve been waiting for. And then… well, the rest is history.”

The lights go off completely for a couple seconds, a murmur of anticipation filling the room. And then, to a collective delight, a single beam of light hits the disco ball above their heads, bathing the space in a cascade of dancing lights. 

My my,
At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender–

Eve notes with no small amount of satisfaction that she knows the lyrics to this one—it seems that listening to ABBA Gold on repeat for the entire day has paid off. They abandon their empty glasses and make their way onto the dance floor. And though Eve has convinced herself she can’t dance, it doesn’t seem to matter. Sometimes Astarion guides her, and sometimes she’s just jumping and singing along with everyone. Either way, she feels right at home in this crowd, all of it a little ethereal, a little magical. 

Each song brings a new wave of excitement and Eve is not sure how much time passes like this, but she hardly cares. All that matters is the music, the colorful lights, the sheer joy on Astarion’s face as he sings and dances and laughs beside her.

At some point, a new song comes on that Eve doesn’t recognize from the album, but she vaguely remembers having heard it before. There is a barely noticeable shift to Astarion’s expression before he leans in and shouts through the music: 

“Smoke break?”

“I thought you quit.”

“Whatever, let’s just get some fresh air.” 

He nods to the exit and as they make their way out through the crowd, the lyrics start:

Keep thinking 'bout his angel eyes,
Keep thinking–

And then it all makes sense.

Astarion must have remembered that this song stirred up bad memories when she first heard it and he didn’t want her to have to listen to it again. But of course, he wouldn’t just say that—he needed some other excuse that wouldn’t make it all about her. To give her an out without putting her on the spot.

Eve’s heart swells in her chest at the thoughtfulness as they step outside, the chill night air invigorating. There is a small crowd outside the club, smoking, talking, and is that…? Yup, there is a couple making out just a few feet away.

Eve leans against the brick wall of the building, hands folded behind her back.

“How is my hair?” Astarion asks as he stops before her, though not close enough for her liking.

“Exquisite, as always.”

“Exquisite?” he gasps. “You incorrigible flirt.”

“How is my makeup?” she asks in turn, a wide smile gracing her lips.

“Radiant. Lustrous. Dare I say, resplendent.”

“Such pretty words.” 

“What can I say, I like my synonyms. When all of you plebeians were listening to bedtime stories about talking animals, my mother was reading me a thesaurus.”

Eve stares at him blankly for a moment before they both burst out laughing.

“That might be one of the dumber things I’ve ever said,” he admits. “But not the dumbest, surely.”

“Surely,” she chuckles. “Well, if you’re so confident about your lexicon, how about this: I’ll bet you that you can’t beat me at Bananagrams.”

“Bananagrams?” he repeats, bewildered. “Why not Scrabble?”

“Because Bananagrams is more fun. But sure, if you want to lose at Scrabble, we can do that too.”

“What are we betting for?”

“If you win, I’ll buy you dinner at a restaurant of your choice.”

“And if I lose?” he asks with a smirk.

“Then you’ll buy me dinner at a restaurant of my choice.”

“So, really, I win either way. I accept your terms,” he says and shakes her hand for a bit longer than customary. 

“You’re on,” she says with a smile.

They settle into comfortable silence, and through the chatter surrounding them, Eve catches a fragment of the song coming from inside the club.

And I wonder, does it have to be the same?
Every time when I see him, will it bring back all the pain?

And it’s as if Astarion catches the subtle change in her expression, the furrow in her brow, the faltering of her smile. Because he rushes to speak over the faint echo of the song:

“Eve, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” 

“Are you…” He hesitates for a moment as if he already regrets bringing this up, but then continues: “...seeing anyone at the moment?”

It’s about the last thing she expected to hear.

“…no? Why?”

“Well, I’ve just been wondering, because–” Astarion shifts his weight, his unease evident even in the low light. “I was picking some stuff up from the dry cleaners Monday afternoon and I saw you with this guy… kind of looked like a Disney prince?”

“Oh! No, that’s just Wyll… He’s an old friend.” The lie comes to her easily, uncomfortably so. Although it’s not entirely a lie, is it? “He’s in town every Monday for work, and we have this running coffee date. Friend date,” she hurries to specify. “But yeah, no, I’m uh– Very much single at the moment.”

“Oh.” If Astarion attempts to conceal his relief, he’s not doing a great job. “Um– Okay. So am I.” 

Eve didn’t ask. But her heart beats faster as she considers the implications of his words. It’s quite charming to see him so flustered.

“So, uh… Oh!” He pulls out his phone and asks: “How much do I owe you for the tickets?”

“No, no, you’re not paying me back,” she says with a decisive shake of her head.

“What? Why?”

“Consider it a belated birthday gift.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“Wha– Wait, how do you know my birthday?”

“Remember– Well, no, I guess you wouldn’t remember. Anyways, when I drove you home after the party, I had to check your ID for the address, since you wouldn’t… tell me. Which is where I read your birthday, and I guess it was easy to remember cause, you know– It was–”

“Oh god. Was it weird that I didn’t tell you?”

“No, I get it. We didn’t really know each other back then. And I guess if it were me, I would be worried that if I said anything, you would feel some sort of pressure– I don’t know. But I get it. I just– I’m sorry you couldn’t spend it with your friends and family–”

“You’re sorry?” He laughs, genuinely bewildered. “Eve, are you joking right now?”

She doesn’t respond, just eyes him curiously, and Astarion carries on:

“I fucking hate my birthday. Or, I have, for a while at least. But this was the first time since… Probably since college, honestly, that I had fun on that day. I really did. And yeah, the hangover was a bitch and your car deserved better–” He shakes his head and corrects himself: “Mister Gizmo deserved better. But the party itself was amazing. And now you give me this birthday gift and I literally couldn’t picture a more perfect way to spend my night. Just… ABBA and dancing and… you. You’re incredible.”

The word echoes in her mind, and she thinks about all the things she wants to tell him, all the ways in which she wants to reach out. How she could push off the wall right now and reach up to cradle his face. Whether it would be too much if she held his hand– 

But then the song changes and Astarion’s eyes widen, a wild spark swirling around his irises.

“Oh, we have to dance to this one.”

And suddenly it is his hand that reaches out for hers as he guides her back inside and Eve has to remind herself that that’s just what people do when they move through the crowd and don’t want to lose each other–

But she tells that part of her brain to please shut the fuck up because there is nothing about this moment that seems arbitrary. She will allow herself to indulge in the fantasy that there is meaning to all of this: to the way Astarion holds her hand, firm but gentle, his questions about Wyll, him calling her incredible, seemingly finding no flaws in her. 

People everywhere,
A sense of expectation hangin’ in the air–

She will let herself believe all that, because on a night like this, amongst the crowd of dancing and joyful and unapologetic bodies, in the half-dark and colorful lights, in the rhythm and intoxicating melody of it all, it is all too easy to believe that he wants more, too. 

Givin’ out a spark,
Across the room, your eyes are glowin’ in the dark–

And if he doesn’t, if it’s just a trick of the light that will flicker out come morning, if she somehow misunderstood all these signals, then she will cherish it while it lasts—these moments when everything feels possible.

They find a place for themselves amongst this ecstatic congregation, in the flurry of color and lights. Astarion turns to face her and although he lets go of her hand, they remain tethered—celestial bodies orbiting around each other, indifferent to all that is happening around them.

And if magic exists in this world, it is here tonight, unveiling before Eve’s very eyes. It lives in each swing of their hips, each wave of their arms, each time their feet leap off the ground. 

In the way Astarion looks at her.

Voulez-vous?
Take it now or leave it,
Now is all we get,
Nothing promised, no regrets–

A sea of bodies, jumping, chanting. The a-ha’s and the clapping, it’s a near dizzying rhythm and although she has only had one drink, Eve feels intoxicated on this energy, on the boundless queer joy of it all.

When the chorus is back for the final time, Astarion reaches for her hand and spins her in place and they just keep going–

Ain’t no big decision,
You know what to do–

The lyrics fall off her tongue and all that is left is just laughter, a giddy, joyful sound bubbling up from the depths of her chest. She feels weightless as she keeps spinning, the whole scene something from a movie, or a dream, but not real life, not her life–

La question c’est “voulez-vous?”

And then finally the song fades away and Eve loses her balance, crashing into Astarion.

His hands immediately find her waist, as if they belong there. His touch is steadying, anchoring her body against his in a way that’s infinitely more tantalizing than anything her imagination could have conjured. 

Eve’s head is spinning as she looks up, and perhaps her mind is playing tricks on her, because she could swear Astarion is blushing. He is breathless, that’s for certain. She feels the rise and fall of his chest against hers, her skin electrified where it meets his.

The kaleidoscope of lights and colors fades into the background and suddenly the only hue that matters is the cloudy blue of his eyes, the promise of an incoming storm. The only rhythm she can feel is that of his heart, reverberating against her chest, so close she could swear it’s her own.

Time seems to slow down as Astarion’s gaze travels down to her lips. He holds it there before looking up to meet her eyes again—slowly, as if wanting to make sure she won’t mistake the unspoken question for anything else.

The weight of it all comes crashing down upon her. All these weeks of pushing down the attraction she has felt since their first conversation. All these times they laughed together, the smiles he coaxed out of her, the fondness in his gaze that has begun to feel familiar.

It’s magnetism in its purest form, and the sheer force of it scares her. But much louder than the fear is the curiosity, the unadulterated want lighting up every nerve, the longing she has given up on denying.

The song changes and the crowd around them resumes their jumping, but Eve and Astarion pay no mind to the commotion. They remain still, suspended in this little pocket of time they have carved out for themselves.

She tilts her chin up in a wordless invitation, the movement instinctive, natural. A curious flicker gleams in Astarion’s eyes before his lids begin to fall heavily, and he leans forward to meet her–

Someone crashes into them, spilling their drink down Eve’s side, the sudden sensation cold, wet, and violently sobering. 

“For fuck’s sake, watch it!” Astarion snaps, but the culprit seems far too drunk to notice anything has happened, blithely unaware as they disappear into the crowd. Astarion turns back to Eve, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I–”

She takes a step back and her heart aches at the loss of his touch. His hands loosen around her waist, but linger, as if he’s not quite ready to let her go.

“I need to go clean up,” she says, her voice sounding foreign.

“Okay.” He nods and lets her slip away from his grasp.

She feels outside herself as she rushes to the bathroom. 

People are chatting loudly in the line to the stalls, and the purple-haired woman she saw earlier (Nocturne, was it?) is fixing her makeup in front of the mirror. Eve walks up to the sink beside her, gripping the edge to steady herself as she assesses her reflection.

Any lingering flicker of doubt she had about how Astarion views her has been thoroughly extinguished. 

He was going to kiss her.

He would have kissed her.

He wanted to kiss her. And fuck, how she wanted him to.

It’s all happening too fast and yet feels exactly right, a natural next step in a chain of events too far gone to reverse. 

Both can be true at the same time. The desire gripping at every muscle in her body, guiding all her movements ever closer to him. The fear taking hold of each nerve, conjuring worst case scenarios, paralyzing in its attempt at self-preservation.

If they kiss tonight, everything will change.

It won’t be casual, it can’t be casual, not with the way every part of her has been yearning for his closeness.

If this, whatever it is they have, goes any further, she won’t be able to keep up the ruse. She will have to– need to– want to tell him.

And not just that she knows about this past.

No. Everything.

Eve doesn’t imagine it any other way, and yet she also struggles to imagine Astarion wanting anything to do with her once the truth is out. 

But his reaction is not hers to control.

She knows what she has to do, she just needs more time. An opportunity to think about this with a clear mind, judgement unobscured by the inebriating haze of darkness and color, melody and rhythm.

To do it tonight would feel exactly right and yet carelessly wrong. She holds these two contradictions in her heart, weighing them against one another. Until, in a fit of clarity, a decision is made.

Eve has too many regrets to count, but she will not let this kiss be one of them.

An argument breaks out in the line to the bathroom and it snaps her back to the present.

“You are not about to text her, give me your phone!”

“I wasn’t going to–”

“Girl, be for real. Give me your phone, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Eve takes a deep breath and then tries to deal with the stain running down the side of her top and shorts. She grabs some paper towels and dabs at the fabric, getting most of the moisture out, until there is not much more she can do about it. 

Not ready to face Astarion just yet, she decides to stall and sift through a basket on the ledge by the mirror, full of menstrual and sexual health products. She fishes out a small packet of lube and squints at the tiny text, trying to figure out if it’s water-based or not.

Nocturne finishes applying lipstick with a loud pop, and says:

“Take as much as you want.”

Eve meets the woman’s eyes in the mirror and puts the packet away.

“I think I’m good, thanks.”

“By the way, I love your makeup,” she says, punctuating each word with a flick of her foundation brush.

“Thank you!”

“And your hair and outfit and everything. Ugh, you’re gorgeous. I saw you out on the dance floor, and let me tell you, you two are such a cute couple.”

Heat rushes to Eve’s cheeks as she chuckles nervously.

“Oh, he’s not my– We’re not… a couple.”

“Oh, honey.” Nocturne puts the brush away and turns to face her. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Does he know that?” Nocturne asks, eyes wide with disbelief. “Cause the way he was looking at you… Oh my god, it was just like in The Great Gatsby.”

Ah, yes, another required read she hated. 

“I’m gonna level with you, I remember nothing from that book.”

“Well, have you seen that new adaptation with Carey Mulligan?

“The one that came out eleven years ago? Yes, I have.”

“Eleven years?! I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, cause fuck. Anyways, you know that scene where Jordan is like ‘he looked at Daisy the way all girls want to be looked at?’ That’s you two. Literally. I was getting butterflies watching you, holy fuck.”

“...ummm.” Another nervous giggle. “Cool, I gotta go.”

“Have fun! Use protection.” Nocturne reaches into the basket and shoves a few condoms and dental dams into Eve’s hands. 

“Sure, thanks,” she mutters as she slides them into her pockets and rushes out of the bathroom.

As she makes her way back to the dancefloor, she spots someone talking to Astarion, leaning towards him rather unsubtly. He throws his head back in laughter and Eve doesn’t appreciate the pang of jealousy that grips her heart at the sight. 

He’s single. You’re single. You can’t be upset by this.

Astarion meets Eve’s gaze, his face lighting up at the sight. As he waves her over, he says something to the person before him and they just nod before disappearing into the crowd. 

“There you are.” He sounds relieved as he reaches for Eve’s hand and guides her towards the dancefloor. “Let’s make it very clear that we are– That we came together. There are a lot of thirsty people here tonight.”

Yeah, and you’re looking at one of them.

But just as they make their way back into the crowd, the music fades, and they hear Nocturne’s voice again:

“It’s after midnight, you know what that means!”

The beginning of the song gets drowned out by a collective shriek of joy.

Half-past twelve,
And I'm watchin’ the late show in my flat, all alone.
How I hate to spend the evening on my own–

It is with surprising ease that they settle back into the rhythm of the night, into the dancing, singing, laughing, and the comfort of it all. It’s as if nothing happened between them.

Because nothing happened. Technically. 

And yet it doesn’t feel like that at all.

It’s over before they know it, the final song a collective goodbye chanted by the swaying crowd. After the music fades, their voices carry on, one last time:

Without a song or a dance, what are we?
So I say “thank you for the music, for giving it to me.”

There is still an hour left before closing, but Eve and Astarion are so utterly spent, they decide to call it a night.

Astarion catches her hand and walks in front of her as he maneuvers them through the crowd and towards the exit. In a moment of weakness, Eve makes the mistake of glancing down and oh god how dare his ass look this good in those fucking bell-bottoms–

As they’re carried by the current of bodies walking out of the club, Eve feels a hand touching her wrist and then sliding something thin and rectangular into her palm. She turns around to catch Nocturne’s gaze, and the woman smiles at her before disappearing into the sea of people.

Eve holds up the item, which appears to be Nocturne’s business card, though the details are hard to read in this light. But then she turns the card around and it all makes sense.

Across the back, Nocturne wrote with a sharpie: TELL HIM.

Eve shoves the card into her pocket, head snapping back to Astarion. But luckily he saw none of it, gaze fixed on the exit. 

The night air feels sobering as they step out onto the sidewalk, this dream of light and shadow replaced by the reality of their lives. Astarion lets go of her hand and it feels like the end of something that hasn’t even started.

Soon enough, they’re sliding into the back seats of an Uber.

“How are we doing tonight, guys?” the driver asks with a lot more enthusiasm than one could expect at this hour. Eve figures he can’t be older than twenty.

“We’re doing great.” Astarion glances down at his phone before adding: “How are you, Chris?”

“Oh I’m so good, thanks, man. You guys going to Clinton, yes? How about you put on your favorite music, make yourselves comfortable.” He hands them a charging cord with a few different plugs and starts driving.

“Eve, do you want anything in particular?” Astarion asks as he plugs his phone in.

“I’m too tired to decide, so whatever works.”

Astarion ponders for a moment, before asking:

“Chris, what’s your favorite album?”

“Oh, I don’t really do albums, I just listen to whatever’s on the radio. But my girlfriend, she’s really into Arctic Monkeys.” There is a noticeable shift in his voice, an excitement when he mentions her.

“Nice,” Astarion says as he starts to type something into the search bar. “AM is a no-skip for me.”

“That’s Katie’s favorite, too. Let’s listen to that.”

Astarion puts on the album and Eve nods along to the opening riff. But then they get to the chorus and she tenses, heat rushing to her face.

Do I wanna know?
If this feelin’ flows both ways?

Sad to see you go,
Was sorta hopin’ that you'd stay.

Baby, we both know,
That the nights were mainly made
For sayin’ things that you can't say tomorrow day–

If this were a scene in a book, Eve would find the song choice a bit heavy-handed. But life seems to write the most absurd scenarios and suddenly she finds herself listening to their driver recounting his and his girlfriend’s love story.

“You know, our first kiss was to this song.”

Chris, for fuck’s sake, just shut up.

“Oh yeah?” Astarion asks. 

No, stop that, don’t encourage him.

“Yeah, man, this is like our song. And like, this is why I started this Uber thing, cause I’m saving to get us tickets to see them live, make it into a whole trip. They have a concert like a week after our anniversary, and, you know, how wild is that?”

“Yeah,” Astarion says, an amused smile on his lips.

Chris doesn’t seem to need much more encouragement than that, because he just keeps going: 

“I’ve been hitting the gym, too. Working on my core so I can hold her up on my shoulders so she can see the stage. She’s kind of small, my Katie, she’s like five feet on a good day. So I just want to be able to do that for her, you know? Make that day real special for my girl.”

“Good for you,” Eve says in an attempt to conclude this excruciating tale.

It seems to work for a bit, but then during the second chorus, Chris says:

“You know, I’m gonna marry her one day.”

Oh god.

“I’ve known it for a while. You guys ever had that feeling? Like, you only just met someone but you think ‘wow, this is my person?”

This might be the worst Uber ride of my life.

“Yes, I think I know what you’re talking about,” Astarion says and by some miracle, Eve doesn’t perish on the spot.

The conversation slowly fizzles out, but she can’t tell if that’s actually any better. Because now it’s just the two of them in the backseat, the music, the darkness, and the twisting, yearning feeling in her chest.

Eve becomes acutely aware of the hand Astarion placed ever-so-accidentally on the seat between them, just inches from her own. A wordless invitation she wants so badly to accept.

Instead, she fixes her gaze on the window, the temptation stifled yet not completely erased. 

Her mind drifts and she thinks about what would have happened if they kissed. How he would have tasted and sounded, where his hands would have roamed. 

Yeah, the silence is worse.

She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs as her thighs tense reflexively.

“I think you dropped something,” Astarion says and she turns towards him in confusion.

He picks something up from the middle seat and Eve’s chest tightens thinking back to the business card that Nocturne handed her, the words on the back like a confession scrawled in black ink. 

But then they pass a streetlight and Eve can see that the object is, in fact, a strawberry-flavored condom. Relief washes over her, because out of everything that could have fallen out of her pocket, this is surprisingly the least incriminating.

“I’ve always been more of a cherry guy myself,” Astarion says, handing the condom back to her and Eve accepts it without meeting his eyes. She shoves it deeper into her pocket. “So does that mean you have more plans for tonight?” he asks with that stupid, smug, beautiful smirk.

Eve doesn’t say anything, just makes a show of rolling her eyes before leaning against the window. 

If she doesn’t look at him, this will be easier. Maybe. 

Maybe not.

After the longest half hour of her life, Chris turns onto her street.

“You can drop me off by that ramen shop,” she says, leaning forward to point in its direction.

“You got it.” 

Chris pulls over and Eve is both grateful and frustrated by her decision to take an Uber. Because if the driver wasn’t there, if it was just the two of them in her car, she doubts she would have the self-control to leave without seeking Astarion’s touch.

“Can I walk you home?” he asks, a hesitant hope in his gaze.

Chris chimes in:

“Yeah I can wait here for a couple minutes, you guys take your time.”

Cool.

“No, thanks, I’m fine,” Eve mutters as she unbuckles.

“Are you sure?” Astarion asks softly.

No, I’m not. Please come with me. Please stay.

“Yes,” she insists, against all her instincts. “It’s okay.”

But before she can leave, Astarion reaches for her hand, giving it a light squeeze as he says:

“Thank you for tonight, Eve. I had a great time.”

His eyes are searching, insistent.

“Good night, Astarion,” is all she manages, because if she said anything more, she would not be able to stop.

He smiles softly and Eve squeezes his hand back before getting out of the car. 

She walks back home, movements mechanical, heartbeat erratic.

In the darkness of the apartment, there is nothing to distract her from her thoughts, the mental images composed into a supercut of what ifs. But it’s not the kind of catastrophic speculation Eve’s anxiety has accustomed her to—quite the opposite:

What if it all goes well? What if it’s possible?

As she removes her makeup, she can’t stop thinking about the gentle hands that applied it, the same hands that gripped at her waist, firm but not possessive. The fingers that closed around hers in the back of the car in a gesture that felt like a promise.

Eve settles into bed, but sleep evades her. She tosses and turns, her skin on fire as she keeps replaying tonight’s events.

Astarion’s voice lights up her addled mind, warm and syrupy, his words echoing ceaselessly:

“It’s… sweet.”

“You’re incredible.”

“You’re beautiful.”

No, he didn’t say that, did he? “They’re beautiful.” He was talking about her freckles. 

And yet the words ring true in her mind, clear and visceral as if he was lying right beside her.

It’s so easy to imagine that velvety voice telling her she’s beautiful.

Whispering praises into her ear. 

Gasping her name.

As she focuses on that voice, she can almost pretend it’s his hand that’s trailing down the soft curve of her stomach, that it’s his fingers that hook under the waistband of her underwear, that it’s his touch that forces a gasp from her parted lips as fingers slide down to gather her arousal. 

It doesn’t take long for Eve to unravel under the fleeting phantom of Astarion’s caresses, her mouth falling agape around the sound of his name.

Chapter Text

When Eve wakes up, there is a brief, hazy moment when the morning seems just like any other—if a little calmer, since she managed to get through the night without nightmares. Yes, her dreams were quite pleasant, full of light and color and–

Oh fuck.

It all comes back to her at once: every word, every gesture, every charged gaze.

She needs to tell Lae’zel.

When she reaches for her phone, she notices a series of texts from Astarion, and her heart flutters as she pulls up the conversation.

This time, the playlist is exactly one hour long. Eve skims the list of songs, which doesn’t tell that her much, since she doesn’t recognize any of them–

Except for the last one.

Before she can overthink that particular choice, she pulls up the conversation again and asks:

Eve barely registers the wide smile tugging at her lips, a reflex that has become as natural as breathing. At least when Astarion is involved.

She thinks back to their conversation outside the club and types:

And as if to prove his point, heat rushes to her cheeks at his words as she keeps turning them over and over in her head.

If he was here, she would feign annoyance with an eye roll, its attempted edge dulled by the scarlet of her skin. Instead, best she can do is:

She groans loudly and rolls out of bed. Pacing nervously around her room, she texts Lae:

Smooth. Inconspicuous. Perfect.

Eve throws on a pair of shorts and makes her way to the balcony while she waits for a reply. As she observes the passing cars and foot traffic, she wonders how many of these people are currently going through their own existential crisis—and how many of these crises are caused by nearly kissing their friends in an ABBA-induced frenzy.

Her phone chimes, snapping her out of this line of thinking. Of course Lae’zel immediately recognizes something is off.

The dots disappear and reappear a couple of times. When the response finally comes, Eve flails her arms around in frustration.

“WHAT?” she exclaims to no one in particular.

It might be too late for that.

Eve rests her forearms on the railing and drops her head with a loud groan.

“Girl troubles?” a vaguely familiar voice asks.

She looks up to find the balcony on her right occupied by their next-door neighbor: an older woman with an impressive curtain of red hair draped over her bony shoulders, a lit joint between her fingers. Eve wonders how long she’s been sitting there. 

“Boy troubles,” she clarifies, no less flattered that people tend to assume otherwise. 

The woman nods sagely as she takes another drag.

“I’ve always found it’s better to talk about things face-to-face. Otherwise you lose a lot of the context.”

“Right,” Eve says, trying to remember if she has ever spoken to this person before.

“You have your whole life ahead of you,” she continues unprompted, leisurely drawing out her words. “Plenty of time to figure things out. But no matter how old you get, you will always have those moments when you feel like you don’t know what you’re doing. And that’s okay.”

The words are oddly comforting, despite the absurdity of this whole situation.

“I’m sorry, remind me of your name again?”

“Zethino,” the woman says, blowing out smoke.

“I’m Eve.”

“I know. Now, Eve, don’t waste your day conversing with an old hag like myself. Go deal with your boy troubles. And if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

Eve nods hesitantly before reaching for the sliding door.

“Thanks. Have a good one.”

She steps back inside and makes her way to the kitchen. When Lae’zel facetimes her, she’s the very picture of composure, seated at a table with a pen and notepad. Meanwhile, Eve is muttering curses as she tries and fails to scoop up a stray piece of shell from the fried eggs.

“You can’t attend an emergency apartment meeting from the kitchen,” Lae informs her. “It’s against protocol.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I got distracted by unsolicited life advice from our neighbor.”

“I’ll allow an exception, just this once. Now, tell me everything.”

So Eve does. As she finishes cooking and then eating her breakfast, she recounts the events of the past couple weeks: from the time she ran into Astarion at the library when she was printing her resume, to their charged goodbye in the Uber last night. Lae’zel refrains from commenting, occasionally humming and jotting things down in her notepad. 

“Oh, and he also sent me another playlist this morning,” Eve adds. “You were right that there would be a part two.”

“Of course I was right. Name one time I was wrong.”

“When you insisted ‘anemone’ was pronounced like ‘Anna moan?” Eve offers.

Lae’s brows furrow, lips tensing into a firm line.

“Eve, do not get me started on the disgrace that is English pronunciation, or we will be here all day. Now, send me that playlist.”

As she does, Lae continues: 

“Now, I will conveniently forget about the fact that you didn’t let me know that you were feeling so low, and that you pretended everything was fine when I would text you. We will circle back to that another time. But let me just reiterate that I am your friend. And friends are there to support one another. And you should not refrain from seeking that support just because you don’t want to ‘spoil my vacation’ or any other stupid reason like that.”

“I know,” Eve says sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

Lae’zel’s expression softens when she says:

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help. Now, back to Astarion’s obvious pining towards you–”

“Is it really that obvious…?”

“Yes. Case in point: this playlist.” Lae’zel grabs her phone and says: “I don’t know most of these songs, but one of them is literally called ‘Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You.”

“Mhm.” Eve has no riposte to that. “It sure is.”

“There is also one called ‘Sleazy Bed Track.”

“I mean, it could just be songs he thought I would like,” Eve attempts, the argument sounding weak even to her.

“Yes. If you give it no further thought,” Lae’zel says, spitting the last word out with irritation she doesn’t bother to hide. “Now, Pat Benatar I do know and let me just say: that’s how you know it’s bad. But what really makes it obvious is the ABBA song.”

“Yup. Yeah.” Eve nods energetically, already dreading what’s coming. “I– I know this one.”

“Oh, you do? Wonderful. And you still think these are just songs he thought you might like? No deeper meaning whatsoever?”

When Eve doesn’t reply, Lae offers:

“Why don’t I read the lyrics to you–”

“You really don’t have to, I know this song–”

But Lae’zel is relentless as she starts to recite the lyrics, flatly, to not distract from the very clear message of the words. When she gets to the bridge, Eve can’t bear it anymore.

And you make me talk,
And you make me feel,
And you make me show
What I'm trying to conceal.
If I trust in you,
Would you let me down?
Would you laugh at me,
If I said I care for you?
Could you feel the same way too?
I wanna know.
Oh, yes, I wanna know–

“Okay, stop,” Eve blurts out. “Point taken.”

Lae’zel brings the tips of her fingers together, her tone levelled as she speaks:

“Eve, he is not even trying to be subtle. He might as well be outside of your window, holding up a big sign that says ‘I’m into you.’ He is hitting you over the head with it, and given your impressive ability to question and overthink everything, I think it’s quite considerate of him to be this obvious about it.”

Eve lets the weight of the words settle in her chest as a mixture of emotions simmers inside, something desperate and untamed threatening to boil over.

“And think about the timing, too,” Lae’zel continues. “For him to send this the morning after. You said you’re ‘98% sure’ you almost kissed. This is his way to eliminate that remaining 2% of doubt from your mind.” 

Well, it worked.  

Though she’s not sure there was actually any doubt left at that point.

Words spill out of Eve’s mouth before she can stop to think them through:

“Okay, yes, fine, I’ll say it. He’s into me! Astarion is into me.” 

The admission resonates in the space, charged and heavy as if it were another presence in the room with her. 

“He is obviously into me and I am obviously into him and we are both so obvious about it it’s fucking embarrassing.” She laughs nervously before continuing: “Complete strangers take one look at us and assume we must be a couple because of how we look at each other. That’s insane! And I know that I need to get my shit together and just do something about it. I need to act like a fucking adult and stop living in this fantasy that neither of us have a past to speak of, that all that matters is the present, because I need to sit down with him and have a serious conversation or else this will eat me alive from the inside.”

There is a moment of silence as Eve breathes in and out, chest heaving. 

“Did that feel good?” Lae asks.

“Yeah, that felt great,” Eve chuckles before swiping a hand over her face. “God, what have I gotten myself into?”

“Something good most likely. You’ll be fine,” Lae’zel reassures her calmly. “I get why you haven’t told him yet. And I get why you didn’t kiss him last night. But you’re right. It’s come to a point where you need to make a choice. To commit either way.”

“I’m seeing him tonight. At that board game cafe we went to when Xan visited.” She tells Lae about their bet from last night. “Would it– Do you think it would be wrong, or... disingenuous for me to kiss him before we talk about everything?”

Lae’zel seems to consider this for a moment, before deciding: 

“There is the off chance that he is a terrible kisser, or that when you kiss him, you’ll realize you just like him as a friend. And then things might get awkward and you’ll never talk again and then the whole tragic past problem will solve itself.”

Eve stares blankly at the screen before saying:

“Wow, thank you. So I guess I don’t have to wonder what would be the worst-case scenario anymore.”

“You’re welcome. But in all seriousness, it might be good to have that confirmation and to see if he’s serious about you. I know breaching these topics is a big decision and I want you to be 100% sure that you do trust him and that you two are on the same page about these things.”

“Okay. Right. That makes sense.”

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First things first: you’re going to see him in a couple hours. Beat his ass at some board games. Have him buy you dinner. Kiss him on the lips. And then whatever you choose to do after the kiss is none of my business. Does that sound achievable?”

Eve can’t help but laugh.

“A nice, simple plan. I think I can handle it.”

***

Eve is in the middle of overthinking her outfit choice when she gets a call from Astarion.

“Hello?” she answers, still surprised whenever he chooses this over texting.

Astarion’s tone bears no trace of his usual lightheartedness when he speaks:

“Hi Eve, I’m so sorry that this is so last minute, but I need to cancel.”

“Oh.” She sits down amongst all the clothes laid out atop her bed. “Is everything okay?”

“I just got a call from my lawyer and I need to go to L.A. to deal with some stuff that honestly should have been over a long time ago.”

An odd mixture of disappointment and relief sinks into her chest. She tries not to think too hard about the kind of business Astarion might have in L.A. 

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry, this is terrible timing–”

“You don’t have to apologize. So, you’re leaving today?”

“Yeah, I need to pack and figure things out and I’m really low on time right now.”

Eve’s nice, simple plan did not account for this.

“That’s okay,” she reassures him, a forced cheeriness in her tone. “You gotta do what you gotta do. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay. Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you know when you’re coming back?”

“Unfortunately not. But I’m hoping it won’t take longer than a couple days.”

“Okay.”

“And when I come back, you can beat me at Scrabble. And Bananagrams. And whatever else you’d like.”

“Well, I hope you’ll put up a fight, though.” This time she doesn’t have to force the smile that colors her tone.

“Trust me, I have no intention of just letting you win. Who do you take me for?”

“That’s good.” After a moment of silence, she adds: “You said you were low on time.”

“Yes, right.” He hesitates, as if he doesn’t want to end the call just yet. “Please keep in touch, okay?”

“Okay. Have a safe flight.” And then, before she can bite her tongue: “Text me when you land.”

“Will do. I’ll see you soon, Eve.”

“Bye, Astarion.”

There is silence on the other end for a couple more seconds before he eventually hangs up.

Eve wastes no time as she sends Lae’zel a voice note detailing the conversation. After a couple minutes, her phone buzzes:

God, how she misses Lae’zel.

One more week, she reminds herself.

***

However reluctantly, Eve has come to appreciate the familiarity and routine of her weekly sessions with Halsin.

That is, of course, until he starts prodding.

“Do you think that maybe part of your hesitation with Astarion has to do with your previous experiences? That you don’t feel ready to be in a relationship yet, given what it was like with Enver?”

Eve shifts uneasily on the couch, her eyes scanning the wall behind Halsin. All these fucking diplomas just to sit here and dish out his half-baked hypotheses at her–

“I mean, maybe? But Astarion is nothing like Enver.”

“How so?”

She hates his open-ended questions.

“He’s calm. Kind.”

“And Enver wasn’t either of those things?”

“He was,” she insists. “Until he wasn’t.”

“Can you tell me more about that?”

“When it was good, it was really good. But he had a short temper. The smallest things would set him off. I kept feeling like I had to… watch myself when I was around him. Like I could never fully relax.”

“Do you feel that way around Astarion?”

“No,” she says decisively. But then, after a moment, she adds: “Well, maybe a little bit. But that’s because I’ve been slipping recently.”

She recounts their thrift shopping trip, how she called Astarion a “city boy,” even though he had never told her anything of the sort.

“The only reason why I sometimes feel like I have to watch myself is because of what I know. And also because of my… situation. But other than that, I don’t really feel like I need to filter myself around him. And that’s been… very novel. And good.”

“It sounds like you trust him.”

“I do.”

“Did you trust Enver?”

“I–” She hesitates. “Yes and no. I trusted him to keep me safe, though.” 

And before Halsin can question her words, flip them on their head like he is always apt to do, she explains: 

“I know that when we talk about him, you like to focus on the negatives. And I get that. But it wasn’t all negative. It wasn’t all bad. He loved me. And I loved him. And he was so, so protective of me.”

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. It feels like she is convincing herself more than Halsin. Despite it all, she continues:

“He stopped at nothing to keep me safe.”

She thinks back to the lifeless eyes of the purple-haired woman, bleeding out at her feet.

“And did he succeed?”

Eve blinks at Halsin in confusion. It’s such a simple question, and yet–

“What do you mean?”

“Did he succeed in keeping you safe? Did you feel safe?”

“He did his best, given the circumstances.”

“So the circumstances were inherently unsafe? But he did his best to keep you as safe as possible within that context?”

“Exactly.”

“And who put you in those circumstances in the first place?”

“Stop that,” Eve snaps before she can bite her tongue.

Halsin seems unbothered.

“Stop what?” he asks calmly.

“Stop trying to paint me as some helpless victim.” There is a noticeable tremble in her voice that she chooses to ignore. “I was an adult. I ignored so many signs, so many fucking red flags early on. I could have left him and I wouldn’t be here today. But I didn’t. I stayed. I stayed because I was too obsessed with the idea of someone finally taking interest in me, that I was willing to look past every fucking thing that raised alarm in my brain. I kept telling myself it’s fine, that it can’t be that bad. And guess what, it was that bad. Or, actually, it was worse. But Enver is not to blame for that—I am. He showed me from early on the kind of man he was, but I didn’t believe him. And then, when I found myself in that life with him, he did his best to keep me safe. And yes, sometimes he was cruel. Sometimes he was explosive. But he was trying to keep me alive.” 

Her voice is on the verge of breaking, and yet she pushes through. She has to push through.

“He loved me. And that has to fucking count for something. It has to.”

***

It seems Eve’s mind is all too eager to remind her of her naivete during those early days.

Music flows softly from the speakers as Enver deals them a new hand. 

Seasons don't fear the reaper,
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain,
We can be like they are–

Eve takes a sip of her negroni, its bitterness oddly comforting.

A knock on the door. A forceful one.

“Late as always,” Enver mutters to himself as he puts his cards face-down on the coffee table. “I’m sorry about this, baby, they were supposed to come over when you were at work. Now, will you be a good girl and keep quiet?”

He doesn’t wait for a response as he heads for the door.

The two men who enter don’t seem a bit familiar. 

The mood shifts in an instant.

Eve feels uneasy as she closes in on herself, attempting to make herself as small and invisible as possible. She has never seen those two, nor has she seen Enver fraternizing with anyone resembling them.

What follows is a blur.

Fat stacks of bills. 

Guns. 

And not small, hand-held ones that people could reasonably hide in their bags for self-defense. 

No. Military-grade weapons.

Eve stares blankly at the scene before her, not daring to accept it as reality. Things like this don’t happen outside of movies. They don’t happen to people like her.

Enver seems right in his element, unbothered, projecting an air of authority. 

It strikes her in that moment that everything he told her about his job could have been easily fabricated.

The men pack the weapons into the second bottoms of their bags, but there is still a sense of expectation as they leer at Eve in a way that makes her nauseous. 

Enver must notice it too, because he positions himself between her and them and says curtly:

“Don’t get any ideas. She’s not–”

He trails off, but Eve’s mind fills in the blank for her.

She’s not part of the trade.

When they finally leave, Enver turns around and picks up their empty glasses off the table as if nothing happened.

“Another round?” he asks with a smile she would have once found charming.

Eve jolts awake, Enver’s words still echoing in her mind.

“Will you be a good girl and keep quiet?”

Once she realizes she is in her room, and not in that North Side apartment, she grabs her pillow and groans into it before tossing it across the room with force that surprises her. 

“You fucking idiot!” she yells, unsure of the addressee.

The pillow hits the windowsill and knocks over her ZZ plant, the pot falling onto the floor with a loud crash.

Eve curses under her breath as she rushes to the kitchen to fetch a bowl, then carefully picks up the plant from the mixture of soil and shattered clay.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers as she deposits the plant into the bowl and again, she is not entirely sure who or what the words are meant for.

Halsin warned her that for the first few months of the therapeutic process, she might feel worse. That the memories she has tried so hard to keep down might resurface.

Well, if that’s what healing is, it’s getting fucking tiresome. 

After she cleans up the mess, and gets ready for the day, Eve drives to Lowe’s to buy a ceramic pot, and ends up leaving with three new plants (as one should).

Not particularly keen on returning to her empty apartment, she decides to go on a hike and put on the playlist she has been avoiding for the past few days. 

With every song, she feels the lingering tension from this morning subside, replaced by an overwhelming warmth as she grows more enamored with the playlist’s author, if that’s even possible.

Towards the end of the hike, her phone buzzes and she notes with surprise that it’s a text from Astarion. She wasn’t expecting to hear from him anytime soon.

There is something so raw and unabashed about his admission, it renders her speechless for a moment. Eventually, all she can think to respond is:

She resumes walking as she waits for a response. But when it finally comes, she stops in her tracks, knees weak as his words echo loudly in her mind.

Luckily, there is no one on the path to hear her squeal. Eve is not sure that a sound like that has ever crossed her lips before.

Oh god, what is he doing to her?

“would it be weird if i said i miss you”

Yes? 

No. 

It is both what she hopes for and what she dreads. But there is no need to pretend anymore, no need to clutch her cards close to her chest. And so, she admits:

Luckily, before she has to come up with a response, another text comes:

When she slips the phone into her pocket, she finds herself abuzz with so much chaotic energy that she can’t just resume her regular tempo. No, she starts jogging. 

And Eve hates jogging. 

Fuck.

***

On Thursday afternoon, after she hangs up the call with Jaheira, the first person she tells is Astarion. He answers immediately.

Amazing—Sweet—Incredible—Cute—Beautiful–

Eve finds herself kicking her feet like a schoolgirl crushing on a boyband member.

She would roll her eyes at herself if she had any fucks left to give.

Her phone buzzes again, bringing her back down from cloud nine.

I know a good lookout spot we could kiss at.

***

“It’s hideous,” Eve says. “I love it.” 

Lae’zel is holding up an aquamarine t-shirt with the words “My sister went to Córdoba and all I got was this lousy shirt.” The city name is in bedazzled hot pink letters, some icons of local landmarks adorning the bottom of the design.

“They were out of the ‘friend’ ones, so you’re stuck with ‘sister.’ Just don’t get too sentimental on me.”

“You got it, sis,” Eve says with a beaming smile.

Lae’zel rolls her eyes, which doesn’t fully distract from how the edge of her lips quirked up at Eve’s words. 

“Is it tacky enough for you?” she asks.

“It’s perfect, thank you so much. Oh, actually! I have a shirt for you too.”

She rushes to her room and fetches the Def Leppard tee from her dresser.

“Astarion found this when we were thrifting and he thought of you,” she says as she presents Lae’zel with the shirt.

An odd expression colors Lae’zel’s features as her fingers brush over the fabric with something akin to tenderness.

“He’s alright, this Astarion of yours.”

And in Lae’s terms, that is one of the highest compliments one could hope for.

They order ramen from downstairs and lounge on the couch, Lae’zel recounting her trip and some recent family drama. 

Eventually, she asks:

“Would it be okay if… Jen came over tonight?”

“Oh my god, yes, obviously! You don’t have to ask me about these things.”

Lae’zel seems a little flustered as she mutters:

“I guess I didn’t want you to feel like I don’t want to spend time with you–”

“Lae,” Eve stops her, leaning forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “Sister to sister, I want you to get laid as soon as possible.”

“I knew that shirt was a mistake,” Lae grumbles as she pulls out her phone.

It only takes 15 minutes for Jen to get there, and Eve’s heart melts as she sees the sheer joy on the women’s faces when they greet each other. 

After a bit of small talk with Jen, Eve excuses herself to her room.

She wears headphones for the rest of the evening.

***

On Sunday morning, Eve wakes up to a knock on her door. She mumbles something incomprehensive and Lae takes that as an invitation to come in.

“Jen is making french toast, do you want some?”

“Sure.”

“They just issued a heat advisory, so we were thinking we could stay inside and play video games. I hereby invite you to the Mario Kart tournament.”

Eve accepts, knowing full well she sucks at that game. It doesn’t make it any less fun, though.

Over some delicious french toast topped with fresh berries, Eve gives Jen a somewhat abridged version of the recent Astarion developments. Once she gets to the ABBA party, Jen stops her: 

“No way, I love the Night Orchid! I’m there all the time. The ABBA night was like one of the only events that I missed this summer, cause my parents and I went on this weekend trip to the lake. But yeah, it’s such a cool place. My best friend of twenty years is the manager there.”

“Wait, you’re friends with Nocturne?”

“Oh am I! So you’ve met her, then?”

“Yes, we were chatting in the bathroom and she told me that Astarion and I are the cutest couple.”

“That’s because you are,” Lae’zel chimes in and Eve doesn’t find it in herself to glare at her.

“Anyways, she was very surprised when I said we’re not together. She gave me a bunch of condoms and then as we were heading out, she handed me this secret message that said ‘Tell him.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right, she loves to meddle,” Jen says with a fond smile. “Ugh, we should all hang out sometime, she would love you guys. Anyways, so how did the party go?”

Jen squeals when Eve recounts the “Voulez-Vous” moment.

“And then we were supposed to see each other last Saturday, but he had to take care of some stuff in L.A.”

Jen gives her a knowing look, but doesn’t pry, so Eve continues:

“We made plans to go to this meteor shower tonight, but I don’t know if that’s still happening. He got a one-way ticket since he didn’t know how long it would take, and I still haven’t heard about his flight back.”

“Okay, but like, if he does come back today, then you’re totally kissing at the meteor shower, right?” Jen asks, eyes alight with excitement. “I mean, it doesn’t get much more romantic than that.”

“That’s what I said,” Lae chimes in. “It’s the most tooth-rotting date idea I’ve ever heard.”

Eve is about to insist that it’s not a date, but she drops it. Who is she kidding at this point?

“Provided that I don’t panic and talk myself out of it, then yes,” Eve says, smiling absentmindedly as her face feels hot all of a sudden. “I suppose we might.”

This prompts another excited squeal from Jen and Eve can’t help but laugh.

“If you want to know for sure if you two are compatible, I can compare your birth charts,” Jen offers.

“Not this again,” Lae’zel sighs and starts to clean up after breakfast to give herself an out from this conversation.

“Um…” Eve starts weakly. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“I’ll do them anyway, just for myself. But I won’t tell you what I find, unless you ask.”

“Okay.”

The morning passes lazily as they sip iced coffee and put on Mario Kart.

“For the only person in this room who knows how to drive, you’re surprisingly bad at this game,” Jen notes after Eve falls off the Rainbow Road track for what feels like the hundredth time.

The reigning champions after three tournaments are Lae’zel and her mighty dragon (which is what she insists on calling Yoshi).

As they’re setting up a fourth game, Eve’s phone chimes with a notification. 

Her heart soars when she sees that Astarion just sent her his flight details. 

He’s coming home.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, and Jen immediately shifts her attention from the screen to peer over Eve’s shoulder.

“OH MY GOD,” Jen repeats.

“What?” Lae asks, eyes glued to the TV as she scrolls through the glider options.

“He’s coming tonight!”

“Finally,” Lae’zel mutters.

***

After considerable delay, the plane has finally landed. Eve leans against the railing among a small crowd of people holding flowers, balloons, and signs.

On a whim (and encouraged rather enthusiastically by Jen), she made a sign of her own, the words Note Guy scrawled in big bubbly letters on a piece of cardboard.

Anticipation simmers in her stomach as she watches more and more people trickle into the arrivals area.

And then she sees him.

Eve recognizes him immediately, despite the bulky headphones, baseball cap, and oversized green hoodie that swallows up most of his form. 

She waves and the moment Astarion meets her eyes, a familiar fondness grips at her chest, the feelings that have become impossible to ignore now threatening to claw their way out in front of all these people.

Despite how tired he must feel from the journey, his face brightens up in an instant, lips stretched into a wide smile. His gaze drops to the sign in her hands and he laughs, picking up pace as he rushes towards her.

Eve leaves her spot and runs to the end of the railing to meet him there, lips mirroring his in a wide grin.

When Astarion catches up to her, he stops a couple feet away. 

“Hi,” he says, voice soft amidst all the commotion.

At first, they just look at each other, smiling, suspended in time.

Eve is not sure what propels her, but soon enough her body moves on its own accord and she closes the distance between them. She wraps her arms around Astarion’s torso, cheek resting against his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne overwhelming and simultaneously not enough.

There is a brief moment when Astarion seems to tense and a wave of regret washes over Eve as she scolds herself for being this reckless. 

But as she starts to move away, Astarion’s hands come up to her back and hold her close, tight. He eases into the embrace and rests his chin on the top of her head.

Come to think of it, Eve has never felt at home anywhere. Not fully. But this–

This is quite close.

“Welcome back,” she says, not letting go.

Chapter Text

It seems that neither of them are in a rush to end this moment, this pocket of peace amongst all the chaos. People rush past them, announcements fill up the arrivals hall, and yet they remain in each other’s arms, unbothered by it all, determined to make up for the lack of a proper goodbye and the plans that were stripped away from them.

Eve figures that perhaps she has been holding on for too long—but if she takes a step back, there will be a brief but unmissable moment when her face will be dangerously close to Astarion’s, and her heart beats faster at the mere thought. 

She has to do it though, she can’t just stay in his arms forever, as perfect as that sounds.

Luckily, Astarion is the first to break the silence:

“No one has ever waited for me at the airport before.” His voice is a small and precious thing, the admission melting something in Eve’s chest.

She takes that as her cue to lean away and perhaps imagines the glisten in the corner of his eyes. His smile is not as wide anymore, but it feels comfortable, familiar. She returns it as his arms reluctantly drop to his sides, and he takes half a step back.

“This is a first for me, too,” she admits. “How are you doing?”

“My day just got a whole lot better,” he says with that warm smile she has become so fond of.

Before Eve can think of what to say to that, Astarion leans down to pick up the cardboard sign she didn’t even realize she must have dropped in her rush to embrace him. It occurs to her that it’s quite fortunate no one slipped on it—and it is that thought that successfully snaps her back to reality.

“Shall we?” she asks, nodding towards the exit.

Astarion insists on paying for the parking. When they eventually get to Eve’s car, he reaches for the trunk, but she stops him.

“The trunk is full, so you can just put your suitcase in the backseat.”

“Full of what?”

“You’ll see.”

“Well, that sounds ominous,” he says, his smirk betraying the opposite.

They get inside and she sets up the navigation. 55 minutes, it informs her.

“How was your flight?” Eve asks as she starts making her way out of the parking lot.

“Oh, it was great, I made friends with this Polish grandma who was sitting next to me.”

“Ooooh, I’m gonna need details.”

“She was just coming back from visiting her granddaughter in Santa Monica. She told me her life story, as one does. Said I remind her of her first boyfriend, Jakub.”

“Huh. That’s… fun?”

“I decided to take it as a compliment, because apparently Jakub was her favorite person in the whole world. They loved each other very much and even got engaged, but when he was 22, he realized he was gay. They stayed friends and she ended up marrying this other guy, whose name I won’t even try to pronounce. But she still thinks of Jakub as the love of her life.”

Eve ponders this for a moment before saying:

“I can’t decide if that’s sweet or weird that she would tell you that.”

Asatarion chuckles.

“Yeah, neither could I, so I changed the subject. Apparently this lady started learning English at 72 just so she could properly meet and talk to her granddaughter’s girlfriend.”

“Wow.”

“She’s doing great, honestly. Said she makes it a point to chat people up so she can practice. We talked for a bit, and then she asked if I wanted to watch Hidden Figures with her, so we did that thing where you count to three and then start the movie on your respective screens.”

“That is so freaking adorable.”

“She loved it, she kept making all these comments throughout, it was very entertaining. We both cried.”

“Of course you did, it’s a great movie.”

“Anyways, we had to split because she had another flight to catch. But she gave me her number and said that if I ever happen to be in Warsaw, I could buy her a drink.”

Eve barks out a laugh.

“Damn, that’s smooth. She will be thinking about you for a while, that’s for certain.”

Astarion chuckles as he looks out the window.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible, apparently.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she says without thinking.

Oh, so now it’s your turn to be unsubtle?

Before her words can resonate for too long, Eve changes the subject.

“So, uh– The highest visibility is supposed to be between ten and eleven.” She looks at the clock: 8:51 PM. “So I don’t think we have time for dinner, unless you want to pass by a drive-through.”

“I ate on the plane, I don’t mind.”

“Okay, good. When I saw that the flight got delayed I caved and had some food at the airport. I also brought snacks, so I think we should be fine.”

“Oh god, how long were you there for?”

“Three hours, give or take. But I don’t mind, I brought a book.”

“I’m sorry, you really didn’t have to–”

“I wanted to.”

There is a moment of silence before Astarion says:

“Thank you, Eve.”

“No problem.”

As they merge onto the highway, he asks:

“Oh, did you get a chance to listen to the playlist?”

Oh god.

“I did, I liked it even better than the first one.” 

“Did you have a favorite song?”

She weighs the answer in her mind, but then decides there is no need to play coy anymore.

“The last one,” she admits. “It might have had an unfair advantage, since I’ve heard it before, but yeah… That was my favorite.”

“That is good to know,” Astarion says, and it feels like he is not talking about the playlist anymore.

The small space suddenly feels charged, the invisible force pulling them towards each other so tangible, it might as well be a third passenger in the back seat. It chants loudly, making sure they don’t forget about its existence. 

“But in terms of the new songs,” she continues after the silence becomes unbearable, “my top three would be ‘School Nights,’ ‘Alkaline,’ and that Arctic Monkeys one. But honestly, I liked them all.” 

And then, because apparently she likes to tempt fate, Eve asks:

“Do you wanna put it on?” 

“Oh, sure.”

They settle into comfortable silence, letting Astarion’s choice of songs do the talking. And oh how loud the words resonate in the dark, when he is just within reach.

They get off the highway and soon enough they’re driving down a winding road, surrounded by fields, with only the occasional car passing them. Luckily, they make it to their destination before ‘The Name of The Game’ comes on.

It’s a humble scenic viewpoint overlooking a valley and Eve pulls over, maneuvering the car so it’s parked facing the road. They get out and open the trunk to reveal all the pillows and blankets that Eve has meticulously arranged to create a cozy spot for them to sit and watch the sky from.

“I got you some diet cherry Coke,” she says, pointing to a grocery bag tucked into the side. “And I didn’t really know what snacks you like, so I got a bit of everything. I might have gone a little overboard.”

“Eve, this is perfect,” he says with a smile, taking in the display before him. “Thank you.”

They settle inside, Astarion’s legs dangling off the edge of the trunk.

“Are you comfortable?” Eve asks when she turns to see his curls brushing against the roof of the car. 

“Oh, this feels like a major upgrade from Delta Airlines, so I can’t complain.”

She laughs as he reaches for the grocery bag.

“This is for you,” he says, handing her a can of Pepsi. “This is for me.” He grabs his Coke. “And oh, I haven’t had these in a while,” he says as he pulls out a bag of Trader Joe’s plantain chips that Eve had to drive for 40 minutes to buy. 

They open the chips and take a couple bites before clinking their soda cans together.

“It’s good to be back,” Astarion says with a smile.

Time passes leisurely as they wait for the sky to light up. Astarion asks Eve about her new job, about how the meeting with Jaheira went, about Lae’zel’s return. 

He doesn’t talk about his trip. She doesn’t ask.

All the while, there is a nagging voice in the back of Eve’s head, a broken record player repeating: kiss him tell him kiss him tell him on an infinite loop. But she somehow manages to drown it out and focus on this moment. 

This is what she missed so badly: their easy-going banter, the familiarity, the simple joy of his company when she can just laugh and forget about everything else.

It strikes her then that she can’t imagine– no, doesn’t want to imagine her life without this—the delight of simply existing beside him. The comfort and safety she feels whenever Astarion is around.

And then he cracks some stupid joke that makes her laugh so hard, and as usual, he can’t help but follow, their giddiness mixing in the night air like the most beautiful of symphonies.

For a moment, they just look at each other, grinning, but then something shifts. A note that plays for longer than it’s supposed to. A skipped heartbeat.

Suddenly Eve is very aware of the distance between them that has shrunk as they’ve been talking. Like they’re convergent tectonic plates always shifting towards each other millimeter by millimeter, until there is no space to move anymore and something has got to give. 

Astarion must sense it too, this moment right before an impending collision, because his wide, carefree smile turns a little more serious. Searching. Tender.

There is a tangible sense of expectation hanging in the air, but it has nothing to do with the sky and all to do with what’s happening right here on earth.

Eve’s heart throbs in her chest and it feels like they’re on the dancefloor again when his eyes glide down to her lips for a mere second.

Except this time, there is no one to interrupt them other than the cacophony of Eve’s thoughts and the what if’s and but’s and maybe not now’s. 

Despite the ceaseless noise, she feels herself unable to stop this chain of events, unwilling to stop it.

But then she catches a glimmer in the corner of her eye and against every nerve propelling her forward, she grasps desperately for this way out. She turns her head to view the sky before them, painted with the first speckles of meteors.

“Look, it’s starting,” she gasps, pointing with her finger. 

Relief, disappointment, frustration, and longing all mix in her chest, a lethal concoction eroding her from the inside, one drop at a time.

You fucking coward.

Astarion turns to view it too, stars dancing across the endless midnight blue canvass. 

You keep waiting for the ‘right moment’ and when life hands you one on a silver platter, you still manage to ruin it.

Eve feels beside herself as her gaze is fixed on the flickering streaks of light, doubling and tripling as her eyes fill with tears. Astarion, bless him, makes some witty comment that completely goes over her head, and yet manages to melt the tension that has begun to solidify between them.

Maybe this is good, maybe he deserves someone who actually has their shit together. Someone who doesn’t try to sabotage every good thing that happens to them. 

Someone honest.

They sit together side by side, shoulders brushing lightly against each other as they watch celestial bodies disintegrate before their eyes.

A silence settles over them, but this time, there is a heaviness to it, a bitterness of a missed opportunity. Still, Eve doesn’t breach it, because she finds herself unable to voice the words that she really wants to say. Everything else would feel like filler: vapid and insignificant. And so in light of her cowardice, she opts for silence, trying to instead cherish the fact that Astarion is still here, that she can enjoy his company, all the while disappointment keeps burrowing a hole in her chest, relentless and unforgiving. 

Eve has never felt the call of any higher power, nor taken comfort in everyday acts of superstition. But even she can’t deny that there is something hypnotizing about the lights that cross the night sky, something otherworldly about this view. In comparison to the meteors tumbling down and burning up at unimaginable speed, her own fears, hesitations, and problems feel so miniscule. 

The moment feels suspended in time. And as she watches this undoubtedly captivating spectacle, Eve can’t help but think that it all feels superfluous—because there is beauty within her reach that she would much rather be admiring right now.

***

A cold gust of wind grips at Eve’s bones, making her shiver. She opens her eyes to find her head leaning on Astarion’s shoulder, her hand covering his. She tries to lift her head, but can feel weight against it.

“Astarion?” she whispers. The only response is his levelled breathing.

Careful not to disturb him, she reaches for her phone and sees that it’s past 1 a.m.

Fuck. 

“Astarion,” she says, as she takes her hand off his. “Astarion, we fell asleep. We should go.”

He mumbles something unintelligible as he peels himself off her. 

Eve’s movements are mechanical as she crawls out of the trunk and heads for the driver’s seat. She takes a couple deep breaths, waiting for Astarion to join, the thud of the trunk door snapping her out of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” he asks when he settles beside her.

“Yes, I’m fine.” After she turns back onto the road, she adds: “You can go to sleep if you want to, I don’t mind.”

“No, we’re in this together. I feel personally responsible for keeping you entertained so you don’t doze off.” He puts on some upbeat music and asks: “Do you wanna play 20 questions?”

“Oh god, it’s been a while,” she laughs. “But sure, let’s do it.”

And then it’s back to their familiar comfort and laughter and Eve feels both grateful for Astarion trying to keep the mood light and be a good friend to her, and angry with herself that he now feels the need to pretend like nothing happened. 

Maybe he’s just trying to get through this car ride.

It is now twice that they almost kissed. He made her a playlist with a hidden meaning that was actually rather blatant. He called her all these pretty things, invited her to stargaze with him, made his intentions and hopes very clear every step of the way. From his perspective, it must look like she is not interested, or perhaps not as interested as he had hoped. 

And yet he still doesn’t hold it against her.

Or he’s just very good at hiding it.

The closer they get to his house, the stronger the disappointment clawing at her chest. It was a moment she will never get back and now she has successfully ruined something before it even got the chance to realize.

And as excruciating as this drive is, Eve wishes for nothing more than to prolong it, because the idea of reaching their destination bears with it a sense of finality she can’t quite stomach. 

But reality does not bend to her will, and soon enough, she is turning onto the now familiar street, before stopping in Astarion’s driveway.

As she engages the parking brake, she realizes she is not ready for this night to end. Damn her relentless self-critic, damn her catastrophizing, damn it all.

She wants this. And every single sign she has received from Astarion tells her he wants it, too. 

And if that’s the case, she needs to act now. 

Suddenly all she can think about are the moments they shared at the club, and the lyrics, those goddamn lyrics:

Take it now or leave it–

This is by far not the hardest thing she’s had to do in her life, so why does it feel that way?

Now is all we get–

If she lets him leave the car right now, it will be over. She is not sure how she knows it, but she does.

Nothing promised, no regrets–

“Thank you for tonight, Eve,” Astarion says as he unbuckles. 

Ain’t no big decision–

There is a barely noticeable heaviness in his voice.

You know what to do–

He reaches for the door handle and–

La question c’est “voulez-vous?”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Eve blurts out.

The cacophony of song lyrics and her galloping thoughts quiets down in an instant, as if someone lifted the stylus from the record player. Suddenly all that’s left is the charged silence as Astarion hesitates and turns back to meet her eyes, his expression indecipherable. 

“Before the meteor shower,” she clarifies, her heart in her throat. “But also when you were doing my makeup and after 'Voulez-Vous' and in the Uber and… every day since, really.”

Her entire body feels taut—but instead of the familiar anxiety, it’s a new sort of anticipation. She holds his gaze and there is something so intense about it, a mixture of hope and hesitation she understands all too well.

“And I really, really wanted to do it tonight, but I got too in my head about it and–”

Astarion places a hand on hers and it makes her stop.

“Do you still want to?”

It’s utterly disarming—the softness in his voice, the simplicity of his question. The implication that whatever made her hesitate earlier is unimportant. All that matters is what she wants now. What they both want.

It’s all too intense, Eve’s words lodged deep in her throat. All she can manage is a light nod. 

She watches, mesmerized, as Astarion leans forward and brushes his fingers against her cheek, warmth blossoming in her chest at the tenderness of this simple gesture.

His touch trails down to her chin and he gently tilts it forward, lips so close to hers that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.

He stays there, holding them over a precipice, allowing her to take the final step. 

And with her mind blissfully silent, Eve leaps off the edge. 

When their lips finally meet, there is both the exhilarating novelty of a first kiss and the learned familiarity of a thousandth one. It’s like they’ve been doing it for years, but it’s never quite lost its charm.

The touch is hesitant at first, more of a question than a declaration. They part, foreheads resting against each other.

Eve’s heartbeat is thrumming against her skull.

One. Two. Three–

She reaches up for his neck and kisses him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Every chance she didn’t take, every missed connection—they’re making up for all of it now.

Eve parts her lips and as the kiss deepens, a soft hum of pleasure erupts from Astarion’s chest. The sound vibrates against her like a current coursing through her body, setting every nerve alight. 

He tastes of cherries and new beginnings. Smells of citrus and warm summer nights.

She allows herself to get carried away by this improvised choreography of push and pull, ebb and flow. It is utterly overwhelming in the best way possible and Eve didn’t know that kissing someone could feel this good.

She fumbles with her seatbelt and they giggle as they pull apart so she can release herself from it. She turns the engine off and looks back at Astarion, his lightly swollen lips stretched into a wide smile.

“Hi,” she says, breathless.

“Hi.”

They both laugh softly, and her gaze drops down to his right hand, resting in his lap. She reaches for it, and watches, transfixed, as her fingers interlock with his.

She looks up again to meet his gaze and chuckles.

“What?” he asks.

“I just– If I wasn’t such an overthinker, our first kiss could have been under the stars and not in a Prius.”

Astarion laughs heartily.

“Well, we were sitting in the trunk, so it would have been in a Prius either way.” He lifts their intertwined hands to plant a soft kiss on her knuckles, and the gesture leaves her speechless. “Eve, for all I care, it could have happened at a Wawa on the Jersey Turnpike. Do you really think I give a fuck about the scenery right now?”

She laughs before saying:

“No. You’re right.”

“Good.”

And as if to prove his point, he leans in to capture her lips with renewed vigor.

Their kisses grow increasingly greedier as Astarion’s hands grip at her waist and her fingers run through his curls. Her nails scrape gently against his scalp, eliciting another pleased rumble from the depths of his chest.

It’s intoxicating, the way they can’t get enough of one another.

Eve has no idea how much time has passed when Astarion eventually pulls away, however reluctantly, and says:

“If I don’t go now, I’m afraid I’ll never leave.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she says before she can bite her tongue.

Astarion chuckles softly as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

“You should go, though. Get some rest. I’ll still be here tomorrow.” 

“In my driveway? That’s weird.”

Eve laughs and Astarion’s face lights up at the sound.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And, Eve?”

“Yes?”

“I would like to keep doing this. If you want to.”

The admission feels like a warm embrace. For a moment all she can do is just nod repeatedly, before she finally says:

“Yes. I would like that. Very much.”

“Excellent.” 

He leans in to kiss her again, a soft gasp slipping past her lips the moment they meet his. Eve doesn’t want any of this to end, some small part of her convinced that the morning will erase any traces of what happened. That perhaps she just imagined it because it seems too surreal, too perfect to be true.

But then Astarion deepens the kiss and the rational part of her mind guides her hand to his chest, shoving him gently until their lips part.

“Go to sleep!” 

“Yes, yes! I’m going! For real this time.” He gathers his things and gets out of the car, turning back to add: “Thank you for tonight. I’ll see you… Probably tomorrow, honestly.”

“Probably,” she chuckles. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“Will do. Don’t forget your suitcase.”

He grabs it from the backseat, but then instead of heading towards the house, he circles the car and arrives at the driver’s side. His fingertips tap out a soft rhythm against the window.

She rolls it down and Astarion leans in to kiss her again.

When their lips part, he looks at her for a moment before turning his head to plant a kiss on her cheek, and somehow that feels the most scandalous out of every touch they’ve shared tonight.

“Sweet dreams,” he says.

Eve, still flabbergasted, mumbles a goodbye, and watches as Astarion walks back home. The automatic light above the doorway turns on and she notes with delight how messy his usually perfect hair has become after her ministrations. Astarion reaches the door and turns around to wave. Eve returns the gesture and once he disappears inside, she lets out a rather undignified squeal.

When Eve gets home, the apartment is dark. She tries to make as little noise as possible as she heads to her room, but then–

“Did you kiss him?”

Eve startles as the lamp in the living room turns on. Lae’zel is sitting on the couch, watching her inquisitively.

“Holy fucking shit, are you trying to kill me?”

“Did you kiss him?” Lae repeats.

“Yes, I did! I could have told you that in the morning.”

“It’s the morning now,” Lae’zel notes as she checks her phone. “It’s 2:15 a.m., which is famously short for ‘at morning.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Eve notes as she heads over and sits down on the couch beside Lae. “Also, were you really just sitting here in the dark all this time, waiting for me to come back?”

“No, I orchestrated this for comedic effect,” Lae says dryly.

“Right.”

“You shared your location with me, remember? I set it up so I got a notification once you got close enough.”

“I forgot about that.”

They look at each other in silence for a moment before Lae’zel pulls Eve into a tight hug.

“Was it good?” she asks when they pull away.

The wide grin on Eve’s face tells Lae’zel everything she needs to know.

***

Despite getting a little over four hours of sleep, Eve wakes up full of energy, her heart fluttering at the memories of Astarion’s lips on hers. 

As she’s packing her lunch, her phone buzzes:

Eve blinks rapidly as she stares at the screen, something syrupy and sweet melting in her chest.

She can’t help but grin at her phone. She had that exact same thought upon waking.

***

When Eve arrives at the library, Jaheira introduces her to Barcus Wroot, the resident literacy specialist who will spend the next couple of days training her. He looks to be in his forties, bald and with striking blue eyes behind a pair of oval glasses. 

Barcus gives Eve a detailed tour of the library, explains their cataloguing system, then shows her how to process all of the returns that have accumulated over the weekend. All the while he seems somewhat aloof, though not unkind—reminding Eve of how Lae’zel used to be back when they first met.

As they’re scanning and sorting the books together, Eve attempts to make conversation:

“So, do you like your job?”

“I do,” he answers curtly.

“What’s your favorite part?”

“The silence.”

“Oh.” 

Eve is quiet for a moment, and perhaps Barcus must notice her embarrassment, because he sighs and asks:

“What about you, what were you doing before this?”

“Wait, didn’t you see my resume?”

“Jaheira forwarded it to me asking for my opinion. I said it looks good, but I never actually opened the attachment.” After a moment, he adds: “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she says conspiratorially and it coaxes a barely noticeable smile from Barcus. “But to answer your question, I was a waitress. Do you know the Blushing Mermaid? It’s a restaurant on the east edge of town, right across the street from Pep Boys.”

“Oh, do I!” He laughs. “So, is Wulbren Bongle still the manager?”

Eve pauses, looking up from the book she’s holding.

“...yes. Why? Do you know him?”

“I do. We were childhood friends and then I had the questionable pleasure of dating him for a couple years in my late twenties. Until I realized the only person Wulbren truly cared about is himself.”

Yeah, that tracks.

“Well, that’s his loss.” She shrugs. “You deserve so much better.”

Barcus, who so far has been thoroughly focused on his task, looks up at her curiously.

“You’ve known me for two hours.”

“Well, yeah, but you seem like a nice person. And actually, anyone deserves better than Wulbren.”

Barcus chuckles under his breath, and Eve takes that as a personal victory.

“That is true,” he admits before getting back to work.

***

As Eve walks out of the library into the afternoon sun, the last thing she expects is to see Astarion. And yet, he is waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the railing oh so effortlessly. He is wearing his Lennon shades, blue jeans cuffed at the ankles, and a white t-shirt that is near blinding in the full sun.

Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Eve picks up her pace as she skips down the steps. A smile graces his lips when he meets her eyes and he pushes himself off the railing to stand before her.

“Hi there,” he says as he pulls his sunglasses off, a familiar sparkle in his irises.

“Hi,” Eve says, rising on her toes to kiss him.

As their lips brush against each other, Eve delights in the fact that they can just do that now. That this touch is not a thing of dreams and late nights—but something to be enjoyed in broad daylight just as well.

“I know you have your meetings soon,” Astarion says. “But I just wanted to see you. Is that… too much?” he chuckles nervously.

“No, it’s perfect,” she says with a smile. “I still have like half an hour before I need to drive to therapy.”

“Could I interest you in some ice cream then?” he asks and takes her bag from her. 

“I could be persuaded,” Eve chuckles as they start walking.

***

Three hours later, as she makes her way to the coffee shop, Wyll rises from his spot and greets her with a beaming smile.

“Damn, you’re glowing,” he says, handing Eve her chai latte. “Did something happen?”

“Oh yes, I had a great first day at my new job,” she says as they head towards the park. “I even made a friend, though he would probably disagree.”

“I’m glad.” And then, after a moment of looking at her curiously, Wyll adds: “And how are things between you and Astarion?” 

Eve stops in her tracks and turns to Wyll with a knowing smile that he immediately returns.

“Oh, tell me everything,” he asks.

Eve gasps, her free hand clutching at her chest. 

“Agent Ravengard,” she says in an admonishing tone. “I thought you were concerned about resources and my support network and all that. This hardly seems like the time to gossip.”

Wyll just looks at her, his smile unwavering, and Eve laughs before saying:

“Okay, so we drove out to this hill…”

***

Apparently, the board game cafe is the place to be on a Monday evening. Chatter and music mix around them, but Eve drowns it out, focused on rearranging the grid of words before her.

“Peel!” she exclaims, grabbing another tile from the center of the table.

Astarion seems disgruntled, to say the least.

“Okay, but–”

“Peel!”

“If you could just-”

“Peel! That’s three now.”

Astarion groans as he grabs the last three tiles.

Eve, rather unfortunately, drew a Q as her final letter. But she just has to turn AURA into AQUA, and then put the R…

“Bananas!” she declares triumphantly.

“Goddammit,” Astarion mutters, looking down at all the spare tiles next to his grid.

“Let’s say that was a practice round.” She reaches over to give his hand a light squeeze. 

“Taking pity on me, huh?” Astarion asks with a smirk.

“No, just giving you a fighting chance,” she says with feigned innocence and blows him a kiss.

“Alright, you’re on,” Astarion declares, as he starts mixing the tiles and flipping them upside down. “Two out of three.”

***

Eve makes good on her promise and beats him at both Bananagrams and Scrabble. In return, Astarion buys her dinner at Beirut Grill and this time, they both get the lamb. They toast to her new job, and all around have a lovely time, except for–

Tell him.

The voice is relentless, imploring.

As she drives Astarion home, trepidation brews in her stomach, the words that she has practiced time and time again (be it in front of a mirror, or in front of Halsin,) echoing in her mind.

For some reason, the car feels like a unique space where some topics are just easier to breach. And as Eve pulls up into Astarion’s driveway, she figures this is the perfect setting to have this conversation. It gives him an easy out, he can just leave and walk home if he– If they– 

If this will be the end of it.

Astarion snaps her out of these considerations as he leans in to kiss her, Eve feeling more like a fraud with every passing second.

When they pull away, she somehow manages to say:

“I need to tell you something.” 

“How serious.” Astarion chuckles, but then apparently something in Eve’s expression gives him pause. He suddenly looks concerned when he says: “You can tell me anything.”

The words dance mockingly on the tip of her tongue.

I know about your past—I know about your marriage—I’ve been sickeningly selfish—I can’t bear the thought of losing you—I’m running from something, too—I should have told you sooner–

“I cheated at Scrabble,” is what she ends up saying, and the self-hatred doesn’t wait for even a single beat before it washes over her, screaming agonizingly at her idiocy.

Astarion’s eyes widen as she continues her nonsense:

“That word that I dared you to look up is not actually a real word. I mean, I still would have won without those 21 points, but yeah. Wouldn’t want you to put it in your book or something like that.”

Astarion’s brows furrow, his voice dramatically strained when he says: 

“Well, that is a grave betrayal of my trust. But I think I can find it in myself to forgive you.”

“What a relief.” She smiles weakly.

Astarion leans in to kiss her again, but Eve doesn’t linger against his touch. A thick fog obscures her mind as they exchange their goodbyes.

The moment he disappears inside the house, she bursts into tears.

***

The next morning, as she’s getting ready to head out, she gets another text:

And it really does. But Eve’s smile falters as she slides the phone back into her pocket.

Guilt settles in her chest, that ugly twisting feeling that has been casting long shadows over every one of their interactions, Eve’s excitement dimmed by regret and self-reproach.

I’ll tell him today, she decides.

But the promise sounds weaker each consecutive morning—and when repeated often enough, the words lose their meaning altogether.

Chapter Text

Days pass quickly to the beat of empty promises, slipping through Eve’s fingers like grains of sand. It’s not long until she is once again in Halsin’s office.

“Eve, I would like to try something,” he says after a longer lull in the conversation.

Oh god. 

Even worse than Halsin’s hypothetical questions are the exercises he has her do sometimes.

“In much the same way that you’ve just been mulling over the worst-case scenarios, you can also try to imagine the best possible outcome of your conversation with Astarion. I understand that it’s not instinctive, that it might feel forced, that that’s not where your brain goes immediately. But that’s exactly why I would like you to put in the effort to think about that for a moment. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try.”

“So, we’ve already practiced what you might say to him. Now, tell me: what would be his response if this were a perfect world. If–” He pauses for a second, as if pondering his word choice, then asks: “Are you familiar with Dungeons and Dragons?”

Eve can’t help but chuckle. That’s one of the last things she expected to hear right now.

“Vaguely…?” she says, unsure of where this is going.

“Well then, imagine that you rolled a natural twenty in that conversation. A critical success, meaning that everything goes exactly how you want it to, or even better than you would dare to dream of. What does Astarion say in that scenario?”

Eve sighs heavily before taking a sip of her tea. She might as well indulge him—it’s not like she has anywhere else to be right now.

“Sure.” The cup clinks loudly against the ceramic coaster as she puts it down. “Okay.” 

Eve stares at her hands and imagines Astarion holding them. She pictures the way he looked at her in the car a week ago. The soft, careful tone when he spoke:

“You can tell me anything.”

“If everything went perfectly well, then he would probably thank me for being honest,” she starts hesitantly. “He might even sympathize with me. Like, ‘this must have been so hard for you to navigate. You must have been so stressed about my reaction. I wish you’d told me sooner, but only because it would have spared you all this stress and anxiety.”

The words feel overly saccharine, but she can’t deny that a small part of them rings true.

“Keep going,” Halsin says softly, giving her an encouraging nod.

Eve sighs to make her displeasure known, but still she continues:

“Maybe a part of him would be relieved that I knew all this time and didn’t treat him differently for it. And when I tell him about my stuff, he might say...” 

She pauses for a moment, cracking her knuckles. She doesn’t recognize the emotions coursing through her, gripping at her chest, painting her tone watery.

“He would be understanding. He might sympathize, but without pity. And he also wouldn’t call me brave or strong or whatever, he would just… accept it, as a fact of life, and not ask me too many questions.”

“Anything else?” Halsin asks calmly.

“He would thank me for trusting him enough to share it. And reassure me that it doesn’t change anything. Like,” she hesitates, voice trembling when she continues, “this doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I still want this and I want you and I like what we have and… And I’m glad that things are all cleared up now. That we can be honest from now on.”

She swallows thickly, eyes tracing the veins on the back of her hands, refusing to look at Halsin.

After a moment, he says:

“Thank you for doing that, Eve. How did it feel?”

She scoffs, looking up to meet his yes.

“It was physically uncomfortable, that’s how fake it sounded.”

But that’s not exactly true. 

What was uncomfortable was voicing her deepest hopes, knowing how far from the reality they might be. It was a risky indulgence, to allow herself to believe that everything might end up alright. An indulgence Eve isn’t sure she can afford.

Halsin nods in his usual non-judgemental fashion.

“That’s fair. But you got through it. Now… You have this version that you just presented. And then the worst-case scenario where he ends up hating you, never wants to see you again, you name it.”

“Mhm.”

“So, given everything that you know about Astarion… The Astarion that you have come to know and like and care about. This kind, calm man who makes you laugh, who makes you feel safe. Who is such a good friend to you and now perhaps something more. Which of these two—admittedly extreme—scenarios is more likely? Which of these feels more like something Astarion would do?”

Eve sighs.

“Well… Yes, fine. The positive one seems more likely, I guess. But then again… I mean, if he feels cornered, if he feels threatened or exposed or betrayed, then he probably won’t be as nice anymore. And an uglier side might come out that I haven’t really seen yet.”

“Maybe. That’s an understandable hesitation and, of course, you might be right.”

“But?” she asks.

“But what?”

“That’s what I’m asking. You say I might be right, but you obviously have your own opinion on the matter, so what is it?”

Halsin’s gaze turns to the window, eyes tracing the branches of the sprawling willow tree growing outside his office. He seems to consider this for a moment before turning back to her and saying:

“In your version of the best-case scenario, you mentioned relief. And I agree. There is a good chance that Astarion will feel relieved that despite knowing about his past all this time, you still wanted his company and friendship and now affection. That you didn’t treat him differently. That you were a good friend to him.”

The “good friend” part seems like a stretch, she supposes. Good friends don’t deceive each other. They don’t keep secrets.

Halsin’s warm voice snaps Eve out of her thoughts as he continues:

“I think you should also consider that Astarion hasn’t brought this subject up either. And there is a good chance that that too is rooted in fear, just like your hesitations are. So, hearing that you knew… it might be a weight off his shoulders.” He pauses for a moment, then asks: “I mean– How would you feel if you found out that he had known about what you’d gone through all this time, and he had just been his sweet self despite it all?”

“Yeah.” Eve nods, albeit reluctantly. “I see your point.”

“Going a step further, I think that a part of him might feel relieved to know that your past is… similarly complicated, let’s say.”

“It’s not that similar–” she attempts to argue, but Halsin puts his hand up to stop her.

“Maybe not. But you both witnessed a lot of violence and endured significant trauma for a prolonged period of time. The average person might not understand pain of such severity, cannot relate to it, and can find it hard to sympathize. People get nervous around that, they don’t know how to react, and their attempts at support can often come out as insincere or condescending. But you know what it’s like to feel helpless, to survive incredible adversity. You won’t treat him like a weak, fragile thing to be fussed over, to be pitied. Because you don’t want to be treated that way either.”

“I suppose.”

After a moment of silence, Halsin asks:

“You don’t see him as weak, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Eve says, taken aback by the fact that he would even ask.

“And you don’t see him as… reprehensible?”

“Why would I? He’s been through so much and he’s still– Well, he doesn’t take it out on others. He’s not cruel.”

“You have a lot of compassion for him, it sounds like.”

“Of course I do.”

“I just can’t help but wonder… What would happen if you extended even a fraction of that compassion to yourself?”

Eve scoffs.

Here we go again.

“Halsin, I appreciate your… efforts, I really do. But Astarion and I– Yeah, sure, we’ve both been through a lot of shit, but that’s where the similarities end. Our stories, at the very core, are nothing alike.”

“And why is that?” he asks with a calmness that unnerves her.

“Because I had a choice and he did not.”

Halsin doesn’t hesitate for a single moment before questioning her:

“Didn’t he, though?”

“What are you saying?” Eve asks, the implication of his words setting her on edge.

“Well, he agreed to marry Cazador Szarr. He was legally an adult who made his own decision that no one forced him into. And then, throughout all these years, he stayed. He allowed for the abuse to happen and didn’t do anything to stop it until– Well, until a tragedy happened. A tragedy that could have been preven–”

“Are you fucking joking?” Eve snaps.

But Halsin just watches her curiously with those warm, kind eyes.

“It makes you angry, doesn’t it?” he asks, his tone even. “To hear me frame his story in such a way? And yet you recount yours with a similar amount of blame.”

“Of course it makes me angry, that’s bullshit.” 

She chooses to ignore the last part of what he said.

“Why?”

“Because he’s not responsible for the violence, for what he went through. The only one responsible is Cazador.” 

“You’re right of course. But I wonder if you would feel the same way if some of the details of Astarion’s story changed. Indulge me for a minute, will you?”

Eve doesn’t answer, just observes him curiously in silence, her anger slowly dissipating.

“Imagine for a second that Astarion never met his parents. He grew up in the system, transferred to group home after group home. At school, he would meet peers with seemingly perfect, happy families, and he spent years wondering what was it about him that made his parents give him up. Why didn’t he deserve the kind of unconditional love his peers seemed to take for granted? There must have been something wrong with him, surely. That’s what he believed, at least.”

Eve digs her nails into her thighs, an uncomfortable weight settling in her chest. Still, she doesn’t interrupt Halsin.

“He doesn’t have a lot of friends growing up. In high school, he gets involved with a boy who is not out to anyone about his sexuality and wants to keep their relationship a secret. One moment, he treats Astarion like a boyfriend, another moment, like a complete stranger. But Astarion is willing to endure all that, because he sees it as a small price to pay for the traces of affection and attention the boy offers him.”

Eve’s breathing is heavy now, every muscle on high alert.

“He graduates high school, ages out of the group home, and finds himself at a loss for what to do next. He rents a room and picks up double shifts at a restaurant to try to save for a better place. Maybe even save for college. But then, when he’s nineteen years old, he gets noticed by someone. And not just anyone.”

Eve swallows thickly, eyes fixed on Halsin’s.

“A handsome, smart, successful man. With a thriving business that he built from the ground up. Nine years older, but that doesn’t matter—they’re both adults after all. And someone like that is interested in someone like Astarion? He doesn’t dare to believe it, but it’s true. This man makes him feel loved, appreciated, makes him feel like what Astarion has to say truly matters.”

The edges of Eve’s vision are starting to blur. She should speak up, should stop him, but she can’t help it. 

She is captivated by Halsin’s retelling of her life.

“It doesn’t take long for Astarion to leave that cramped room and move in with his new partner. The first six months feel like a dream come true. But then this perfect picture starts to crack. It’s little things at first. Little things that lead Astarion to believe that this blooming business his partner spoke of is not entirely legal.”

Splinters in the reflection. Bruises the shade of rotting plums. Questions he refused to answer, calling her paranoid instead.

“But once he realizes what is truly happening, it’s too late. He has already seen too much, knows too much. If he leaves, he’s an eye-witness. And he knows what happens to those. If he stays, however, he’s an accomplice.”

An eye-witness or an accomplice—there was never a third option. 

It was death either way.

“So he stays. He convinces himself that he can live like this, that this love shrouded in fear is exactly what he deserves, because it’s the most he’s ever gotten. He gets pressured into marking his body with the group’s identifying symbol, making a potential escape even harder.”

Long-forgotten words echo violently in her mind.

“I know it hurts, baby, but you need to hold still.”

“He has no choice but to get involved in the operation. He takes people’s lives, he takes their freedom. He tries to dissociate from his actions, and substances help sometimes, but they don’t help enough.”

They only ever helped for so long. And when they would wear down, the guilt and disgust resumed their onslaught on her fractured mind with twice the force.

“Every single day he fears for his life. His partner is getting increasingly unpredictable. Gentle and loving one moment, cruel and detached the next. He kills a woman in cold blood in front of Astarion and blames him for her death. And when repeated often enough, the words start to feel true. He tells himself he is guilty. Guilty of it all.”

“You made me do this. This is your fucking fault.”

“And then, after years of this living nightmare, Astarion realizes he keeps slipping up. That he is in danger of being replaced. That the so-called love of his life doesn’t truly care if he lives or dies.”

A shriller voice this time:

“You’re expendable, little one. Disposable.”

“So, he finds the strength to escape. To turn himself in. His courage manages to save countless people from the fate his partner forced on them. He prevents further tragedy. He frees himself from this situation, from the impossible choices he was forced to make every single day for seven years.” 

Seven. Years.

He took a quarter of her life. 

Halsin pauses for a moment, then asks: 

“Tell me Eve, would you have compassion for Astarion if that was his story?”

It feels like ground is giving in beneath her feet. Like she’s losing control. 

She struggles to voice her response—the single syllable she wishes she could utter to him. To herself. It doesn’t dare pass through her throat, and so she just sits there in silence, assessing Halsin, his stoicism only unsettling her further.

When it becomes apparent that she has no intention of answering his question, that she is content to endure this charged silence for as long as necessary, Halsin asks:

“If you don’t believe Enver did anything wrong, why did you testify against him?”

“Because I needed to get out.”

“Why?” he pries.

Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here today.

Bottom of Lake Michigan, then nowhere at all. 

Eve fixes her gaze on her hands, picking at a dry piece of skin on the side of her thumb—anything to not have to say the words she wants so badly to speak aloud.

This time, Halsin doesn’t let the silence stretch before he pushes through:

“Eve, I think you already know why. But you find it easier to accept a world in which you are some… irredeemable villain, than one where you have no control over who hurts you. And I can understand that. It’s terrifying—to realize that some things are out of your hands, and there is nothing you could have done to prevent the abuse.”

That fucking word again, it snaps whatever fragile thread of understanding Halsin managed to weave between them. It was too much during their first session and now, almost three months later, it makes her feel like she has made no progress whatsoever, not with the way it sets her off instantly.

But that’s not entirely true, is it? Because this time feels different and Eve knows it. But it’s a difference she is not ready to unpack—not right now, not with him.

She glances nervously at the clock to their right. They have about ten minutes left, but she knows full well that even that can stretch into eternity under the weight of uncomfortable truths.

Halsin might view her as immature, but Eve is past the point of caring. So she gets up abruptly and collects her belongings.

“I think that’s enough for today,” she says as she heads for the door. 

When she grabs the handle, she hesitates and turns back to look at Halsin. She half-expected him to rush after her, try to stop her. 

But the calmness in his tone is unwavering when he says:

“If you’d like to go, you can go. I can’t force you to stay, nor would I want to.”

Eve stares at him blankly for a moment, lips parting to utter a response. But before the right words can come to her, she opens the door and steps outside.

It seems that her body moves on its own accord, Eve a passive observer of the hurried journey out of the office and towards the parking lot.

Once she gets into her car, she rests her forehead against the steering wheel, trying and failing to ease her breathing.

Her head is spinning, vision blurry, mind picking apart Halsin’s rhetoric, blurring everything out except for a few key words, like some masochistic blackout poetry.

“Too late– knows too much– eye-witness– accomplice– fear– pressured– no choice– danger– forced– no control.”

The poem’s final stanza is a single sentence, its uninhibited flow a stark contrast to the jagged fragments that came before.

“There is nothing you could have done to prevent the abuse.”

Eve covers her mouth and screams.

A tired, disenchanted, exasperated cry muffled against her palms, continuing for as long as possible until there is no air left to exhale.

When she finally falls silent, she moves her hand to wipe at the tears that have begun to gather in the corners of her eyes. 

“No control over who hurts you.”

She takes a deep breath before exhaling shakily.

Astarion will understand. How could he not?

And if he doesn’t, if the truth will be the end of it—then she needs to know.

She needs to know now.

With shaky hands, Eve pulls out her phone, fingers struggling to enter the passcode. She takes a couple deep breaths to steady herself before she calls Astarion.

He answers after the third signal, his voice thick with remnants of sleep:

“Well, hello. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Did I wake you up?” she asks.

“I might have been taking a nap, but no worries. What’s up?”

“I was just thinking… Could I come over in like half an hour?”

***

A part of Eve expected her to change her mind over the course of the drive, to find yet another excuse to put off what needs to be done.

But when she finds herself at Astarion’s door, the determination is still there, accompanied by a now-familiar exhaustion.

She’s tired of lying. Of pretending. Of running.

Eve keeps insisting that she trusts Astarion. And isn’t this the greatest show of trust? To put the truth in his hands, beastly and bleeding, and hope that he finds something in there worth holding onto?

Her entire body is tense as she hears the lock click open.

Astarion greets her with a soft smile, dressed in grey sweatpants and a faded Gorillaz t-shirt that looks huge on him. The right side of his usually perfect curls is flattened as if he was just lying down.

It’s utterly endearing.

He must notice her staring at his hair, because he explains:

“I stayed up reading until four because I have no self-control, and I’ve been paying the price this whole afternoon. Guess we’re not twenty anymore.”

“Thank god,” she says with a weak smile.

And as Eve stands there before the threshold, it all comes crashing down on her: how deeply she cares about him. How petrified she is of losing him.

“Are you going to come in, or would you prefer to admire me from afar?”

Despite it all, her smile grows bigger as she steps inside. Astarion pushes the door shut before turning to face her. 

“Hi,” he says, taking a step closer, a single finger hooking around hers.

“Hi,” is all she manages to say before his lips descend on her, soft and unhurried.

Astarion’s hands move to her waist and as he brushes against the exposed skin below the hem of her cropped shirt, Eve’s whole world narrows down to just those points where their bodies connect. The fear seems to ease, her thoughts consumed by Astarion’s touch, by the familiar hints of citrus and herbs.

There was a point in coming here, a clear goal she had in mind. She intends to carry it through, but how dare she deny them this first, when it comes so easily, so instinctually?

Astarion deepens the kiss, their gasps melting together until she can’t tell one from the other. His lips are greedy, tongue searching as he guides her a couple steps back until there is nowhere left for her to go.

There is an exhilarating freedom to be found there, caged between the wall and Astarion’s eager body, the feel of him against her all-consuming, electric.

His grip on her waist tightens, all the while his thumbs rub half-circles against her sides with a gentleness that feels both out of place and exactly right.

She too wants to feel his skin against her fingertips. Her hands move under the loose hem of his shirt, palms sliding up his back.

This delicious delirium dissipates the instant her fingers encounter scar tissue—too repetitive and expansive to be accidental, too unreachable to be self-inflicted.

From the way Astarion freezes against her, it quickly becomes clear that there is only one thing that could have been the source of the scarring. One person, rather.

Eve swallows hard when she sees the vacant look on his face. It’s as if a stone wall was erected between them, all within the fraction of a second. He avoids her eyes as he takes a step back, moving away from her touch.

Eve’s hands fall at her side as she assesses him carefully.

“Astarion, are you okay?”

He keeps walking back until he reaches a narrow console table against the opposite wall, and he grips it as if to steady himself.

His gaze is fixed on the hardwood floor when he speaks, voice uncharacteristically weak:

“I’m really sorry to do this. But I need you to leave.”

Eve takes a step in his direction as she tries desperately to pick up the pieces that shattered so suddenly. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t touch your back again, I didn’t know–”

“Eve, please stop talking. I can’t do this right now. Just… go.”

And when she doesn’t move, he insists, voice on the verge of breaking: 

“Please.”

Eve expects anger. She expects him to yell, to throw things, to threaten her. That she can handle. 

That is better than the reality: his voice growing weaker as he avoids her eyes.

She doesn’t utter another word before turning for the door and stepping outside.

Thoughts scattered, hands trembling, Eve somehow makes it back to the apartment. She settles on the couch, staring blankly ahead, trying to wrap her mind around what just transpired.

“You’re back early,” Lae’zel’s voice reaches her from the kitchen, followed by soft steps.

Eve turns to meet Lae’s eyes, her face an open book, judging from her roommate’s reaction.

“What happened?” Lae asks, freezing in the doorway. “Is this about Astarion?”

The sound of his name makes Eve’s body jerk with a loud sob and she drops her head, cradling it in her hands.

Lae’zel hurries to Eve’s side, words rushing out past her lips with the incessant tempo of a stenotypist’s keys:

“Que hizo el pelotudo ahora? Forro hijo de remil puta, lo mato. Lo matamos, enterramos el cuerpo y nadie se entera.”

“What?” Eve whispers, managing to look up and meet Lae’zel’s eyes, wide with concern. As usual, all she understood were the curse words—that’s the extent of the Spanish she’s picked up over the last year and a half.

Lae’zel takes a deep breath and reaches for Eve’s hand. Her voice is devoid of its usual edge when she asks:

“Did he hurt you?”

Eve huffs out a breath as she shakes her head vigorously.

“What? No, he– He didn’t do anything, I– I think I just fucked everything up.”

And then she collapses into Lae’zel’s arms with a loud sob.

She postponed everything for so long that his past finally caught up to them, rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune of moments. 

And now he is out there, grappling with the weight of it all by himself. Trying to figure out how to tell her what she has known for so many weeks. 

She could have spared him all that, had she been braver, not as selfish.

But now here we are.

Lae’zel’s hands are steadying against her back, an anchor amidst the storm.

Eve doesn’t know how long they stay like this, the guilt and fear coming out of her in increasingly weaker sobs. 

Her phone rings.

She untangles herself from Lae’zel as she rushes to grab it from the coffee table. But instead of the name she hopes to see, the screen reads: Wyll Ravengard 😎

Eve glances at the time. 4:12 PM.

Fuck.

“Hi, Wyll.”

“Hi, Eve, are you on your way? Your chai is getting cold.”

Eve's grip on the phone tightens, her free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot. Could you, um– Could you come to my apartment, please? I’m just– I don’t think I should be driving right now.”

“Give me ten minutes.”

***

After talking to Wyll and Lae’zel, and having some food, Eve is able to calm down—at least enough to function.

Still, she feels beside herself as she types out the message:

Hours later, she somehow manages to fall asleep, still waiting for a reply.

***

“You fucking ingrate!” 

Eve shoves him, but Enver doesn’t react, just looks at her with those watchful eyes as he takes a couple steps back. 

“I do everything you want, and you still bring in some blond cunt without as much as asking me?”

The half-smile on his face only angers her further as she keeps walking, keeps shoving him until his back is flat against the wall, pinned in place under her glowering gaze.

Her heartbeat thrums in her skull, the drugs lighting up her veins and heightening this helpless anger, the indignation at his betrayal.

“I’ve killed for you,” she manages through gritted teeth. “Who else can say that?!”

But Enver’s unnerving, smug expression doesn’t falter. He knows he holds all the cards. But it amuses him to see her act like she has a say in the matter. Like she could ever overpower him.

No matter how loudly she yells, how hard she pushes him, he is the one who pulls the strings.

Eve’s chest is heaving as she stares deep into the cool carob of his eyes assessing her every move, calculating and emotionless.

From this distance, she can smell his cologne: sage, cedarwood, and leather. Her nostrils flare, his light smirk a red rag to a bull.

There is a moment of charged silence as they regard one another.

Until finally something snaps, and Eve lunges forward, lips finding his in a bruising embrace. Her fingers bury in his dark hair and she pulls him closer, Enver gripping at her waist as a desperate gasp slips past his lips.

There is nothing in their movements akin to the slow fanning of a flame. It’s like pouring gasoline over parched earth and flicking a half-lit cigarette to your feet. It consumes them both, this scorching blaze, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

Finally.

This, she knows.

Here, she can pretend she is in control. That her life is not falling apart before her very eyes.

***

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Barcus intercepts her mid-shelving. “You look like you’re actively trying not to cry.”

Eve sighs as she grabs another book from the trolley.

“Look, I had an awful day yesterday, and I’m having an awful day right now. I appreciate your concern, but there is not much you can do about it.”

She doesn’t pause her work, but Barcus still stands there, observing her in silence.

“Would it help to have a task that’s really mentally engaging, so you don’t have to think about anything else? Or something that’s very repetitive and low-effort, but still needs to be done?”

She stops to look at him curiously.

“Why do you– I mean– I need to do my job. And my job, currently, is whatever you tell me to do. Why are you trying to be nice about it?”

Barcus crosses his arms, leaning against one of the shelves as he speaks:

“I know this might feel quite novel to you, Eve, given your last workplace and boss—but around here, we actually care about our staff. So sure, whatever is bothering you right now is none of my business, as in: I won’t ask you about it. But it is my business in the sense that it’s clearly causing you distress. And, like it or not, you’re part of my team now. So, please, answer my question.”

Eve drops her gaze, fiddling with her lanyard as she speaks:

“I guess something repetitive would be nice.”

“Alright. Ever covered a book with contact paper?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Jaheira and I both hate it, and none of the volunteers are any good at it, so you should go ahead and give it a try. We have a bunch of donations waiting to be covered. Come see me at my desk when you’re done with these.” He points to the dozen or so books on the trolley before turning on his heel and walking away.

Eve can’t help but smile as she returns to her task.

***

On her drive back to the apartment, she stops at a red light near the town center. She’s engrossed in listening to Gale Dekarios ramble on about wishing stones, when a knock on the window startles her.

Eve turns to her right to find none other than the Chicken Tenders Man standing by her passenger door.

Before she can begin to question this situation, she pauses the podcast and rolls down her window to ask:

“Everything okay, Sir?”

“We meet again, as predicted. I apologize for the interruption, but would you mind giving me a lift to the Blushing Mermaid? You see, the bus has just evaded my grasp.”

It strikes Eve that this is surely the most words he has ever uttered to her in a single day. She unlocks the door and says:

“Sure, come on in. I would hate for you to miss your 4 p.m. chicken.”

“There is comfort to be found in everyday rituals,” the man says as he settles inside, just in time before the light turns green again. “Of course, I enjoyed my dinners much more while you still worked there, but such is the way of life. Constantly evolving.”

Eve is not sure what to say to that, so she just hums semi-thoughtfully before silence settles over them. 

But after a minute or two, she can’t help it. She has no idea when she will see this man again, if at all, and she doesn’t want the mystery to remain unsolved.

“I’m sorry if this is a rude question, but who are you, exactly?”

If he does find it rude, he doesn’t show it. His tone is as monotonous as always, when he says:

“There are many answers to that question, and none are important. But if the unawareness bothers you so, then you might call me Withers. Montgomery Withers, to be precise.”

“Eve Turner.”

“Your name has been recorded,” he says with a solemn nod. “But our names reveal so very little of our stories, wouldn’t you agree? So let me attempt to answer your question even further. Who am I? If we wish to define our existence in relation to others, then I used to be a husband. But all lives lead to a single end, and thus I am a husband no more. I remain, however, a father, a grandfather, and as I have been recently notified, I will soon become a great grandfather.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Now, if we wish to define ourselves by our pursuits, then I am an amateur gardener, an enjoyer of murder mystery novels, and an actor at the community theatre.”

That explains a lot.

“But before my retirement, I used to be a paramedic. For over four decades.”

“Wow. How… how was that? It sounds very taxing.”

“Taxing, indeed. But illuminating, no less. I have witnessed first-hand how fragile the tapestry of life can be. I have seen people come to terms with their mortality for the first time. The transition from life to death undoes many a person’s mind, you see.”

Eve nods as she takes a left turn. They are almost at their destination, and yet there is something captivating about this man, and she doesn’t want the drive to end.

“What I have noticed, time and time again, is that once a person does face the inevitability of death, their priorities shift rather starkly. The mundane maladies of life become insignificant. Once a person is on the threshold, one foot on the other side, do you know what they tend to talk about?”

Eve’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. She sees the familiar facade of the restaurant coming up on their right.

“People they care about?” she offers.

“Precisely. Not once have I heard a dying soul concern themselves with money, with their career or achievements. No, what they want is to make a last phone call. To have a loved one by their side.”

Tears start pricking at her eyes, as she turns into the parking lot. But Mr. Withers does not seem in a rush to end his tale. 

“I have had many a stranger confess their regrets to me in the liminal space of the ambulance. There would come a point where all I could do was just keep them talking, keep them tethered to life as we rushed to the hospital. Forty years of confessions and every one of them centered around similar motifs. People regret not letting others know how they feel about them. They regret holding a grudge. They regret not reaching out to an estranged family member.”

Eve parks the car in the familiar spot, and yet he continues:

“One shouldn’t wait till the verge of death to breach these topics. To leave your burden unspoken is to leave yourself burdened.”

And again, Eve has no idea what to respond, so she just nods as she regards him carefully. But it seems that the Unsolicited Life Advice Hour is over, as Mr. Withers reaches for the door handle.

“I am much obliged for your kindness today. Until we meet again, I wish you every possible fortune, health, wealth, love, and above all… problems worth solving.”

And then, he gets out of her car—this walking enigma who is neither an alien nor a god of death, but just a very old man who has seen too many lives come to an end. 

His words take root deep in Eve’s heart, unwilling to let go as she goes about her evening.

When she’s back at the apartment, she reaches for her phone, determined to text the one person she desperately needs to talk to, to set matters right between them.

But when she pulls up their conversation, she sees that Astarion is already typing something. She stares at the three dots until a message appears, then another.

Chapter Text

Lae’zel’s words keep Eve company as she turns onto Astarion’s street.

“You will be fine, no matter how it goes. And I’ll be here when you come back.”

The sound of the doorbell is deafening. 

Eve rubs her palms against the fabric of her shorts, trying to get rid of the sweat. Her stomach is filled with lead as she waits for Astarion to let her in.

The fact that he invited her back here seemed like a good sign—a show of trust she took as tentative proof that maybe things aren’t as hopeless as she initially thought.

The doorknob rattles and for a brief moment, Eve is convinced she’s going to throw up.

You’ll be fine. Keep it together.

Astarion greets her with a shy smile, but a smile nonetheless. The sight melts a small part of the tension gripping at her muscles. 

“Hi,” he says. “Thank you for coming.”

As if there was any possibility of her declining his invitation.

“Of course,” Eve says as she steps inside.

Astarion’s nervousness is palpable as he closes the door and turns to face her.

Eve doesn’t move, unsure if her touch is welcome. But her doubts evaporate the moment Astarion closes the distance between them. His arms drape around her shoulders and he pulls her close to his chest.

Eve welcomes the embrace and the familiar safety that accompanies it. Her hands come up hesitantly to his lower back.

“It’s okay,” Astarion whispers and her touch grows more confident as she holds him close.

Eve is not sure how long they stay like this. And as comforting as this embrace is, conveying more than any words she could come up with, a small part of her wonders if perhaps this is the last time they get to hold each other like this.

Before her mind can tumble down that particular spiral, Astarion’s embrace eases as he takes a step back.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks.

“Maybe some water,” she says, realizing how dry her mouth feels.

“Iced?”

“Sure.”

Astarion gestures for her to follow as they pass the stairs and step into an open floor connecting the living, dining, and kitchen areas.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He nods towards the couch before heading for the kitchen.

There is something oddly formal about his demeanor tonight—none of his usual teasing, witty remarks, or sweet comments. Eve supposes that he’s either mad at her (which does seem unlikely, judging from the tenderness with which he held her), or he’s really really nervous.

Desperate to occupy her thoughts with something else, Eve takes a look around. Not much has changed since she was first here, the space as bland and unlike its occupant as she remembered it. The only difference is a record player on the shelf across from her. It looks a bit out of place: newer, shinier, and probably much more expensive than anything else in the room.

No music is playing, though—the space eerily quiet save for the rattling of ice against glass and the occasional passing car.

After what feels both like eternity and not nearly enough time, Astarion returns to her with two water glasses. He places them on the coffee table before pulling two black coasters out of his pocket.

“Dali or Rothko?” he asks, presenting the coasters to her. Each one features a smiley face drawn to imitate the respective painter’s style. 

“Dali.”

“That would have been my guess.” He smiles softly as he puts the coaster in front of her.

Eve takes a sip of water, its coldness grounding. She watches as Astarion takes a seat on the couch, a few feet away from her—a distance that she is quick to overthink.

Astarion seems very preoccupied with picking some non-existent piece of lint off his pants before he finally looks up to meet her eyes.

“First off, I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

Oh god.

He’s the one apologizing to her?

“Astarion, you don’t–” she tries, but he keeps going:

“I overreacted. Well– My immediate reaction was one thing, but then, I should have talked to you. I should have explained things instead of kicking you out and then ignoring your texts and just… letting you believe that I was mad at you, or that you had done something wrong. I’m really sorry, Eve.”

The apology is so unexpected that Eve has no idea what to say, how to feel. She stares at him blankly before finally uttering:

“It’s okay, Astarion. I understand.”

He chuckles, but there is no humor in it. It sounds heavy, tired.

“Well, that seems to be the issue: you don’t understand. Because I didn’t– I haven’t–” He sighs. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Eve.”

For fuck’s sake, don’t just sit there, say something, before he–

“I’ve been keeping something from you– Something that is really important to me. And yesterday with the scars, it just– It reminded me that I can’t keep it from you forever. That I don’t want to.” Eve’s body freezes as she watches Astarion drop his gaze and stare at his hands. “You see, I– The reason I left L.A.–”

He shakes his head, clearly struggling to find the right words. But Eve can’t bear it a moment longer. She can’t just sit there and make him say it. It feels like her heart is in her throat when she utters the words she has avoided for far too long:

“Astarion, stop.” Her voice is a small, frightened thing. He looks up, brows furrowed with misplaced concern. “I already know.”

The silence that follows is all-consuming. The air around Eve thickens with the weight of her admission.

Astarion looks at her with genuine confusion, as if she just spoke in a language foreign to him. He straightens in his seat, lips slightly parted as he assesses her carefully.

“You– You know,” he repeats, tone devoid of any particular emotion. “You know what, exactly?”

Eve swallows thickly, somehow managing to endure his inquisitive gaze. It’s the least she can do at this point. 

“I know why you left L.A. I know about the trial. I know about your… marriage.” The word leaves a sour taste on her tongue.

Astarion’s jaw tightens ever so noticeably, his face remaining blank. Fear begins to simmer beneath Eve’s skin when the sight strikes her as familiar. The silence before the storm–

Stop that. He’s not Enver. He wouldn’t–

“How long?” Astarion’s voice is trembling, stripped of any remnants of patience. “Eve, how long have you known?”

“Since the day after your birthday,” Eve explains, trying her best to keep her tone levelled. “Jen knows a lot about the trial and she recognized you at the party. She told me about it the next day and I saw some of the articles.”

Astarion’s hand comes up to his face, glasses sliding up as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. His eyes remain shut when he asks with a weak voice:

“Eve, remind me of today’s date.”

“August 6th.”

“August 6th,” he echoes blankly.

His hand drops into his lap as he turns away, gaze unfocused.

“You’ve known about this since June. That’s what, six weeks? Seven? All this time we spent together and you didn’t say a thing.”

When he finally turns back, the hurt that is painted so clearly on his face grips menacingly around Eve’s heart. 

“Why?” he manages, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

Eve can’t stand the weight of his gaze any longer. Her eyes flit down to her hands, nails sinking into the soft skin of her palms.

She wishes she could give him a clear answer, something concrete and singular. 

But she can’t. 

There were so many reasons, all tangled up and evolving along with what they had together. The words she has practiced so many times are failing her, slipping her memory.

Still, she tries. Tries to explain it as best, and as honestly, as she can.

“At first, I– I honestly just didn’t think it would ever need to come up. We barely knew each other back then. And I didn’t expect that we would keep seeing each other, that we would become so close.”

Eve braces herself for the inevitable: for Astarion to interrupt her, to raise his voice, counter her explanations. 

But none of that happens. He just sits there in silence. And when she looks up to meet his gaze, she finds something there that gives her courage.

Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking, but she could swear that among the hurt, the betrayal, the disappointment, there is something else painted on his face, some hesitant hope. As if he wants so badly to understand her. To believe that she must have had a good reason for it all.

“And then,” she continues, not looking away this time, “once we started spending more time together, I wanted to tell you, but– I didn’t know when. I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to put you in a situation where you would feel pressured to talk about it before you were ready. And above everything, I just–”

The main reason for her silence doesn’t dare pass through her throat. 

“Astarion, I– I need you to believe me when I say that all this… What happened to you, what you went through… It really doesn’t matter–”

Astarion barks out a laugh, a sharp and jagged thing that smothers the rest of her sentence.

“Well, it matters to me,” he says bitterly.

“No, of course, that’s not what I–”

“Then what did you mean?” 

The hesitant hope Eve thought she saw is gone, Astarion growing increasingly agitated with each word that comes out of her mouth.

“It doesn’t change how I see you. How I feel about–”

“And what is it that you feel, exactly? Pity?” he spits the word out with contempt and it feels like a punch to the throat.

Eve’s voice rises to meet his:

“Is that really what you think? That I pity you? Did I give you any reason to believe that?”

“I don’t know what to think, Eve, I don’t know what I’m supposed to believe anymore. I don’t what it is that you think you feel for me, but–”

“I care about you! Is that not obvious? I care about you more than I have cared about anything or anyone in a long time. And your past doesn’t change–”

“Why?”

“Wha–” She scoffs, thrown off-balance. “What do you mean, ‘why?”

“Why doesn’t it change anything? Why are you so deeply unbothered by this?”

“Well, because I–”

Eve’s patience is nearing its end as Astarion interrupts her yet again:

“Why doesn’t it matter to you that I killed someone?”

And then something inside her snaps.

“You killed your abuser, so what?! I wish I had the fucking strength to kill mine!”

The words resonate between them, charged and heavy, unearthing something buried deep within Eve—though now is neither the time nor the place to ponder that particular development.

Astarion doesn’t have a retort this time. He just stares at her wide-eyed. 

Eve takes a shaky breath before speaking again.

“I’ve been keeping things from you too. A large part of my life that I don’t talk about, that I shouldn’t talk about. And a big part of why I didn’t tell you about what I found out was that I wasn’t ready to talk about my past either. Because I was terrified that if I told you, it would change everything. That you’d hate me, that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

Astarion’s expression is alert still, but a tad softer—a softness that Eve doubts she deserves. His tone is surprisingly calm when he asks:

“Why would you think I’d hate you?”

Eve takes a deep breath, unsure of where to even begin.

“The man I wish I had killed– Well… I guess I did the second-best thing. I helped put him in prison for life.”

Astarion just watches her, his expression indecipherable. Eve can’t find it in herself to come up with another dose of half-truths and omissions. The hand she has been clutching close to her chest drops, cards scattering onto the table. She has no strength to keep them concealed any longer.

“We met shortly after I finished high school and we were together for seven years. And he… Well, it’s not just about what he did or didn’t do to me. We were wrapped up in something bigger. Something that caused a lot of hurt to a lot of people. The things I did during that time, I–” 

Eve’s voice trembles and she takes a moment to steady herself. She doesn’t want to cry, to paint herself as the victim, to make Astarion feel like he’s the one who should be comforting her.

“Some of it, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to talk about,” she admits. “But, well, I suppose what matters the most right now is that after all these years, one day I just– I had reasons to believe that I was a liability. And before they could get rid of me, I… turned myself in. And brought everyone down with me.”

Astarion opens his mouth, then closes it shortly. Eve supposes she wouldn’t know what to say to that either.

He’s still here, though. Listening. And so, Eve just keeps going:

“I cooperated with the authorities. I gave them all the information they needed to bust it all down. And in exchange, I was offered immunity. A second chance, as they called it.” 

“Oh,” is all Astarion has to say.

“Yeah, so there’s that,” she chuckles dryly. “Now, the problem was that I didn’t have the full picture. See, I thought that it was my... ex who called the shots—him and his two associates. But it turned out there was a lot I didn’t know. That there were three people higher up in the chain of command, and those three have so far managed to evade the authorities. And seeing as I, um… caused quite the disruption to their operation, there was a high risk of retaliation. There still is. Which is why I… had to move here and… try to start over.”

The finality of this revelation settles in Eve’s chest amidst the silence that follows. There is a non-insignificant part of her that is convinced Astarion will laugh in her face. That he won’t believe her. Because what kind of a convoluted tale is this?

Instead, what he eventually says is:

“Well… That explains a lot, honestly.”

Eve blinks rapidly.

“What do you mean?”

Astarion takes a deep breath and reaches for his untouched water. He clicks his tongue as he sets the glass back down and then turns to meet her gaze.

“Well, you have been exceptionally vague about your past. You never mention your family, your school, or where you grew up. I mean, you have this very faint Midwestern accent, but that’s really all the information I have.”

After a moment, he continues: 

“You also have absolutely no online presence. Once we started seeing each other more often, I tried looking you up, and– Please don’t take that personally,” he rushes to add, and it surprises her that he would bother to care about her feelings right now. “I just… Because of my situation, I’ve learned the hard way that I need to be careful around new people. But you… There was absolutely no trace of you anywhere. Which made me think that maybe you didn’t want to be found. Or that maybe Eve Turner isn’t actually your name.”

“It is my name,” she insists. “It hasn’t always been, but it is now. It’s the only name that matters to me.”

A name I never had to hear in his voice.

Astarion swallows thickly, a sad glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “I understand. Also… There are no pictures of you anywhere in your apartment. Not with Lae’zel, not with your family, nothing. You darted out of the room when that friend of yours was trying to take a group photo at the party. Your reaction to me taking a candid of you was not the reaction of someone who’s just… insecure, or doesn’t like having their pictures taken. It was the reaction of someone who is scared. Who has a lot to lose. I mean, it was just these little things that struck me as odd, but I didn’t really connect the dots until what you just said.”

Eve sighs. Of course he would notice all that. The signs were all there, but most people didn’t pay enough attention.

But then again, Eve didn’t let most people this close to her.

“For all it’s worth, I’m sorry about that—about my… reaction. I know you didn’t mean any harm, it’s just something that I have to be wary of. It’s– It’s a security risk.”

“So is telling me all this, it would seem.”

“I’m aware of that,” she says firmly. “But at the end of the day, it’s my decision and my risk to accept.” 

When Astarion remains silent, she continues:

“I want you to know about all this, Astarion, because I trust you, I really do. And trust doesn’t come easily to me. I know that I betrayed your trust and I am so, so sorry. I should have told you what I found out sooner. I didn’t want it to be like this, I didn’t want to wait until you brought it up, I swear. I tried to tell you last week, but I panicked. And then yesterday… I came here straight from therapy to tell you. I was done waiting, done putting it off. But before we could talk– Well, I don’t need to tell you what happened. But it was selfish of me to not stop it, to just… To just kiss you like nothing was wrong. And I know that maybe everything I said tonight doesn’t change things. I’m not trying to justify myself, I’m just trying to explain why–” 

Her voice finally breaks, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She clears her throat and pushes through: 

“I just want you to at least try to understand where I was coming from, even if in the end it was the wrong thing to do. It’s just that I– I was– am– so fucking scared. Scared of losing you, scared of ruining what we have. And in the process I ended up hurting you, and I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be that way anymore. I don’t want to hide things from you, because you don’t deserve that. You… You’re incredible. You deserve something real, something honest.”

Astarion’s gaze is fixed on his hands again. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at her. And that’s okay. Eve has accepted that maybe she will walk out of here alone, the ever-present hole in her chest widened by yet another loss.

Still, she can’t stop now. She needs to make sure he knows:

“Also, I know I already said this, but I just need you to understand that I truly, genuinely, don’t view you differently because of what you’ve been through. I mean– Looking back, do you feel like I started treating you differently after that party?”

Astarion seems to consider this for a moment.

“No,” he admits eventually, his voice weak. “You did not.”

As convinced as she was herself, it is ultimately a relief to hear it from him. They sit in silence for a while, until Eve breaches it again:

“Astarion, I spent seven years of my life being my worst self. The things I’ve seen, the things I was complicit in, the things I did with my own two hands that no one forced me to–” 

Eve pauses. She has repeated these words so many times that they come automatically—but today is the first time they don’t feel quite right. She takes a deep breath before continuing: 

“What I’m getting at is: you killed in self-defense. How could I ever judge you for it when I’ve done worse things for weaker reasons?”

“I don’t believe that,” Astarion finally speaks.

Eve tenses, trying to decipher the meaning of his words—and as always, it’s the worst possible interpretations that come rushing to her first.

“You don’t believe… what?”

And then Astarion turns to face her fully, his hand reaching out to close around hers. He shifts to sit closer but all Eve can do is just stare at this place where their bodies connect, too stunned by the sight.  

And yet, as unbelievable as it may seem, his hand is right there, Astarion’s touch a comfort Eve started to doubt she would ever experience again.

“I don’t believe that you did it for some selfish, cruel reasons,” he explains calmly and Eve looks up to meet his eyes, round and careful. “That’s not you. Whatever you’ve done, I– You say no one forced you, but I don’t believe that. I just know that it had to be because of the circumstances, because of this… man, or whatever else. You’re not a violent person. You’re not cruel or greedy or calculated. You’re… you. And you wouldn’t just willingly hurt someone.” He pauses for a moment before adding: “And honestly? Even if you were like that at some point in your life, you’re not that person anymore.”

Now it’s Eve’s turn to sit there in silence, words evading her. Astarion is still holding her hand, thumb rubbing gentle circles across her knuckles, and she focuses on that movement—on how it tethers her to him, to the here and now. 

“Eve, I know that we met not too long ago. And perhaps this is naive on my part, but I truly feel that I know you. I feel like I’ve known you for a long, long time.” He takes a deep breath and continues: “I can understand why you didn’t tell me. Honestly, I– I don’t know what I would have done if I somehow found out about your… situation. I probably would have just carried on and hoped it would never come up.” 

He puts Eve’s hand in his lap and they both look down to gaze at their intertwined fingers. 

And then Astarion utters the words Eve never thought she would hear:

“I’m not angry with you.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and Eve focuses on his touch, on the tactile proof that Astarion is still here. That he witnessed the truth and didn’t turn the other way, but chose to cradle it instead.

Eve takes a steadying breath before asking the question she has been dreading:

“Do you think we could… try… to start over?”

Astarion looks up to meet her eyes and says:

“Honestly, I don’t see the point.”

It’s like a punch to her solar plexus, knocking the air out of her. But before she can think of a response, Astarion continues:

“I quite like what we have, you know. And I much prefer it to a blank slate.”

Eve’s eyes are wide, lips turned up into a tentative smile that she doesn’t dare grow too wide yet.

“To put it as plainly as I can,” Astarion says when he must notice her hesitation. “I care about you too, Eve. I care about you a lot, actually. And I… I want to make this work if you do.”

“I want that too,” she manages, her throat tight.

Astarion smiles softly before gazing down to their hands.

“I just… I’m not sure if I know how to do this. I haven’t been with anyone since…” He trails off, but there is no need to finish the sentence. After a moment, he continues: “Part of me is scared that maybe I’m not ready yet, that maybe I’ll just… end up hurting you.”

“I’m scared too,” she admits, tears pricking at her eyes. “I have no idea what I’m doing. But I guess… The idea of losing you, or giving up—that seems a lot more terrifying than just… trying. I–” Eve’s voice breaks ever so noticeably and Astarion squeezes her hand just a tad tighter. “I like you. So much. And I just want to…” She swallows hard. “...be with you. In whatever way works for both of us. So if you want to try, Astarion, then so do I. And we can just– We can just figure it out together.”

Astarion lets go of her hand to pull her into a firm embrace. Eve basks in the enveloping sense of safety she always finds in his arms and holds on tight, all the while a small part of her worries that maybe she just imagined it all. Because how is it possible that after everything, he still trusts her, he still chooses her? 

But those doubts are gradually pushed out of her mind with each rise and fall of Astarion’s chest against her, each caress of his hands across her back. 

The air around them eases, the weight of tonight’s confessions dissipating to leave an incredulous sort of relief in its stead.

When they eventually pull away, however slowly, a pang of pain tugs at Eve’s heart when she sees Astarion’s face. 

“Why are you crying?” she asks, her tone as watery as his eyes.

“Because I was so terrified that I might lose you tonight,” he admits, and Eve starts crying for good.

She reaches up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears off his rosy skin. 

“I’m here,” Eve whispers. “I’ll be here.”

Their foreheads meet and for a while they just stay like this, resting against one another.

“I promise that I will never ask you about the details,” she says. “If you want to tell me, I’ll be here to listen. But I don’t have to know.”

Astarion leans away to meet her eyes and Eve drops her hands into her lap as she continues: 

“And even if I tell you about my stuff, I don’t expect you to reciprocate, it’s not about that–”

“I know,” he says, reaching out for her hand and giving it a light squeeze. “And I won’t ask you either. You can tell me as much or as little as you want, or you can never bring it up again—I don’t care. I just want you to be comfortable. To feel safe, as safe as you can, given… everything.”

Eve sees no trace of dishonesty in his kind eyes. She doesn’t know what to say, what to do with all this trust he places in her, all this care he finds her worthy of.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks instead, her voice weak.

Astarion chuckles softly as he reaches up, fingers brushing against her upper arm.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says. “But I’m glad you did.”

And when their lips meet, it is with neither the urgency of their last kiss, nor the hesitance of their first. 

Unhurried. Deliberate.

I’m here, it seems to convey. I’ll be here.

Soon enough, they’re hugging again, Eve’s face nestled in the crook of Astarion’s neck as he holds her close.

Eventually, he breaks the silence:

“Do you, um–” Astarion’s voice is still thick with tears and he clears his throat before continuing: “Do you want to stay the night?”

Now, that possibility didn’t cross Eve’s mind even in the best-case Natural 20 scenario. She leans away with a disbelieving smile and notes with delight how bashful Astarion seems.

“I mean…” he mumbles. “Just to be clear, there is no expectation to do anything. I just– I thought that after everything, it might be nice to… fall asleep together. And wake up next to you.”

Warmth flickers in her chest at the tenderness of his admission. 

“You’re adorable.”

“Aren’t I just?” His nervousness seems to ease as he flashes her his most charming smile.

“I would love to stay.”

“Wonderful.” He presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand, then looks around the space as if he just remembered where he is. “Now, I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of food in the house. Have you had dinner yet?”

“Oh no. I was so nauseous all day, I barely had any breakfast.”

Astarion smiles weakly as he squeezes her hand.

“Do you want to order something? I don’t know about you, but I don’t really feel like going out right now.”

“No, me neither. Takeout sounds perfect.”

“What would you like?” Astarion asks as he pulls out his phone. 

He leans back against the couch and Eve settles next to him. She rests her head on his shoulder, only now realizing how terribly tense her muscles have been all this time. 

“My go-to is ramen from that place in our building, but if you–”

“Ramen it is,” he decides, handing her the phone so she can put in her order.

“Oh, before I forget,” she says after giving it back to him. “I need to text Lae, or else she will bust in here with Jen at her side.”

Lae’zel must have been waiting to hear from her, because she replies immediately:

Eve furrows her brows, trying to remember what the fifth rule–

Oh.

"Never fake an orgasm. They need to know they failed."

A noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle escapes her lips and Astarion looks up from his phone.

“What?” he asks, amused.

“Oh, nothing, just an inside joke,” she says, blush rushing to her cheeks.

“Sure,” he says with a smile before returning to the order.

She puts her phone away and Astarion soon follows.

“Alright, it says it should be here in forty minutes tops.” He puts an arm around her and Eve nestles against his side, her exhaustion starting to catch up on her. “Speaking of Lae’zel, does she… know? About you?”

“She knows I’m a witness, and knows it has to do with my ex, but she doesn’t know the details of the case or where I’m from. The only other people who know are my therapist and my case agent.” After a moment, she adds: “Actually, that guy you saw me getting coffee with, Wyll—that’s him. He’s not my friend per se, he was just assigned to my case and helped me with the whole transition and acclimation. We still check in every week.”

“So what, you’re telling me that Prince Charming is actually in the FBI?

“The Marshals Service,” she corrects him.

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a lot.”

After a moment of silence, Astarion says:

“I have a suggestion.”

“Yes?”

“All of these revelations, however necessary, are also quite draining, aren’t they?”

“God, yes. I’m so tired and it’s not even seven.”

“Same. So maybe we can just agree to… not talk about it anymore tonight? Unless there is anything else you wanted to share?”

“No, I think that’s enough lore for one evening,” Eve chuckles.

“Lovely.”

There is a moment of silence as Eve tries to figure out what to say next. It feels a bit odd to return to more casual topics after everything that was shared here tonight—odd, but necessary.

“Want to show me your new record player?”

There is genuine delight in Astarion’s voice when he says:

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.”

***

The rest of the evening passes leisurely as they chat and listen to music. Once the ramen gets there, they eat it on the couch as they watch a game show, both too mentally and emotionally exhausted to do much else. 

However mundane it seems, Eve delights in the comfort of it, in being able to just exist next to Astarion while she can finally relax. No nagging, self-deprecating thoughts, no guilt burrowing a hole in her stomach.

It’s so simple, and yet it’s more than she had ever hoped for.

***

Astarion’s bedroom is as unassuming as the rest of the house, the only standout element being the emerald green bedsheets that Eve already knows will feel amazing, just from the looks of it.

He gives her an oversized t-shirt to sleep in, then shows her around the adjacent bathroom. 

“You are welcome to use any of these,” he says, pointing to the various products on the shower shelf. “And any of my skincare. And just, in general, whatever you find here. Towels are in that cabinet, and um– The only toothbrush I can offer you is this.” 

He hands her a small dental kit, a hotel logo on the packaging. 

“Sorry about that,” he mutters.

“How dare you,” she chuckles before pressing a kiss to his cheek, Astarion’s lips quirking up in response.

“Okay, well–” He looks around the space with a nervous sort of scrutiny. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Okay.” He lingers in the doorway, before blurting out: “Bye.”

Eve can’t help but laugh as Astarion rushes out of the bathroom.

“Bye!”

She is thrilled to discover that Astarion’s shower has much better pressure than the one at her and Lae’s apartment. The hot water feels grounding against her skin as it rinses off all the lingering sweat and stress. She would probably indulge in it for longer if she wasn’t so keen to return to Astarion.

As Eve puts her underwear back on, she thinks she could have worn a nicer pair—though to be fair, the prospect of spending the night with Astarion wasn’t exactly on her mind when she was getting ready this morning. The shirt he picked out for her is soft and comfortable, but ends up being shorter than expected, the hem brushing against her upper thigh.

Before she can overthink the look, she steps outside. Astarion has already changed into a pair of checkered pants and a navy blue shirt. He’s leaning against the bed frame, one leg crossed over the other, a copy of Play It As It Lays in his hand.

The domesticity of it all makes Eve’s heart flutter.

Astarion looks up from the book and it doesn’t escape Eve’s attention how his eyes flit down her body for a split moment before meeting her gaze again.

He clears his throat and asks:

“Did you find everything alright?” 

His tone is oddly formal as if he were a hotel receptionist asking for guest feedback. She tries her best to don a serious expression when she responds: 

“Yes, Sir. The amenities are excellent. I’ll make sure to leave a good review.”

He grins as he puts the book away.

“Before you do, you should make sure that the bed is to your liking. We use only the finest mattresses.”

“Do you, now?” Eve asks as she makes her way to the other side of the bed and sits down. “Oh, god.”

She flops down and feels her body melt into the mattress. Just lying there feels like an embrace.

“I’m never leaving this bed,” she groans with delight and closes her eyes.

“I suppose I can live with that,” Astarion decides before planting a soft kiss on her temple. “I’ll join you in a few.”

For a moment she just stays there with her eyes closed, listening to Astarion’s footsteps and the bathroom fan turning back on. Eventually she wills her muscles to move and slips under the covers, noting with delight that the pillow feels as lavishly comfortable as it looks.

She turns to the bedside table to reach for her phone and finds it plugged in to charge, lying next to a glass of water on the Dali coaster. 

She can’t help but smile at yet another of Astarion’s everyday displays of thoughtfulness that never fail to charm her.

When Astarion eventually reappears, he pauses in the doorway, an absentminded smile on his lips as he watches her.

“What?” Eve asks with a small smile of her own.

“Oh, nothing.” He turns off the overhead light, the room dim save for the lamp on his bedside table. 

“No no no, don’t ‘nothing’ me,” Eve insists as he slips under the covers. 

Astarion shifts towards her, hand resting on her waist as he leans in for a kiss, all mint and shea butter. Eve hums as she reaches up to cup his cheek and kisses him back.

“That’s very nice,” she says as they pull away. “But you didn’t answer my question. What was that cute little smile about?”

“I was just enjoying the sight, that’s all. It’s been a while since I had someone this beautiful in my bed.”

Eve makes a show of rolling her eyes. 

“You are so corny sometimes.”

“Then why are you blushing?” he asks with a self-satisfied smile.

“...I’m not.” 

“Mhm. And denial is a river in Egypt.”

“Speaking of denial…”

“Ah, my favorite topic.”

“I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Our first dinner at the Lebanese place. After the party. Was that… a date, to you?”

Astarion laughs heartily.

“Well, if it sounds like a date and it looks like a date…”

“I suppose.”

“Was it not a date to you?”

“I kept insisting it wasn’t, but… Well. It seems I was kind of an idiot.”

They look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. It truly was ridiculous—the amount of mental hoops she had to jump through before finally admitting to herself how much she wanted him.

“So, anyways…” Eve starts after they calm down. “Now that we’re here, I must ask: are you a cuddler?”

“I suppose I am. Though admittedly I’m out of practice.”

“That’s okay, so am I. Big spoon or little spoon?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighs. “I’m not really into labels.”

Eve giggles and Astarion follows right after. They must be quite tired and perhaps a little delirious because they just can’t stop. Soon, Eve forgets what even started this and it just seems like they’re laughing at each other.

Despite the exhaustion gripping at her muscles, sleep is the last thing on her mind. She is not sure how long they stay like this: talking, laughing, and stealing slow kisses. It’s so nice. So easy.

Eventually, Astarion turns off his lamp and the room is dark save for the patch of moonlight seeping in through the window. Eve is lying on her back, Astarion cuddled up to her side, head resting on her chest. Her fingers comb through his soft curls as sleepiness slowly takes hold of her. 

Astarion has been quiet for a while, his breathing levelled, and Eve is sure he finally drifted off. But then, his voice reaches her in the dark, pulling her back from the verge of dreaming:

“Eve?”

“Astarion?”

“So, are we, like…” He trails off, then waves his hand dismissively. “Nevermind.”

“Are we what?” she asks, the curiosity making her feel more awake again.

“Nothing, it’s silly.”

Eve reaches for his chin and tilts it gently up until he meets her eyes.

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Astarion sighs, before eventually asking:

“Am I… your… boyfriend?”

Eve’s lips stretch into a wide smile, warmth blooming in her chest.

“I don’t think that’s silly. And yes, I would like that very much. Boyfriend, partner, whatever you want to call it.”

Astarion seems to consider his options for a moment.

“How about ‘loverboy? ” he drawls.

“Paramour?” she offers.

They keep coming up with increasingly archaic alternatives, until Eve decides:

“I personally like ‘partner.”

“Let’s go with ‘partner,’ then. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Okay.” She smiles softly as she imagines introducing him to someone: “This is my partner, Astarion.”

“Oh, I do rather like that, you know.” 

His smile is fond and playful as he shifts up to kiss her. And unlike any touch they have shared tonight thus far, this one bears with it unexpected heat that Eve welcomes with delight, hands gripping at his waist.

It mellows out soon enough, but when Astarion leans away to rest his head on the pillow next to her, Eve is still a little breathless. He nuzzles up against her side, right arm buried under her pillow, left one draped across her stomach. 

“So,” he starts after a moment. “Now that we can be shamelessly adorable and make it everyone’s problem…”

“Yes…?” she asks with a smile.

“Are there any particular… terms of endearment that you would like me to use for you, or ones that you would specifically not like me to use?”

She considers this for a moment, memories of her and Enver flaring up like phantom pain. Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling and it feels like a confession when she whispers:

“Just don’t call me ‘baby.’ Or ‘babygirl.” The words are ash on her tongue.

Astarion doesn’t ask, just assures her:

“I won’t. And… Are there any words like that that you do like?”

“I don’t know. I guess, just… anything that’s not overly cutesy or… infantilizing.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“That’s a shame. I really wanted to call you ‘honey bunny.”

“Only if I can call you ‘pumpkin.”

“Deal,” he chuckles. “Let’s not rob any diners, though.”

She sighs dramatically.

“There goes my date idea, I guess.” 

Astarion smiles as his fingers skate across the skin of her stomach where her shirt rolled up. Eve is convinced she could happily spend entire days like this. Eventually, she says:

“But for real, I… I just don’t know. But we can figure it out as we go.”

Astarion hums thoughtfully then says:

“Can I try something?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“I would like to take a moment to try out different words and see which ones… elicit a reaction.”

There is something in his expression that spells trouble. So, naturally, she says:

“Go ahead.”

And then Astarion’s lips are on hers, deliberate, insistent. She returns the kiss in kind, but then, much sooner than she would like, his mouth moves away to descend down her jaw.

Once he reaches her neck, she inhales sharply at the sensation, then tilts her head to the side to give him better access. Desire unravels low within her, slowly and steadily, as Astarion lavishes her with affection, holding her close.

His lips trail up to her ear, tone low and velvety when he whispers:

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

A pleased hum slips past Eve’s lips before she can stop it. Not that she would particularly want to.

“That sounds like a yes,” he says smugly. 

She can feel Astarion smile against her and she turns to face him.

“I don’t think it’s the ‘sweetheart’ that does it for me, I think your voice is just… dangerous. In general.”

“Dangerous?” he repeats with a rakish grin.

“Yes.” She doesn’t elaborate any further, a wide smile tugging at her lips.

“That is good to know,” he says, a playful flicker in his gaze. “So ‘sweetheart’ is acceptable, then? Just not your favorite?”

“I doubt we can find a favorite. So this works, I suppose.”

“You have so little faith in me,” he sighs.

And so he keeps trying: sunshine, angel, dear, all whispered in between kisses and caresses that are starting to drive her mad in the best possible way. The words themselves are nice, but not particularly resonating with her. Until–

“Does that feel good, darling?”

Drawn out in that voice like molten honey, the name seems to fill every recess of her mind, light up every nerve—all of that manifesting in a hard gasp as her heart beats faster.

Eve covers her face with her palms as she leans away, immediately embarrassed.

Astarion giggles, the sound vibrating teasingly against her delicate skin. He slowly peels her hands away as he speaks:

“Didn’t expect that reaction from ‘darling’ of all things. How… old school.”

She turns to face him, cheeks burning.

“You’re a menace.”

“Maybe. But I’m your menace.”

Hearing Astarion call himself hers in any capacity feels more intimate than any kiss they shared tonight.

“The first time I called you ‘darling,’ you seemed rather annoyed,” he muses, fingers tracing down her arm. “How far we’ve come.”

Eve turns on her side to face him fully and tucks a stray curl behind his ear.

“How far indeed.” And then, after a moment of hesitation, she adds: “Thank you again for that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t more appreciative in the moment.”

“Don’t overthink it. I suppose the last thing you want when dealing with a strange man in a parking lot is for another strange man to run up to you.”

She huffs out a breath, humorlessly.

“No, I– As much as I didn’t actually feel threatened, it was nice to know that you wouldn’t just… walk past. Too many people don’t care enough to react, even in situations that are… less ambiguous.”

A flash of Enver leaning against the doorway, watching Orin tackle Eve with a knife to her face—his expression betraying the same level of emotional engagement one might reserve for a weather forecast.

But she doesn’t want to think about him. Not here, not now.

He doesn’t get to have this.

“Are you okay?” Astarion says.

And despite the brief intrusion of her memories, it feels honest when she replies:

“I’m more than okay.”

And as if to prove her point, Eve cups his cheek and kisses him, and it’s so easy to focus just on that. On the slight hitch in Astarion’s breathing as he pulls her closer. The steady firmness of his hand on her waist. The faint sweetness of his lotion. The plush velvet of his lips.

This sensory amalgamation pushes everything else out of her mind until the only thoughts left are those of Astarion.

Eve’s heart beats faster as a rolling current courses through their bodies, their kisses growing greedier with each brush of their tongues. It’s all-consuming: gasps melting together, legs tangling, hands groping to pull each other closer even though there is already no space between them.

She wants more, of course she does. But not now, not after the exhaustion and anxiety of this long day. And so, she leans away just barely enough to ask:

“Can we just… keep making out?”

“Anything you want, my darling.”

“Stop that,” she warns with no real edge to it, before kissing him senseless.

Hours later, they somehow manage to fall asleep. And as Eve’s consciousness starts to slip, she holds Astarion close, not daring to believe her own happiness.

Chapter Text

Eve doesn’t recognize the alarm clock informing her it’s almost 3 am—nor the sheets, much lighter and cooler against her skin than her own. And as she turns to see a body lying beside her, there is a brief but nauseating moment when she’s convinced that she is somehow right back where it all started. 

But then it strikes her that the hair on the pillow is a downy white, not the coarse black of years past. Panic eases its grip, pushed out by the memories of last night, balmy and comforting against her frayed nerves.

It all comes back to her piece by piece: every word, every embrace, every kiss pressed to her lips.

She did it. 

She told him everything and the world didn’t end. And Astarion wanted to wake up beside her despite it all—or maybe, in a way, because of it.

Smiling to herself, Eve attempts to fall back asleep, but it doesn’t come. Defeated, she downs whatever is left of her water, then heads to the bathroom to refill the glass, the cold tiles under her bare feet sobering her even further.

When she steps back into the bedroom, she finds Astarion sitting up, bathed in moonlight.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I think so.” 

Eve puts the water on the nightstand and gets back into bed, Astarion scooting up to her side.

“I just don’t sleep well in new places,” she explains in a hushed voice. “It’s like my mind has to be on high alert and I keep waking up every hour or so.”

“I’m sorry.” He reaches for her hand and plants a soft kiss against her knuckles. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No, not really. It just might take some time to get used to.”

His eyes widen, lips stretching into a playful smile as he asks:

“Get used to? Eve Turner, did you just give yourself an open invitation to my house?”

“I might have. Is that a problem?”

“Not in the slightest.” His touch shifts to her arm, palm tracing a slow and soothing path down the length of it. “You’re welcome here anytime. I just wouldn’t want to get on Lae’zel’s bad side for whisking her favorite roommate away from her.”

“She’ll manage,” Eve says as she rests her hand on Astarion’s hip. “She doesn’t exactly lack company these days.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

In the silence that follows, Astarion’s hand drifts down to her waist, thumb rubbing half circles on the bit of exposed skin where her—his—shirt rolled up. The touch is so gentle and yet it awakens something in her, an impossible-to-ignore need to close the inches separating them.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” he asks and there is a barely noticeable strain in his voice. His touch seems less absent-minded now, firmer, an unspoken follow-up to his question.

“Not at the moment,” she admits, noting with delight the subtle quirk of Astarion’s lips at her words.

“Me neither.”

The space between them grows charged, the currents connecting their bodies nearly palpable. Eve feels very awake all of a sudden, acutely aware of the slow onset of desire building within her.

The anticipatory silence ends when Astarion, the well-spoken man that he is, says: 

“So, uh– Vibe check…”

Eve cackles, the sound startling in the dead of night, but not unwelcome. Astarion grins, as he always seems to do whenever he makes her laugh. 

“Yes, Astarion, what would you like to know about the vibes?”

“On a scale of one to ten, how amenable are you to kissing right now?”

The question itself makes her want to pull him closer this second, swallow up the surprised gasp from his lips. 

“You need to define your extremes,” she says instead, the enjoyment of drawing this moment out winning over her eagerness.

Astarion nods slowly, his fingers tapping out a steady rhythm against her bare skin as he seems to ponder this grave issue. 

“One means that you would rather get up and do your taxes. Ten means that you are literally delirious with desire, and if you don’t kiss me within a few seconds, you will perish on the spot.”

Eve hums thoughtfully, her expression solemn.

“I’d say I’m at a solid seven right now. And you?”

“I’m at a nine,” he whispers. Warmth kindles in Eve’s chest and she is convinced she has never had such a reaction to a number.

“Oh. Well, that’s dangerously close to a ten.” She shuffles closer, hand cupping his cheek. “I wouldn’t want you to perish from all this desire.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he says, the very picture of gratitude.

Over the past week or so, Eve has had the pleasure of constructing a mental catalog of the various kisses she has shared with Astarion. Some were brief but tender, some solid and steady, others started slow—faint flickers that gained force with time.

This particular kiss is an open flame, hunger embodied from the very first touch of their lips. It’s a fervent, feverish dance, in which both of them somehow lead and follow at the same time. Bodies flush against each other, fingers combing through hair, hands mapping nearly every surface within reach.

Astarion tugs at Eve’s waist to pull her closer still, never close enough. She gives an experimental nibble to his lower lip and he moans, a favorite sound if she’s ever had one. 

She can feel him slowly harden against her and the realization makes her breathless. On instinct more than thought, she hooks her leg over his and Astarion immediately welcomes her offering as keen hands grip at her thigh, squeezing it lightly, moving up, up– And then down again, too soon.

Eve breaks the kiss just long enough to say:

“You can, uh– go higher. If you’d like.”

He accepts the invitation with a low hum, restless hands caressing the curve of her ass. His kisses get increasingly greedier until he pulls away ever so slightly, lips brushing against hers when he asks in a choked voice:

“Do you want to–”

“Yes.” 

And as soon as the word leaves her lips, Eve kisses him fiercely to drive the point home, eliciting another rumble of pleasure from the depths of his chest. She is convinced she could spend hours finding new ways to coax these ungodly sounds out of him.

Astarion squeezes her ass with a newfound determination, holding on for dear life as he flips them both. He lands on his back as Eve straddles him, now even more aware of his burgeoning erection, the sensation making her dizzy with need. 

He sits up until their faces are nearly levelled and they resume the tantalizing tempo of it all as if it were never interrupted. Astarion’s hands slip under the hem of Eve’s shirt, running up her soft sides, then back down again.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the fabric.

“Please,” Eve gasps, and the line between who’s begging and who’s offering gets murky at best.

As Astarion pulls the shirt over her head, there is a fumbling sort of haste to his movements, as if he were doing this for the first time—a notion that Eve finds utterly endearing, and not entirely foreign for that matter. Though she is hardly a stranger to late-night encounters, there is an exhilarating novelty to this one. Because it’s him, after all. Them.

Eve pulls the garment the rest of the way off and lets it fall noiselessly onto the floor. When she turns back to Astarion, there is something in his gaze akin to reverence and it renders her speechless, stoking the desire kindling within her. 

For a moment he just admires her, his lips slightly parted, before muttering:

“Damn.”

Eve erupts with a giggle and he can’t help but follow.

“Damn?” She questions. “You see my boobs for the first time and your response is damn?”

“It’s obviously a compliment!” He scoffs with feigned offence. “Forgive me for not being the most eloquent right now.”

“You’re forgiven,” she says, leaning down to kiss the exaggerated pout off his face.

“I also can’t see very well at the moment.”

Eve laughs and fetches Astarion’s glasses from the bedside table before putting them on his nose.

His eyes widen with a healthy dose of theatrics.

“Well, now we’re talking.”

Eve barks out a laugh, Astarion’s self-satisfied smile widening even further.

“They look better when they’re not blurry?”

In lieu of a response, Astarion just whistles, drawing yet another giggle out of her.

“Are you done?” she asks, her stomach starting to hurt a bit from laughing.

“Hardly.” He clears his throat and proclaims dramatically: “Every inch of your perfect body whispers temptation. It’s as if god–”

“Don’t push it,” Eve warns before shutting him up with a kiss that he welcomes with a pleased hum.

Astarion’s hands trace up her sides, passing reverently over her stomach before cupping her breasts. His thumbs brush over her nipples, hesitantly, as if he were testing the waters, but the soft gasp she lets out seems to encourage him.

Soon enough, Astarion’s lips leave hers to trail down Eve’s jaw and neck, then descend further in an agonizingly slow path that makes her breath hitch. 

He stops just beneath her collarbone and looks up, gaze searching. But it seems all he finds is the anticipation lighting up her every nerve, because he kisses the top of her breast, before shifting down and down and–

“Yes,” she gasps the moment his lips close around her nipple.

It’s electric, the way his tongue flicks at it teasingly, the way he murmurs against her skin, the way his hands wander, intent on caressing every available inch of her body.

He releases her, lips beginning a much more hurried journey across her sternum to give the other side the same care and attention. His hand reaches up to tease at her nipple, mirroring the movements of his tongue.

Eve runs her fingers through Astarion’s soft curls, nails scraping gently against his scalp. It arouses another low sound that vibrates delectably across the delicate skin of her chest, and she commits it to memory, her mind drafting a map of all the places that make him sing.

And oh god she is convinced he could make her fall apart just like this, with nothing but the workings of his mouth, the roaming of his hands, and the delicious friction against his clothed cock as she writhes in his lap.

But then, with a final swirl of his tongue, Astarion lets go to look up at her, and witnessing him in such a state sends a jolt of need straight to Eve’s core. His eyes are blown wide, hair tousled, voice strained as he whispers:

“Can I just… take care of you tonight?”

Eve huffs out a breath, Astarion’s question laced with such gentleness that it melts something within her—something that has been frozen for longer than she’d care to admit. 

“Isn’t that what’s happening right now?” she asks, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind his ear. “I feel quite cared for, you know.”

He smiles softly, but there is something heavier to it, an unnamed ache just beneath the surface.

“I meant… That’s all I want to do. At least for now. I’m not– I don’t think I should–” He shuts his eyes with a frustrated sigh. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I should have just–”

Something sinks in Eve’s chest at his resignation. Instinct takes over as she reaches up to cup his face with both hands.

“Hey,” she whispers and it prompts Astarion to open his eyes, gaze laden with contradictions. “We can do whatever feels good for both of us, okay? And that can be as little or as much as we want.”

“Right.” He nods ever so slightly. “You’re right.”

“We can talk about this more now or later, either way is good with me. We could also just go back to sleep or–”

“Oh trust me,” he whispers, palms tracing the curve of her hips. “I don’t want to stop.”

And as if to eliminate any lingering doubt from her mind, Astarion reaches up, fingertips dancing along the soft line of her jaw before tilting her chin towards him. 

Eve kisses him slowly, deliberately, with all the reassurance she can hope to convey. And as soon as their greedy tempo resumes, Astarion breaks the kiss to guide her to lie down next to him, facing away.

As he scoots up behind her, Eve can feel the ridge of his cock pressing against her, and suddenly she has no brain cells to speak of, all of the focus shifted to that particular point of contact. 

Astarion puts his arm under and around her side, fingers gentle as they skate across the flushed skin of her stomach. His other hand slides down to her thigh, tracing its length before moving inward.

“It might be easier if you open your legs,” he suggests, and it takes Eve a moment to realize where she’s heard those words before: the soft press of a makeup brush against her eyelids. Astarion’s breath tickling her skin. Chappell Roan singing about her situationships.

“Oh my god, wait. Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

His caresses are ceaseless, but Eve manages to focus enough to explain:

“Before the ABBA party, when you were doing my makeup. You said the exact same words to me. And I remember, because I kept turning them over and over in my head like a maniac. Did you phrase it that way on purpose?”

Astarion doesn’t answer, just giggles against the skin of her neck.

“Astarion!” she aims for a reproachful tone, but it doesn’t quite land, not with how breathless she is already.

“Of course I did it on purpose. Your heart was pounding and your face was red. It doesn’t take a body language expert to know when someone is horny out of their mind.”

“Oh god,” she groans. “And you decided to torment me even more?”

“Well, yes, it was quite fun. One thing about me is I do love making you blush.”

Eve squirms with embarrassment, until Astarion grabs her thigh firmly and it makes her pause.

“Now will you please do as I asked?” he pleads, voice husky.

Ever so obliging, Eve shifts more to her back as she parts her thighs for him.

Astarion’s lips plant delicate kisses across her shoulder and neck as his left hand strokes her breast, deft fingers teasing the stiff peak of her nipple. His other hand fondles her plush inner thighs and Eve’s breathing is already ragged, though he is not even close to where she wants– needs him most.

Astarion presses a beseeching kiss just below her ear before whispering:

“I want you to guide my hand. Show me how you like it.”

A hard sigh leaves her lips at the mere thought, at the careful curiosity in his voice.

“Okay–” she gasps.

Astarion hooks his fingers under the waistband of her underwear, teasing hungry skin as they trace along the fabric.

“But first, let’s take these off, hm?”

All Eve can manage is a nod, but Astarion is relentless:

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes– please do.”

She can feel him smile against her skin as he slowly pulls the underwear down her thighs. Eve shuffles her legs to kick it the rest of the way off, very much aware of her nudity against Astarion’s fully clothed self—exposed but not unpleasantly so.

Astarion’s hand returns to her hip bone and he rests it there for a moment before Eve realizes he is waiting. Waiting for her to guide him just as he asked.

She reaches for him, fingers interlocking as the two of them begin an unhurried journey down her thighs, then back up and across the expanse of her stomach. Until finally, they snake down, down, past the dark curly hair and right to the–

Their gasps melt together the moment their fingers slip between her, skimming featherlight over her clit before trailing further down–

“God, you’re so wet–” Astarion breathes out, ardent adoration in his voice.

An admittedly embarrassing whine escapes Eve’s lips and she turns her head to bury her face in the pillow.

“No no, don’t be coy,” he insists, more of a wish than a command. “It’s just the two of us. Let me hear you.”

And how can she deny him when he asks so nicely? When he speaks about her with the awe of a zealot witnessing a miracle?

And so Eve does not bother to hide her pleasure as she guides Astarion’s slick fingers back to her clit, teasing it in languid strokes. His other hand continues its ministrations on her breasts, lips exploring her neck, and it all feels like a reverie. She has imagined him just like this, and yet no fantasy and no touch of her own could have compared to how she feels right now in his care. 

“Just like that,” she gasps, letting go of his fingers and reaching instead to comb through Astarion’s hair, nails teasing at his skin.

There is something freeing in how she surrenders to him, trusting him enough to relinquish the control she always felt she needed in moments like these.

Astarion’s lips leave her neck to whisper into her ear:

“Does it feel good, my darling?”

The sweet term sounds sinful on his tongue, and Eve can’t hold back the moan that slips past her lips, accompanied by Astarion’s self-satisfied chuckle.

She might have felt embarrassed by the unabashed, near-desperate want tinting her voice, were it not him. Had he not asked her, as straightforwardly as one can, to not hold back.

“God, you can’t just catch me off guard with that,” she protests, however weakly.

“Oh but I can,” Astarion says, clearly amused. “And it doesn’t seem like you minded all that much, hm?”

That she doesn’t mind would be the understatement of the millenium. What she does is crave more, lust-hazed mind growing desperate with every skilled movement of Astarion’s fingers. With every second that she’s aware of the wetness pooling between her thighs, begging for attention. With every twitch of Astarion’s cock against her back, eliciting hushed hisses from his eager lips.

And since Astarion has made it so very clear that her vocalizing her pleasure only spurs his own, Eve asks, shamelessly:

“I need you–” With how labored her breathing is, the sentence comes out fractured: “Inside– Please.”

A lewd rumble escapes Astarion’s throat as his fingers trace a final circle around her clit before pulling away.

“How many?” he asks, sounding as dazed as she feels.

“Two.”

Astarion chuckles against her skin.

“As you wish, my darling.”

His fingers shift down, teasing, before he starts slipping them inside and oh god–

A frustrated whine leaves her lips when Astarion pauses at the first knuckle and stays there, applying pressure, but infuriatingly enough, not moving at all. His thumb comes up to trace patterns against her clit, the touch so light it almost feels accidental.

“Are you going to make me beg?” Eve asks after a moment of this stillness, a blunted edge in her voice. “Because I will.”

She is way past the point of caring.

Astarion seems to actually consider her question for a moment, fingers unmoving, keeping Eve trapped in this purgatory that is part maddening and part tantalizing. 

And although Eve has no issue with appearing desperate anymore, she doesn’t chase his touch. She waits at the threshold, patient and still, because a part of her never wants this moment to end. 

“As tempting as that sounds…” Astarion eventually answers, and the rest of the sentence comes in the form of a slow stretch as his fingers fill her gradually, inch by delicious inch, all the way to the hilt.

He stills there for a moment, chest falling and rising against hers as their labored breaths mix in the night air. 

And then, to their shared delight, Astarion starts moving, each drag of him addictive. It doesn’t take long for him to find the spot that has her eyelids fluttering shut, a low moan escaping her.

“Fuck, you feel so good–” she manages and it doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The unbridled bliss in her voice only seems to embolden him. Astarion settles into an unhurried but delicious rhythm that makes Eve melt against him, mouth agape, all soft gasps and murmurs and yeses.

And though Astarion has so far managed to keep up his composure, it seems his mind is just as hazy as hers by now, because words start spilling out of his mouth, sounds tripping over one another:

“God, Eve, you’re– You’re so fucking hot– So gorgeous like this– Well, all of the time, actually– But I mean– You get the point–”

“You’re such a yapper,” she chuckles and twists back to kiss him. Astarion follows, a drunk giddiness in his voice that she happily swallows up.

“Oh please,” he says after their lips part. “You love it when I yap.”

“I do,” she admits, no point in hiding even an ounce of her attraction. He deserves to know exactly the kind of effect he has on her. “And I love your voice.”

“Oh, do you now?” His lips shift down to the crook of her neck and she can feel him smile against the delicate skin. 

“Yes, I ah–” She gasps at a particularly delicious swipe of his thumb across her clit. “I imagined it sometimes. Your voice. When I–”

She could swear she feels his cock twitch against her back at the notion, and her mouth waters.

“When you–”

“Yes.”

“Was I saying anything in particular?”

Eve’s lust-driven bravado seems to have fizzled out, and the reply comes as a bashful, dismissive:

“Oh, I don’t know…”

Astarion’s fingers slip out of her, now wet and firm against her clit. He drags his teeth along her earlobe, making her gasp. 

“But you do know. Tell me.” His voice is tinged with irresistible desperation when he adds: “Please.”

His fingers were inside her just moments ago and yet it is this conversation that feels the most intimate, the most vulnerable.

“You called me beautiful,” she whispers her confession and Astarion doesn’t hesitate:

“You are beautiful. You know that, right?”

Eve is not sure how to respond to his question, so instead she says:

“You called me sweet. You were just whispering these pretty words and praises into my ear and I… And it took me no time to–”

“Oh.” Sheer delight paints his voice, syrupy sweet as he whispers into her ear: “So you like to be praised?”

Eve’s breath hitches and she fights the urge to bury her face in the pillow once more. Somehow, she manages:

“If it’s by you, then yes, apparently, I do–”

“That is good to know.”

There is no hint of mockery or teasing in his tone—he seems in equal parts honored and thrilled that she would tell him this, that she would bestow such power into his hands. 

Slowly, his fingers slip back inside, though this time their tempo is much faster, insistent, and it sets her skin ablaze almost instantly. The flames only grow larger once he resumes talking:

“It’s so easy to praise you, Eve, you have no idea. You look hypnotizing right now and I bet you’ll look even more beautiful as you come.” 

He punctuates his words with a curl of his fingers that makes her see stars. His voice is hoarse and hopeful when he asks:

“Should we find out, darling? Will you let me find out?”

Her entire body blossoms, opening up at his words, delicious tension building within her at every sugary syllable, every careful caress of his fingers.

“Do you feel good, my sweet? Is this how you like it?”

She has no coherent answer to give him, only an aching whimper as her hands grasp the sheets, back arching against his chest. 

“Do you like being told how beautifully responsive you are? How well you’re taking my fingers? How literally all I can think about right now is how well you’d take all of me?”

The idea drives her feral and Eve turns her head back to kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth.

“Fuck, Astarion–”

“That is literally what I’m doing right now, are you not paying attention?”

A laugh that turns into a hard gasp when he brushes against that sweet spot once more, the heel of his hand pressed against her clit.

Astarion keeps whispering sweet nothings directly into her ear—and between his fingers and the words lighting up her mind, Eve feels full of him in every possible way. Soon, the only word she can think to utter is his name, over and over again, gasping hard as she is careening towards the edge. Until even that is too complex, the three syllables devolving into just the first letter. 

Pleasure and pressure stir within her, Eve’s whole body taut and preparing to snap. Astarion must know it, because he keeps up the steady rhythm as he whispers, a delirious strain in his voice:

“You can let go, Eve. You can let go with me.”

The pressure building within her finally spills over and she comes hard, melting against Astarion’s touch as the edges of her vision go blurry.

It’s a trust fall and there is no doubt in her mind that he’ll catch her. Astarion brings her apart all at once and then puts her back together piece by piece, somehow both the same and changed. He doesn’t stop, but his movements do mellow out as her crest ceases.

Once she regains some mental clarity, she turns around and kisses him slowly, deeply. Trust and gratitude and affection mix on their tongues, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place, smoothing out each other’s jagged edges.

“That was incredible,” she gasps in-between kisses once the power of speech returns to her. “You’re incredible.”

“Aren’t I just?” he asks with what he probably thinks is a smug smirk, but instead comes off as a giddy, blissed out smile. 

Eve can still feel his erection against her, somehow even harder now. A wave of doubt surges in her mind when she pulls away to ask:

“Are you sure you don’t want me to–”

“I’m sure,” he says in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

“Okay.” She nods before kissing him again.

But Astarion must have noticed something shift in her expression because he leans away to ask: 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I guess I just– I feel a little selfish,” she admits sheepishly.

Astarion looks at her curiously, evident surprise in his features.

“You feel… selfish?” he speaks slowly as if he wants to make sure he heard her right. “For respecting… my boundaries?”

“Well, I guess if you put it like that, it is kind of silly.”

Astarion smiles lightly as he runs his hands through her hair to tame it.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Eve, I really do.” He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, before adding: “Maybe now is not the best time to get into the details, so let’s just say it’s… rare, that someone would actually care about my pleasure.”

A bitter pang of pain pierces her heart and she feels the sudden need to reach out, to hold him close.

“I’m sorry that that’s been your experience,” is all she can think to say, and it doesn’t even begin to scrape the surface of the feelings surging in her chest, threatening to claw out.

“What matters is: it’s not anymore.”

And he kisses her again, slow and steady, as their bodies melt into each other's touch. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs between kisses and Eve doesn’t know exactly what he is thanking her for, and perhaps he doesn’t know either. 

But she doesn’t ask. Just kisses him back in a way that hopefully conveys everything she can’t bring herself to admit just yet.

Their touch mellows out with time and they hold each other as sleep finally starts bothering them for attention.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” Astarion says softly before pressing a kiss to her temple. But the term sparks something in Eve’s mind and she pulls away ever so slightly to say:

“Wait, you never told me what words you like. I mean– What you would like me to call you.”

“Oh. Well…” Astarion seems to ponder this for a moment, before deciding: “All these sweet words are nice and all, but I don’t think anything can compare to the sound of my name cried from your lips.”

He seems very pleased with himself and for a moment Eve just looks at him, caught between blushing and wanting to roll her eyes. 

“Sometimes you talk like a character in a romance novel,” she says, not without amusement. “I just want you to be aware of that.”

“And yet you just can’t put the book down, hm?”

She smiles, bringing his hand up to press a soft kiss to the back of it.

”Nor would I want to,” she admits, nestling back into his embrace.

***

Eve feels barely conscious as she stumbles out of bed in the morning. Though she insists that Astarion should go back to sleep, he seems offended by the mere suggestion.

“And miss out on spending the morning with you?” He scoffs. “I don’t think so.”

As Eve collects her underwear off the floor, Astarion disappears into his walk-in closet. He reemerges with some top options and Eve settles on a black tank and a green linen shirt to wear unbuttoned over it. 

She heads into the bathroom to get ready, and although the dark circles under her eyes are especially prominent, she can’t help but smile as she catches her reflection. They really need to stop having their firsts in the middle of the night—not that she regrets a single moment.

When Eve steps back into the bedroom, Astarion is gone, a faint scent of coffee reaching her through the open door.

She grabs her things and heads downstairs to find Astarion in the kitchen, still in his pajamas. He’s standing by the stove, attending to one of those Italian coffee makers Eve has only seen in movies.

“Fancy,” she says as she comes up to him, hand resting on the small of his back.

“Oh hello there!” Astarion puts his arm around her shoulders before looking her up and down. “What a nice shirt. You have excellent taste.”

“Why, thank you. My partner let me borrow it.”

Astarion’s face lights up at her words.

“Sounds like one lucky guy.”

“I think we’re both quite lucky,” she says and reaches up to kiss him, slow and sweet.

Astarion invites her to sit at one of the bar stools along the kitchen counter. He walks to the other side and leans his elbows against the stone as he speaks:

“Hello, my name is Astarion, I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

Eve can’t help but giggle, a wide smile gracing Astarion’s lips in response.

“Surprise me,” she says.

“That I can do.”

He leans away and heads over to the fridge, his gaze scrutinous as he scans the shelves. 

“Now, as far as food is concerned, I’m afraid our breakfast options are… scarce.” He closes the fridge and moves to a cabinet above the stove. “I can offer you pancakes with… nothing on them.” He sighs as he closes the doors.

“That actually works out perfectly, because nothing is my favorite topping.”

Astarion chuckles, but there is still some lingering tension in his features.

“I’m sorry about this.”

“Astarion, you don’t have to be sorry, it’s not like we planned for me to stay over.”

“I suppose. And I’m just not really a breakfast person, so that’s why… But what do you usually like to eat? So I can make sure I have it next time.”

Eve’s lips stretch into a warm smile at his efforts, sweet but entirely unnecessary.

“Astarion, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he insists. “I want you to feel comfortable around here. And being able to make you breakfast that you actually like is really the bare minimum, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it’s the bare minimum, I think it’s quite sweet and thoughtful, actually.”

“Well, in that case, I’m sorry that the bar seems to be on the floor.”

And before Eve can think of a retort, he procures a small notepad and pen from one of the drawers and hands it to her.

“Now, please write down your usual breakfast order and then any snacks or drinks that you like to have stocked at all times.”

“Okay,” she says with a fond smile as she picks up the pen.

“And your coffee is coming right up,” he says and leans over the counter to kiss her.

“Such excellent service.”

***

Eve is halfway down a list of holds she needs to retrieve, when her phone buzzes. She fishes it out as she’s walking over to the graphic novel section, noting with delight that it’s a text from Astarion:

Oh that’s what he meant.

Eve stops in her tracks and looks hastily around, as if the few people in the room might hear Astarion’s words. She ducks between two tall shelves and starts typing rapidly:

As tempting as the offer is, Eve feels a little defiance rising up in her. She smirks to herself as she types her response:

Great, because I needed another mental image to drive me insane.

And as if Astarion could read her mind:

Eve curses under her breath and shoves the phone into her pocket. She takes a deep breath, trying to push away all of the images that Astarion’s words sparked, though to no avail. 

She resumes her task, her heartbeat a little faster.

***

A few hours later, when Eve picks Lae’zel up from summer practice, the woman wastes absolutely no time. As soon as she pulls away from their hug, she asks:

“So, did you two finally fuck?”

“That’s the first thing that you want to know?” Eve asks incredulously as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“Well, let’s see. Would you rather recount what was probably a very long, difficult, and draining conversation about your respective pasts?” 

Good point.

“...yeah I guess maybe not right now.”

“That’s what I figured. Hence my question: did you fuck?” 

Eve can feel blush rushing to her cheeks as she recalls Astarion’s husky voice whispering praises into her ear, his lithe fingers–

“So that’s a yes,” Lae’zel infers, snapping her back to the present. “Your face really is an open book, you know.”

“I’m aware. But to answer your question, I uh– Well, it entirely depends on your definition of ‘fucking.”

“My definition is as loose as they get, I thought you knew that.”

“Okay, same. Then the answer is ‘yes.’ But, uh–”

“But what?”

“Well, he made me come, but he didn’t, uh– Want me to reciprocate.”

Lae’zel nods and seems to ponder this for a moment before saying:

“Singlehandedly bridging the orgasm gap? A true feminist.”

Eve glares at her for a second before they both burst into laughter.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she continues. “We should probably, like, sit down and talk about it, but… it looks like we might be taking things at our own pace.”

“As long as it works for both of you.”

Eve recounts bits and pieces of yesterday’s evening, lips stretched into a wide smile as she talks about the relief and comfort that settled between her and Astarion once the truth was out.

“And how are things with you and Jen?” she asks eventually.

Lae’zel sighs heavily and for a moment Eve is worried that something happened between the two women. Though if that was the case, they wouldn’t be driving to pick Jen up, would they?

“She wants me to meet her friends for brunch this weekend,” Lae’zel says grimly, as if she were informing Eve of someone’s untimely death.

“Like who, Nocturne?”

“Yeah and also this couple, Aylin and Isobel.”

“Okay. Well, I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it? You don’t sound too thrilled, though.”

“Because it’s terrifying.”

“Why, what are you worried about?”

“I don’t know. What if they don’t like me?”

There is something oddly vulnerable in Lae’zel’s tone and it gives Eve pause. The Lae she knows exudes confidence in virtually every situation, and now she is worried that someone won’t like her?

“What if I have nothing in common with them?” she continues. “From what Jen has told me, it sounds like her friends are a bunch of lesbians who worship the moon.”

Eve chuckles but Lae’zel looks dead serious.

“Wait, what do you mean they worship the moon?” Eve asks when Lae’s expression doesn’t falter.

“They’re obsessed with tracking the different phases and they have these crystals that they charge during the full moon. I’m not sure if they’re Wiccan or if it’s a sex thing or what.”

“Okay, well. I don’t know what that’s about either, but I’m sure they have other interests outside of all the moon stuff. But first of all, they will like you,” Eve insists. “Because you’re like, the best. So that’s an easy one. Also, I know I’ve only talked to Nocturne for a couple minutes, but she seemed like the type of person who just instantly gets along with everyone. She was really nice and no crystals were brought up.”

Lae’zel hums thoughtfully as she looks out the window.

“That is reassuring, actually.”

“As to whether you’ll have anything in common with them… well, there’s at least one thing.”

“We’re all gay?” Lae offers.

“Well, yes, but also... you all love Jen.”

Eve expects a scoff, a “boluda” or something of the sort. But instead, Lae is silent, staring straight ahead. The longer she doesn’t speak, the more Eve wonders if maybe her teasing crossed a line. She opens her mouth to apologize, but Lae’zel beats her to it:

“Oh god,” she mutters, her voice strained.

Eve’s eyes widen and she glances sideways to see a look of startling realization painted on her friend’s face.

“Oh god,” Eve echoes.

“I do love her, don’t I?”

It’s a miracle Eve doesn’t crash the car. She grips tightly at the steering wheel, voice high with child-like glee when she speaks: 

“OH MY GOD, WAIT. You actually do? That’s amazing!”

“I don’t see what’s so amazing about that.”

“Wow. Do you wanna… talk about it?”

“Absolutely not.” 

But it’s not long before Lae’zel breaks the silence:

“Am I going mad? Is this too soon?”

“I mean, you’ve known each other for like three months. Granted, you were in Argentina for one of those months, but still. I don’t think there is a ‘correct’ timeline for these things. I think sometimes you just… know.”

Her words resonate in the silence that follows, and Eve realizes that perhaps she said too much.

“Do you?” Lae’zel asks.

“Do I what?”

“Do you just know? With Astarion?”

Eve laughs in a way that she hoped would come off as nonchalant, but instead is just nervous and stilted. 

“Oh, no no no– No way. We, uh– We literally just got together and uh– Nope.”

When Lae’zel doesn’t reply, Eve feels the need to fill the charged silence with chatter:

“I mean, don’t get me wrong—I like him, I really do. And I care about him. And I trust him and, um– But no, love is not... No. That’s not it. It’s way too soon for anything even close to love. Nuh-uh.”

Lae’zel sighs heavily.

“Whatever you say, Eve.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“It’s just interesting that you felt the need to get defensive about it and explain yourself when a simple 'no' would suffice.”

“Okay, then: no,” Eve says decisively.

“Okay,” Lae echoes.

“Okay. Glad that’s settled now.”

“Mhm,” Lae hums with a non-insignificant amount of sass that Eve does not appreciate. 

There is a moment of silence when Eve is convinced that the matter can finally rest and she can push it safely to the back of her mind. But then Lae continues: 

“Surely you would confess your deepest secrets and go through all the stress and potential safety risks that come with it, for the sake of someone you just… like. The way you like Lakrissa or Xan or your new coworkers. Surely Astarion is in the same category.”

Eve doesn’t want to come up with a retort and she certainly doesn’t want to parse the feelings bubbling up in her chest at Lae’s words. So instead, rather blatantly, she backtracks:

“Weren’t we talking about you and Jen? Are you going to tell her, or what?”

Lae’zel doesn’t look pleased with the change of topic, but she doesn’t fight it either.

“Yes, Eve, I am going to tell her. I don’t know when and I don’t know how exactly, but I will. Because life is too fucking fickle to keep these things to yourself.”

Eve sighs.

“You sound like Mr. Withers.”

“Who?”

“Oh! I haven’t told you?”

Eve proceeds to reveal the true identity of the man, the myth, the legend: Montgomery Withers. It keeps them occupied until they arrive at Jen’s parents’ house.

“Hi Jen!” Eve greets her cheerfully as the woman slides into the middle seat. “ Lovely day today, isn’t it?”

If looks could kill, it would be over for Eve. But Lae’zel’s glare softens the moment Jen leans forward to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Hello sunshine.”

“Hola mi cielo,” Lae responds, taking on the sweetest tone Eve has ever witnessed. 

Suddenly, she feels like she is intruding, so she fixes her gaze ahead and starts pulling out of the driveway.

After a moment, Jen seems to remember that there is a world beyond the hazel of her girlfriend’s eyes and that Eve did, in fact, ask her a question. She sits back, as if shaken from a stupor, and says:

“Oh yeah, the day is quite nice. I desperately need it to be fall though, I’m quite done with all this sun. But enough about the weather, how did it go with Astarion?!”

“Oh it went well. He’s, uh– He’s my partner now.”

The declaration is met with an excited squeal from the backseat that perfectly embodies all the gooey affection warming Eve’s chest.

“Ohmygodthat’ssoexciting!” Jen screeches, the words all melting into one another. “I’m so happy for you, really. I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised, not after checking your birth charts–”

“Jen…” Lae says, a clear warning in her tone.

“Fine, fine. You did say you don’t want to hear about those. Anyways, I need to ask: what’s your opinion on double dates?”

“I’ve never been on one,” Eve admits.

“Well, that’s about to change. Lae?”

“I’m down for whatever.”

“I love the enthusiasm,” Eve says. “But I really don’t feel like going anywhere tonight. I didn’t get a lot of sleep and I’d rather just have a chill evening at home.”

“What was it again that kept you up all night?” Lae’zel asks smugly, and unfortunately Eve is too focused on taking a left turn to glare at her.

“We don’t have to go out,” Jen assures her. “Come on, call Astarion.”

“Lae, could you…?” Eve nods to the cup holder where her phone rests.

Astarion answers after the first signal.

“Hello, darling.”

Before Eve gets to respond, Jen lets out another unhinged squeal. Astarion laughs and says:

“Now, that’s a sound I haven’t heard from you yet. I do wonder what other–”

“HI, you’re on speaker!” Eve cuts him off before he says something that Lae would surely never let her forget. “That was Jen. I’m in the car with her and Lae.”

“Oh, hi–”

“ASTARION,” Jen calls excitedly as she leans forward towards the center console.

“JEN.”

“Now that you and Eve are officially together, that makes us officially friends,” she informs him.

“…okay.”

“How do you feel about Mario Kart?”

“I like it, but I haven’t played in years.”

“Who’s your go-to character?”

“Rosalina,” he responds without hesitation.

“Oh, well, that’s awkward, cause she’s my go-to.”

There is a moment of silence before Astarion decides:

“I guess we’ll have to fight for her, then. I don’t see another way out of this.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Jen chuckles.

***

Although Astarion gives Lae’zel a run for her money, he still doesn’t manage to break the victory streak of Yoshi The Mighty Dragon.

Despite the occasional curses and growls at some red shells that strike just feet away from the finish line, the mood remains light and playful. There is a surprising sense of familiarity to be found there, as if the four of them have been friends for years. 

After two or so hours of neck-in-neck racing and chatting, Jen and Lae decide to head to the movies, but Eve and Astarion stay in. They migrate to her room and Eve steps out for a moment to grab them some water. 

When she comes back, Astarion is lounging on the bed, reading the library copy of Dolores Claiborne Eve left on the nightstand.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, setting the glasses down.

“I’ve actually never read anything by Stephen King,” he muses, putting the book away.

Eve perches on the bed as she explains:

“It’s one of my favorites, I must have read it four times by now. It’s about this woman who gets arrested for allegedly killing her employer and the book is basically just this really long monologue where she tells the story of her life and marriage to the investigators.”

“Sounds exactly up my alley,” Astarion says with a light smirk.

For a moment she just stares at him, unsure what to say.

“What, too soon?” he asks, and she chuckles.

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

But Astarion doesn’t say anything further, instead tugging at her arms to pull her closer. She falls on top of him, their laughter mixing in the air before silenced by the press of their lips. 

And though their touch remains unhurried, it still sparks memories of last night—and with them, the need for a conversation that has been slowly unfurling in her mind over the course of the day.

After a moment, Eve rolls off to rest on her stomach, Astarion turning on his side to face her. 

“Can we talk?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Talking is one of my favorite things to do, as you so eagerly pointed out last night.” Astarion smiles softly as he reaches for her hand. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I just– I wanted to talk to you because…” Eve finds herself at a loss for where to begin. “Well, first of all, last night was really nice, or uh– This morning, I guess.”

And he must know from her bashfulness which part she is referring to exactly, because his lips curl into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Yes, I had a sneaking suspicion that you might have enjoyed it. But of course I had no real evidence to back it up.”

Eve rolls her eyes, trying hard to look unamused.

“Very funny. Well, I just… Before we go any further, I wanted to talk to you. Because…”

Astarion’s smug smile melts into something softer as he squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“Sex is complicated for me,” she finally admits. “And if we’re trying to be open and honest and all that, then I figured I should bring this up sooner rather than later.”

Astarion’s thumbs trace soothing circles against the back of her hand and she looks up to meet his gaze.

“As you might have gathered from what I said last night, sex is complicated for me too. So I agree that it might be good to clear some things up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes.

Silence stretches between them as Eve picks at a dry piece of skin on the side of her thumb, wracking her brain for the right words.

“Would you like me to go first?” Astarion offers quietly and she welcomes it with relief.

“If you don’t mind.”

Astarion nods softly, gaze trailing down to Eve’s hand in his. It remains fixed there, avoiding her eyes as he speaks: 

“I don’t particularly want to go into the details, and maybe those don’t really matter at the moment. The gist of it is that for a long time sex was… stripped of choice for me.”

His words settle heavily between them, a dark, nauseating feeling crawling up Eve’s spine. She holds his hand tighter, but Astarion doesn’t look up as he continues: 

“I had no control, no say in whether I wanted to be sexual, in the when, what, how, or with whom. And the only way I could deal with that was just to… zone out, and detach myself from what was happening... But I don’t want to do that with you.”

His gaze meets hers then, some hesitant hope pushing past all the hurt.

“I don’t want to miss out on a single touch or sound. I want to be present for all of it. And I think in order to do that– Well, for one, I need to not bite off more than I can chew and take things slow, even though I–” He chuckles, a playful spark returning to his irises. “Trust me, I don’t want to take things slow. I really don’t. I– Well, full disclosure, it’s been a long time since I’ve been this attracted to someone and uh… wanted someone this much. So… yeah.”

“Honestly, same,” Eve admits, a fond smile tugging at her lips. She lifts Astarion’s hand to kiss his knuckles and watches, enchanted, as his eyelids flutter shut, a faint tinge of blush coloring his cheeks.

“Despite that,” he says eventually as he opens his eyes. “I think I shouldn’t… rush things and I need to be patient with myself. But another thing is that I– For now, at least, I would like to feel that I’m in control.”

Before his words can fully resonate, Astarion rushes to clarify:

“And I don’t mean that in a dom kind of way, although, you know, I’d be open to trying that at some point if you are–” He shakes his head and continues: “Nevermind, I just mean that I want to be able to set the pace. To decide if and how I want to be touched. I just– I don’t want to do things before I feel ready to do them. Even if maybe they would be expected of me.”

“Of course,” Eve says firmly. “And just to be clear, I don’t expect us to do anything, or you to do anything. Certainly not anything you don’t feel ready for or don’t want to do.”

Astarion huffs out a breath, humorlessly.

“Yes when you put it like that, it really just… It feels like something that should be self-explanatory, and yet…” he trails off, the heaviness of years past a third presence in the room.

Eve doesn’t know what to say to that, just holds his hand tighter. 

“Last night felt really good,” Astarion continues. “Because I could, um– Take matters into my own hands, so to speak.”

Eve looks at him for a moment before they both burst into a chuckle.

“Oh god.”

“Seriously though, it was nice to just… focus on you. It felt like the spotlight was off me for once, like I didn’t have to perform and play it up. And to be able to draw that line from the start, to say that that’s all I wanted to do, it… It just allowed me to enjoy the moment and not think about what would come later. And trust me, the whole thing was, uh– very pleasurable for me as well.”

Heat blooms across Eve’s cheeks as she mutters:

“Yeah, I don’t have to take your word for it. I could feel it… very prominently... against my back.”

“Exactly,” Astarion says with a wide grin. “So, I would just like to… proceed like that. And talk about things as we go.”

“That sounds good to me.”

He nods thoughtfully and, after a moment, says:

“Yeah, so uh– That’s me. What’s your deal?”

They both chuckle, and Eve is grateful for the levity they are able to find even in moments like these.

“Well, uh–” Eve too finds it easier for the words to flow when she avoids Astarion’s eyes, focusing on their hands instead. “I think that taking things slow would be good for me too. I guess for me, sex was more like a… coping mechanism and a way to forget about everything else going on in my life.”

She recalls some of her casual encounters in the past few years, her desperate attempts at seeking connection, drowning out the relentless intrusive thoughts, filling the gaping hole she’s been carrying in her chest for decades. Faceless bodies that all blurred together, leaving her lonelier every time.

“When I moved here and my life was turned on its head, I just… hated myself. So much. I hated being here and I kept looking for distractions. And well, uh– A lot of the time the distraction was casual sex. I would just throw myself into the arms of strangers, and not that there’s anything inherently wrong with that, but it’s about the mindset. And my mindset was just ‘I want these people to help me forget.’ I didn’t care about them or even necessarily like them.”

In the silence that follows, Eve realizes she has never told anyone this—not Halsin, not Lae’zel. Shame bubbles up in her chest, sticky and constricting. Her mind is all too quick to scold her for bringing this up, as if somehow her experiences were a mockery to Astarion’s trauma.

But he just holds her hand, his thumbs continuing their gentle caresses. In spite of how loudly her self-critic demands attention, she pushes through:

“Eventually I realized that doing that only made me feel worse in the long run. So on my birthday this year I promised myself to stop and sort of rethink it all and I uh– Well, I haven’t hooked up with anyone since. Until last night, that is.”

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” Astarion says, prompting her to look up. His tone is soft, but the words shine brightly, casting some of her doubts away.

“Yes, so I, uh–” she stammers, unsure of what to respond. “I think I should just be really mindful of where my head is at and what my intentions are when we… Yeah.” 

Astarion doesn’t respond, just nods thoughtfully. After a moment, Eve continues:

“And, also, I like the idea of you having control. With my… ex, especially once things started going to shit, once I realized how trapped I was… I would initiate more and I became sort of dominant when it came to sex because that was truly the only area of that relationship, the only area of my life, where I could have some control. And for however long it lasted, I could sort of ignore everything else, how helpless I was feeling. It’s not really my preference, it was just the only way I could think of to try to deal with it all. To delude myself that I still had some agency left.”

As difficult as it was to start, Eve finds herself opening up with every word. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that talking to Astarion about these things feels… safe. Right.

“But with you, I– I don’t need that. I trust you. And I would like to see what it’s like to just… let myself experience it when I can just let go. Last night felt a bit like that and, well–” Her eyes flutter down to their intertwined hands, almost bashful. “I don’t need to tell you how much I enjoyed that.”

“You don’t need to, but I would love to hear it again,” he says with that teasing smirk of his.

“Well, I did. Very much so. But, um– Well, I want you to be able to set the pace. And if that means that for now you want to focus on… me, then you won’t find me complaining, that’s for sure. And it’s okay if you don’t want me to reciprocate, but– but I just want you to know that… One day, I would very much like to…” 

She gestures vaguely with her hands, trying to find the right words.

“Blow me?” Astarion offers, deadpan.

She can’t help but laugh, and a wide grin follows on his lips.

“I was looking for a nicer term, but yeah, sure. I would very much like to blow you. But only when– if you want me to. I’ll admit, I have thought about it quite, uh– vividly, once or twice, or… more.”

“How flattering,” he says with that same wide smile, his tone nothing but genuine.

“Yeah, so… The offer is on the table. Just so you know.”

“I would love to take you up on it one day. I can’t say when, but I– Yes.”

“Okay.” She nods and continues after a moment: “Also, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but since we’re already talking about all this, I was just thinking that when we… If you ever want to–” She sighs. “Sorry, I am terrible about these things. Sex ed at my school was a joke and then in my previous relationship we never talked about any of it, I just… Things just happened and I went along with it but nothing was ever discussed. So I’m sorry if I’m awkward, I’m trying not to be–”

Astarion gives her hand a firm squeeze and it makes her stop to look up.

“It’s okay. I’m also not used to talking about it, but I want to. Even if it’s awkward.”

“Okay. Well, what I was getting to in a very roundabout way was that I’m not currently on birth control, but I could get an IUD if we–”

“I got a vasectomy,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he wants to get that information out of the way as soon as possible. “I just…  Had a lot of different… partners during my marriage. And zero interest in parenthood.” He pauses for a moment, then adds hurriedly: “Which might change! Or it might not. Would that be uh… a dealbreaker for you, long-term? If it didn’t… change?”

“Not at all. I’m not really keen on the idea either.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I didn’t expect to have that conversation today, but I’m uh– glad it’s out of the way. What were we even talking about…? Oh yes, I won’t get you pregnant, at least not anytime soon.”

“How nice of you,” Eve chuckles.

“And I, uh– I can show you my medical records if that would make you feel more com–”

“Astarion.” Her tone is firm but not unkind and it makes him pause. “I trust you. I don’t need to see them.”

“Okay.”

“So, in that case… I don’t know about you, but, um– Well, I would be okay with not using anything if we…” She trails off. Why is this so fucking hard? They’re adults. “Provided that we, like, get tested first and that we’re exclusive. Is that okay with you?”

“That is more than okay. Exclusive is very much what I was hoping for.”

“Alright then. Um… So, did we– Is there anything else we should talk about?”

Astarion seems to ponder this for a moment, a pensive look on his features. Finally, he says:

“The weather’s been quite nice, hasn’t it?”

Eve laughs despite the very strong need to roll her eyes.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And yet you still like me. Which makes you a bit of an idiot too, don’t you think?”

“I’m okay with that.”

She shifts up to kiss him, slow and deliberate.

“But in all seriousness, no, I can’t think of anything else for now. We can just… talk about things as they come up. Even if it’s hard.”

“Even if it’s hard,” she repeats, the words resonating between them like a promise.

Chapter Text

Once Eve and Astarion started spending nights together, they couldn’t seem to stop. It felt only natural for Eve to go to his house and leave the apartment to Lae’zel and Jen, giving both couples some privacy.

Astarion seemed very determined to make sure Eve felt comfortable at his place. She thought the breakfast list was too much, but he didn’t just stop there, the kitchen now stocked with her favorite snacks and drinks (including Pepsi, which he called ‘blasphemous’ and kept secluded in its own fridge drawer of shame.)

It just kept happening. 

One evening, as Eve stepped into the shower, she found her favorite brand of shampoo and conditioner waiting for her. 

Another day, she discovered a small basket in the washroom, full of pads and tampons of different sizes (“I didn’t know what type you preferred, so I got a bunch. I probably should have asked, but you were at work and I didn’t want to bother you. Also can we talk about how fucking expensive these are? That’s preposterous.”) 

Astarion even sectioned off some space in the walk-in closet, so that she could keep some of her clothes there and not have to borrow his all the time.

Lae’zel seemed very amused by this development. On more than one occasion, when stopping by the apartment to grab some things, Eve found a U-Haul flyer shoved under her bedroom door.

And yet, despite how well it was all going, Eve’s doubts started creeping in after a few days. What if Astarion has grown tired of her constant presence, but didn’t want to say anything?

“Should I maybe stay at my place tonight?” she suggests on Saturday morning, head resting on Astarion’s chest.

“Is this accommodation not to your liking?” he asks, fingers combing lazily through her hair. “Anything we could do to improve your stay?”

“No, it’s perfect, I just– I don’t want to, like, intrude on your space all the time.”

Astarion’s fingers shift to her chin and Eve lifts her head to look at him. There is nothing but fondness in his gaze as he speaks:

“Darling, if I need more alone time, I’ll let you know,” he assures her. “But it just so happens that I am quite fond of your company. So if you’d rather sleep at your place, then go ahead, but you don’t have to do it for my sake.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment, chest swelling with feelings that she has been trying her best to ignore for now. “In that case, I’d rather stay.”

“Delightful,” he says with a smile so genuine, it leaves no room for doubt.

***

There is a tight knot in Eve’s stomach as she sits on the waiting room sofa, idly toying with the zen sandbox before her. Eventually, she hears the door to her left open, and a blush blooms across her cheeks when she sees Halsin.

“Good to see you again, Eve,” he says in that deep, stoic voice of his. “Come on in.”

Eve blurts out a terse ‘hello’ and keeps her eyes glued to the floor as she walks inside. Once she settles on the familiar green couch, her eyes scan the room with an unusual curiosity—anything to not have to meet Halsin’s eyes. He offers her tea, as always, and she accepts, as always, and still she refuses to look at him.

Instead, her gaze falls on a pillow next to her, one that is decidedly a new addition to the office, and unlike everything else in here, is very clearly hand-made. It’s white and rectangular, with a cross-stitch of a flowering tree. Next to it, in red thread, are the words: if there are trees you aren’t alone.

That does sound like something Halsin would say.

“Did you make this?” Eve asks, fingertips tracing the stitching with the kind of gentleness usually reserved for living things.

“Oh no, needlework is not really my preferred medium.”

The response makes Eve finally look up to meet his eyes, and she jumps on the opportunity to delay the start of the session even further:

“What is your preferred medium, then?”

“I like to whittle in my spare time. Ornaments, utensils…” he trails off, an absent-minded smile on his face. “And ducks. I like ducks.”

Of course you do.

Eve nods sagely, pulling the pillow into her lap just to have something to do with her hands.

“The pillow is my girlfriend’s work, actually. She thought it would liven up the space and perhaps offer some comfort.”

Eve notes with delight the fond smile on Halsin’s usually impassive face, as if the mere thought of this woman made his day so much better. 

“Her name is Kestrel. Like the bird,” he explains. “She’s a writer… and the kindest soul I have ever met. I think you two would get along, honestly.”

As silly as that seems, Eve has never considered the fact that Halsin might be in a relationship. Not that it should come as a surprise: he’s kind, wise, and obviously very handsome. But it’s just odd to think about him having a life outside of the liminal space of this office.

She wonders what it’s like to date a therapist. Does he follow all of the advice he gives to his clients? Does his experience and insight make him the the perfect partner, or does it make him believe that he always knows best? That would drive her mad, surely.

Halsin's leveled voice snaps her out of these considerations:

“Now, is there a reason why we're talking about arts and crafts, instead of how you're feeling?”

Eve smiles weakly.

“Yes, I believe it’s called avoidance, isn’t it?”

“And what is it that you’re avoiding today?”

“I guess I’m just a little embarrassed. I, um…” She keeps the embroidered pillow in her lap, flicking a piece of lint off the fabric as she finally speaks: “I’m sorry for storming out last week.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It happens more often than you think.”

“Does it actually?”

“Yes. And you were perfectly respectful. I once had a client throw a stress toy at me and yell obscenities as they rushed out.”

“It sounds like you need to get better stress toys, then. That one clearly doesn’t work.”

Halsin chuckles and Eve feels some of the tension leave her muscles. She leans back against the couch, trying to collect her thoughts.

“I told Astarion everything,” she says eventually.

Halsin doesn’t ask, just waits for her to elaborate.

“It went well. He was very understanding. We talked everything out and, uh... We’re officially a couple now.”

Oh, and I might be in love with him! Though that’s a problem for another day.

“Well, that’s a very succinct summary,” Halsin says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I’m glad that it went well—would you like to share more, though?”

“Yes, I just– It’s just not really what I wanted to talk about today.”

“What do you want to talk about, then?”

“Enver.”

A tense silence settles over the room, as if just uttering his name has the power to conjure his presence. Halsin nods slowly, his features not betraying any particular emotion.

“When I told Astarion about my past,” Eve starts slowly, “I referred to Enver as my abuser. And it didn’t… I didn’t plan it, I wasn’t really thinking about it, it just came out when I got all emotional and… And it didn’t feel wrong. It was like something shifted, something clicked in my brain. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“How do you feel about what you said?”

“I… don’t know. It feels weird, but it’s also not… inaccurate.”

When she doesn’t elaborate, Halsin asks:

“When you think about Enver, what emotions does that stir up?”

Eve’s gaze drops to the pillow in her lap, dozens of thoughts flaring up all at once.

Fear—betrayal—shame—regret—disbelief—guilt—nostalgia—hatred—hopelessness—

“I don’t know,” she says instead, instantly annoyed at herself for not even trying.

She came here wanting to talk about him. She needs to talk about him. And so, she attempts again:

“Regret, I guess. A bit of disgust. Frustration.”

“Frustration,” Halsin repeats. “Do you know what broader emotion that falls under?”

She sighs, thinking back to that stupid wheel he showed her a few months ago, when she had trouble naming her emotions. It made her feel like a child—even if she did find it helpful in the end.

“Anger?” she asks after a moment.

“Precisely. Frustration, annoyance, irritation—they are more watered down, tame versions of anger. It’s far more socially acceptable to say ‘I’m frustrated’ than ‘I’m angry.’ Especially if, as a woman, you’ve internalized this idea that some emotions just don’t become you. That you can’t express them, because that might upset other people.”

Eve doesn’t respond. There is nothing watered down, nothing tame about how Enver makes her feel after all this time. It’s a rabid, vicious thing living in her clenched fists, coursing through her blood, setting her skin on fire.

“But that is not something you have to worry about here,” Halsin assures her. “So tell me, Eve: are you angry at him?”

Anger or not—it poisons her dreams, raises the hairs on the back of her neck, wraps around her lungs, a slithering constrictor, never allowing her to take a full breath.

“Are you angry at Enver for what he did to you?”

Cornered and threatened, the viper bares its fangs and Eve cannot contain it any longer. Her mouth opens before her mind can catch up to it, a decade of venomous resentment condensed into:

“Of course I’m fucking angry, he took seven years of my life!”

Eve didn’t notice the moment the tears started falling. She swallows back the tar in her throat, hugging the pillow close to her chest as she continues:

“I was a fucking teenager when I met him, I barely knew what I was doing! I was supposed to be figuring life out! Go to parties, get drunk with my friends, make mistakes and learn from them. Normal mistakes like unprotected sex or cheating on an assignment or whatever, not getting entangled in a trafficking ring!”

Her voice breaks, but the flood is unstoppable:

“Things I can’t unsee, years I can’t get back. I can never see my friends again, I can never let my guard down, not fully. I can’t face myself in the mirror without remembering everything he made me do. I have holes in my memory, entire years that feel like a haze because of the trauma or the fucking drugs or both.”

The words form a messy pile before her, no longer hers but something foreign to observe, to analyze—and maybe, just maybe, to hold.

“He won’t hurt anyone anymore but that doesn’t erase everything he did to me. Yes, he’s away now and yes, I will never have to see him again. But in reality, he will be with me my entire life like a brand I can never get rid of. And he somehow convinced me that it was my fault, that I didn’t deserve any better!”

And I let him. I let him tell me who I am and what I’m good for.

Eve’s voice is weaker, tired, when she adds:

“And you know what’s the worst part? That admitting all of this doesn’t change anything. Because I am still angrier at myself than I’ll ever be at him.”

It is all too easy to list every warning sign she chose to ignore, every self-directed lie, every sin committed against herself. It is burned into her mind, this self-flagellating examination of conscience that can never lead to an absolution.

And yet she can’t deny the faint relief that settles in her bones, sliding into the empty spaces left by voicing what was never spoken before. She doesn’t feel good per se, but perhaps a little lighter. A little less burdened.

“Eve, I don’t think you realize all the progress you’ve made.”

The response is so far from what she expected after such an outburst, that it takes her a moment to fathom the meaning of Halsin’s words.

“What progress?” she asks, genuinely baffled.

“After our first session, you were so upset when I described your experiences as abuse, that you refused to speak about Enver for weeks after that. And here you are, only three months later, bringing him up all on your own and calling him out for who he really is.”

He does have a point of course. His steady voice brings her back to the present and Eve reaches for a tissue, suddenly aware of the wet rivulets that are beginning to dry across her cheeks.

“I think you’re expecting too much of yourself,” Halsin continues. “Admitting that he hurt you, feeling anger towards him and not just towards yourself—those are already massive steps. Healing is a long process, and sometimes you might feel like you are right back where you started, like nothing has changed, or maybe even that things got worse. But that is why it’s good to have someone from the outside to remind you of how far you’ve come. Do you feel it, Eve? Do you feel at all different than when we started?”

She takes a moment to seriously consider this.

“My nightmares have gotten better over the past week or so,” she admits reluctantly. “And I guess I… I’m a bit less anxious day-to-day, though I think that mostly has to do with my job.”

“Right, that’s another thing: you took this huge step that you’ve been considering for months now and you quit your job, not knowing what would come next. But you prioritized yourself and look how it worked out for you.”

It sucked, actually. But she got through it, especially once she stopped hiding from those who were just trying to help.

“You took a risk and told Astarion about your past and it helped you get closer. And perhaps the most obvious example: it was you who walked away from Enver, not the other way around. He might have put you in that situation, but you ended it, despite all the risks attached.”

Running away doesn’t seem all that courageous when the only alternative was death. Though Eve can’t deny that there were times when death seemed like the easier, welcome choice.

“Eve, these are not easy decisions. I see far too many people who are more afraid of change than of feeling unhappy and stuck in life. People who stay in jobs, relationships, living situations, degrees that are not right for them, because they tell themselves that it won’t get any better, that at least what they have feels familiar. But you, time and time again, took steps to change your life, strove to make it better for yourself. It’s an act of courage, yes, but it’s also an act of self-love.”

The word doesn’t sit right with her. It’s irritating, like an itch behind the ribs that she can never reach.

“You love yourself enough to fight for what you want, what you need, to leave situations that don’t serve you, or that are actively hurting you. Despite your self-criticism, despite how hard you can be on yourself—you still find the strength, the compassion to do what’s right for yourself. Even when it’s not easy.”

She sighs, wishing she could just accept his words, that they could resonate with her. Alas:

“I don’t really feel this… love you’re talking about. I just… I just want to get better, that’s all.”

“I know. You want to take care of yourself. Give yourself comfort and safety. What do you call that, if not love?”

She does not have a retort to that.

***

Astarion’s grip on her hand tightens nervously as they cross the street.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asks.

“Getting cold feet? Let me remind you that this was your idea. And Wyll seemed on board, so I don’t see the problem.”

“What if he hates me?” he asks and Eve can’t help but laugh.

“Astarion, it’s not like you’re asking my father for my hand in marriage! Wyll is just a guy.”

“Well, sure, but he’s a guy who’s important to you and whose opinion you value, so…”

“So, if he hates you, then that’s his problem, not ours. Plus, you’re just going to say hi and then we’ll be off.”

“Okay. I can say hi without embarrassing myself.” After a moment, he adds: “I think.”

As they approach the coffee shop, Eve spots Wyll’s familiar silhouette, leaning against one of the tall tables outside. He’s wearing a brightly patterned button-up and his signature rimless shades. His face lights up at their sight.

“Hot,” Astarion whispers.

“I know, right?”

“I mean, I’ve seen him before, but up close? Damn.”

“Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure he can read lips,” Eve says, not hiding her amusement.

“What?”

“Hi Wyll!” she chirps once they finally arrive. “This is Astarion. Astarion, this is Wyll.”

“A pleasure,” Astarion says as he shakes Wyll’s hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Astarion. Eve has told me so much about you.”

“Oh!” A nervous giggle escapes his lips. “Only good things, I hope.”

“I assure you that you have nothing to worry about,” Wyll says with that dashing smile of his.

Is Astarion… blushing? The handshake lasts several beats too long and eventually Eve says:

“When you two are done flirting, I would love to carry on with our meeting.”

“Right, yes.” Astarion clears his throat and gestures to the coffee shop. “I’ll be around. You two… have fun.”

Eve kisses him on the cheek before grabbing her chai off the table and heading to the park with Wyll.

It’s one of those rare meetings when Eve has no issues to report—at least none that Wyll could help her with. Instead, they spend the next half hour catching up, and Wyll regales her with stories about his daughter, Lily, who is about to start school this month. Of course, none of that is information that Astarion shouldn’t hear, but Wyll made it very clear that it would be against protocol for any third person to be present during their check-ins.

When they make it back to the coffee shop, Astarion is sitting at one of the few tables in the shade, writing something in his notebook. He gets up hastily when he spots them, a polite but strained smile on his lips.

Eve comes up to his side, squeezing his hand in a way she hopes is reassuring.

“It was nice meeting you, Astarion,” Wyll says, keeping his distance this time. “Just… treat Eve right, okay?” His friendly smile vanishes in an instant and he adds, deadpan: “I know where you live.”

Eve bites down a chuckle but Astarion laughs nervously, a beat too late to sound genuine.

“Good one.” After a moment, he asks: “Wait, do you actually…?”

But Wyll just smiles and waves.

“Have a good week, you two!”

As they watch him walk away to his Jeep, Astarion asks:

“What is it with your friends and their thinly-veiled threats towards me?”

“What do you mean my– Oh god. Did Lae’zel threaten you?”

“Last Friday, when I came by to take you to dinner. You were running a little late getting ready, so it was just me and Lae’zel for a bit. She said that she is really happy for us, but that if I ever break your heart, she’d kill me. When I told her that won’t happen, she muttered something in Spanish that didn’t sound like a compliment, and then left for a jog.”

Eve can’t pretend she doesn’t find the mental image amusing. Still, she says:

“I’m sorry. I want to say she was just joking, but honestly… I’m not sure.”

***

Later that evening, they are in the pasta aisle of all places, when Astarion asks her:

"Do you have any plans for Labor Day weekend?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Eve says, eyes scanning the grocery list. “Why?”

“I was thinking that we could go on a short trip... If you’d like, of course.”

Eve smiles widely as she puts the list down and turns her full attention to Astarion, who is fiddling with a box of rigatoni.

“I would love that,” she says and he looks up, visibly relieved. “Did you have something particular in mind?”

“Oh yes, I’ve looked into it already and I’ll make all the reservations, you don’t need to lift a finger. Well–” He chuckles. “I do need you to drive us there, it will probably be three hours one way, but other than that– No fingers lifted.”

“You’re so sweet. Just, um… make sure it’s nothing fancy, okay? I don’t really have a lot saved at the moment.”

“Oh. I didn’t– I would like to pay for it. And I don’t want you to pay me back.”

An uneasy feeling creeps up Eve’s spine.

“What? No, that’s not… I don’t like that.”

“Why?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

“I, um– It just doesn’t feel right, to have you pay for all of it.”

An older lady strolls past them and Astarion lowers his voice, leaning towards Eve when he says:

“Eve, not to sound like a douchebag, but I have money. A lot of money, actually. So if I want to spend a relatively small part of it to treat us both to a trip, then why is that a problem?”

She doesn’t know how to articulate what makes her uncomfortable about the idea. And the PA announcements about 20% off all canned vegetables are certainly not helping.

“I just…” She sighs. “Sure.”

She pushes the cart ahead, trying to shift her focus back to shopping. Coffee, we need to get coffee.

Astarion intercepts her path, forcing her to stop and meet his eyes.

“Could you please talk to me?” he asks, with more patience than she deserves.

“I’m sorry, I just… It’s complicated.”

You’re not nineteen anymore and he’s not Enver. Stop being weird.

Astarion comes up to her side, fingers brushing against her forearm in a wordless plea for connection.

“This doesn’t mean that you would owe me anything,” he says in a quiet tone. “I just want to do something nice for you. For both of us. Please let me.”

This is all it is: something nice. A gift.

Not a ball and chain.

“Okay,” she finally says, catching his hand in hers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I just… It’s complicated, like I said, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“That’s okay, we don’t have to.”

Eve pulls him into a hug that hopefully conveys everything she can’t bring herself to say at the moment.

“A trip sounds nice,” she decides when they pull away and resume their shopping. “So would this be like… a hotel, or camping, or what?”

“Camping?” he repeats incredulously. “As in, sleeping on the ground and swatting off bloodsuckers? No, thank you. I found this nice cabin by the lake.”

“Oh! My favorite book takes place in a cabin by the lake. And so does my favorite movie, actually.”

Astarion looks at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Are they… horror?”

“Yes.”

“Charming.”

They’re standing in line at check-out when Eve’s phone chimes a few times. She pulls it out to find a series of texts from Lae:

Eve screeches loudly, much to the dismay of her fellow shoppers. Astarion looks at her wide-eyed:

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, could you go grab a pound of chicken breast and some string cheese?” she asks, already calling Lae’s number.

“Um, sure?”

“Hello,” Lae answers after the fourth signal.

“Why do you take so long to answer?! You have your phone in your hand!”

“I started a new sudoku game and I was in the zone. What’s up?”

“What’s up?!’ What do you mean, ‘what’s up?’ She loves you too?! When did this happen?!”

“Lady, can you chill?” The question comes from a young man in a snapback hat who’s in the line behind her.

“When did she start feeling this way, or when did she tell me?” Lae asks.

“I don’t know how to chill. Also, this is an emergency.”

Eve shoots him a glare that makes him look away and suddenly become very interested in the tips of his shoes. To Lae’zel, she says:

“Well, both. But when did you talk about it?”

“Approximately an hour ago. Did you know that sex feels better when you’re in love? I always thought it was puritanical propaganda, but no, there is some truth to it–”

“Afternoon, ma’am, do you have our rewards card?” the cashier asks in a bored tone, and Eve fights the urge to snarl at them for interrupting this conversation.

“Hello, yes, yes,” she says, holding her phone with her shoulder as she fishes the card out of her tote and hands it to them.

“I have so many questions,” she says to Lae’zel.

“As far as I know, it’s just that the oxytocin–”

“Not about that! Forget it, we’re going out tonight and you’re telling me everything.”

“Okay. You didn’t answer my question about the beach trip.”

“Oh, right. Well, I’m in. And Astarion…” She turns around to find him pushing past the line amidst some grumbling, Lae’s groceries in hand.

“Would you like to go to the beach on Wednesday with Lae and Jen?” she asks when he arrives at her side.

“The beach? Oh, uh–” He hesitates for a moment before deciding: “Sure.”

Eve furrows her brows, looking at him inquisitively.

“You don’t sound too sure to me.”

“No, no, a beach sounds lovely,” he insists, and Eve supposes now is neither the time nor the place to question him further.

“So that’s a yes to a beach day from us,” she says into the phone. “Okay, I gotta go now. Also I think I might have to change supermarkets.”

***

The four of them set down their towels under the shade of a sprawling red maple tree, a little way off the main commotion. Upbeat music plays softly from someone’s speakers, mixing with children’s laughter as a gaggle of them run towards the water.

Eve strips down to her high-waisted burgundy two-piece as Astarion opens the cooler they borrowed from Jen’s parents and passes around some sodas. He makes no move to undress and just sits cross-legged in his white linen button-down, navy blue swim trunks that reach his mid-thigh, and a pair of boat shoes the same color. (When Eve asked him if he owned any sandals, he seemed offended by the mere suggestion and said he would never be caught dead flaunting his toes in public.)

Lae takes off her boxy athletic clothes to reveal a high-cut black bikini that is more string than fabric, displaying her lean and muscular figure. Eve stares at her shamelessly, brows raised.

“HOTTIE ALERT!” she says too loudly, making some heads turn in their direction. Lae doesn’t seem a bit fazed by the attention.

“I know. Enjoy the view.”

Lae kneels down next to Jen who’s wearing a one-piece that is split down the middle, half-black and half-white, same as her hair. She throws on her wide brim floppy hat (black with a white bow, because she is nothing if not committed to the aesthetic) and starts reading something on her kindle.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Lae’zel says, as she reaches into her bag and pulls some black-and-white striped arm floaties.

“Who are these for?” Eve asks as she watches Lae inflate one.

“Me,” Jen sighs. “I can’t swim and Lae’zel took it upon herself to correct that.”

“It’s giving Beetlejuice,” Astarion says, eyeing the pattern. “Which seems perfect for you, actually.”

Jen sighs, looking up from her book.

“You know, my roommate in grad school wrote this really kinky Beetlejuice fanfic that she made me beta read, and now I can never watch it again. Not that I have any issue with reading smut,” she clarifies, raising her kindle. “It’s just that Betelgeuse is a creep and arguably the worst part of that movie. Also, I don't know about you, but I just don’t want to think about Michael Keaton taking his clothes off.”

Astarion seems to ponder this for a moment before deciding:

“Yeah, that’s fair. So, what did you go to grad school for?”

“Veterinary Medicine.”

“What?!”

“It’s like medicine… but for animals. You really should know that.”

Eve snorts, but Astarion doesn’t sound too amused.

“Ha, ha,” he says dryly. “I just meant… Does that mean you’re a doctor? At 25?”

“I actually turned 26 a couple weeks ago. And yes, I am a doctor. I graduated this May and then moved back home. I’m in the process of getting my state license so I can practice without constant supervision.”

“Damn.”

“I know, I’m very smart and accomplished. You’ll have to get used to that,” she says, winking at him.

“If you’re done showering yourself with compliments,” Lae interjects, holding out the now-inflated floaties, “it’s time to make good on your promise.”

“I don’t recall any promises,” Jen argues. “I said I was open to the idea.”

“That’s great.” Lae grabs Jen’s hand before unceremoniously sliding one floatie down her arm, then another. “Come on, then.”

But as soon as she lets go, Jen’s arms flop dramatically onto the towel. 

“Chiqui…” Lae sighs, a hint of dejection in her tone. “Let me teach you.”

“Make me,” Jen says, and Lae’s eyes widen, lips quirking up in a mixture of disbelief and delight.

“What did you just say?”

“I said that if you want me to get into the water, you’ll have to make me.”

“It would be my pleasure.” 

Lae takes her sweet time as she removes Jen’s hat and shades, then takes the kindle out of her hands and puts it back in the bag. All the while, Jen doesn’t object. Quite the opposite: she seems to be greatly enjoying this development and doesn’t even bother to hide her victorious smile.

And then, with the same ease as if she was picking up a bag of apples, Lae throws Jen over her shoulder. The woman yelps but then can’t stop laughing as Lae’zel stomps off.

“They’re such a strange pair,” Astarion notes as Lae wades into the water and very carefully deposits her girlfriend into the lake. “Good for them.”

“Yeah, it’s so nice to see Lae’zel be so… at ease,” Eve says.

She thinks back to what Lae told her: how freeing it was to confess her feelings for Jen, and to have that confirmation that they were on the same page.

It sure would be nice to have a conversation like that, if only Eve could somehow untangle all of the feelings stirring up in her chest whenever Astarion–

“Did you put sunscreen on, darling?” he asks, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“No. We’re in the shade, though.”

He blinks slowly before deciding:

“You can’t be serious.” He gestures for her to turn around. “Come on.”

Eve gathers her hair into a bun and sits with her back to him. Astarion takes his time spreading the sunscreen across her back and shoulders, his touch gentle and caring. He plants a soft kiss on the nape of her neck before handing her the bottle.

When Eve’s done applying it to the rest of her body, she gestures for his back.

“Your turn?” she asks.

“I’d rather keep my shirt on, if you don’t mind.”

And then it dawns on her: why he doesn’t want to take it off, why he didn’t seem that enthusiastic about the beach idea in the first place. Eve has yet to see Astarion shirtless, her only memory of his scarring that one stray touch that she never dared to repeat

“Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

“What are you sorry for?” he asks calmly.

“I don’t know. Putting you in this position, I guess.”

Astarion catches her hand and says:

“You asked if I wanted to come, and I said yes. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Okay,” is all she says as she scoots up next to him and puts her head on his shoulder.

For a moment, they just sit in silence, observing Jen and Lae’s swimming lesson, and enjoying this moment of peace. But then a couple of teenagers holding ice cream pass their spot and Eve perks up.

“There’s ice cream,” she says, looking around for the source like a dessert hound.

Astarion chuckles softly as he points to a pastel blue truck parked by the picnic tables.

“Can I bring you some?”

“Yes pleeeease,” she singsongs.

Astarion presses a fleeting kiss to her temple before getting to his feet.

Eve’s heart blossoms as she watches him cross the beach in his silly little boat shoes, and she barely registers her lips stretching in a wide, fond smile.

She turns back towards the water and giggles when she sees Lae and Jen splashing around and shouting something indistinct.

And in that moment, Eve supposes that her life is not so bad after all. That she managed to build something that feels good and, dare she say, safe.

Before she can get too sentimental, her phone buzzes in her bag.

“Miss me already?” she answers.

“Oh, so terribly,” Astarion says. “But see, I’m calling because of quite a… grave matter.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I regret to inform you they are out of pistachio.”

Eve gasps dramatically, clutching at her chest even though Astarion can’t see it. His theatrics have started rubbing off on her, it seems.

“What a travesty!”

“I know. Would you be pleased by salted caramel instead? Or butter pecan, perhaps?”

“Salted caramel will be a fitting alternative,” she decides.

Astarion comes back shortly and settles down beside her.

“Thank you so much,” she says, taking the cone from him. “What did you get?”

“Blood orange sorbet.”

“Oh, that sounds to die for!”

He just stares at her blankly, and Eve mutters:

“Get it? To die for? Cause… blood?”

Despite trying very hard not to, Astarion chuckles.

“You’re incorrigible,” he says, shaking his head.

They eat and chat, watching their friends’ swimming lesson get increasingly chaotic. When they’re done, Eve notices a red dot on Astarion’s nose and she points it out with a smile.

“Well, yes, I put it there,” he says, dead serious.

“Saving it for later?”

“It’s for you, actually.”

“How thoughtful,” she chuckles.

Eve reaches out to swipe it off, but then stops mid-way.

“Can I take a picture of you?”

“Be my guest.”

When she pulls up her phone camera, Astarion slides his sunglasses down and dons an exaggerated frown that makes her giggle.

“Perfect,” she declares before getting the ice-cream off with her finger and bringing it to her lips. “You’re my new phone background, just so you know.”

Astarion is silent for a moment, before saying:

“I wish you could be mine.”

Something tugs at her heart and she looks up from her phone to find him seemingly embarrassed by this admission.

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say–” he rushes to correct himself. “I obviously know why that’s not possible and it doesn’t really matter, I just– Nevermind. Sorry.”