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.”
“No, I get it,” she says, reaching for his hand. And then, an idea strikes her: “Wait, do you have your journal on you?”
“Always,” Astarion says, pulling it out of his bag, along with his fountain pen.
“And do you have a normal pen?”
“This is a normal pen.”
“Sure, fancy pants,” she sighs, fishing out a blue ballpoint from her bag instead.
She opens the notebook on a random page towards the back and turns around to shield it from Astarion’s prying eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asks, clearly amused.
“Don’t look.”
The B that Eve managed to get in art class was more for effort than talent, and she doesn’t think Ms. Jannath would be impressed by this questionable sketch, but still, it serves its purpose.
“You can take a picture of this and set it as your background if you want,” she says as she hands him back the notebook.
Astarion’s eyes widen, as does his smile, when he sees her creation.
“You look like an Animal Crossing character, with your arm out like that.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she admits and he just laughs before pulling her in for a kiss.
“It’s a game that I think you’d like, I’ll show you one day. Either way, thank you for this masterpiece, darling, I shall treasure it forever.”
“You are very welcome.”
As Astarion takes a picture of the drawing, Eve watches Lae and Jen head back towards them.
“How was it?” she asks.
“Turns out swimming can be fun when you have a hot teacher,” Jen says, wringing out her hair.
The two women pull their towels out onto the sun and lay down side by side, whispering something to each other and laughing. Lae grabs Jen’s kindle and starts reading the book out loud to her, though Eve can’t make out the words.
“What are you reading?”
“When She’s Shy by Ruby Dixon,” Jen responds.
Eve takes a mental note to look it up later. For now, she could use a break from the heat.
“Do you want to go for a swim with me?” she asks Astarion and he sighs.
“Eve, I’d love to, but like I said–”
“You can keep your shirt on.”
It seems this idea hasn’t occurred to him.
“That would be weird,” he argues.
“No, it wouldn’t. And in this weather, it will dry in no time.”
Astarion doesn’t seem convinced. So, without much thought, Eve grabs her crop top and throws it over her swimsuit.
“If it is weird, then we’ll just be weird together. Come on.”
A curious smile blooms across his lips as she grabs his hand and drags him towards the lake.
The water is a little colder than expected, and once it reaches their waist, Astarion makes his displeasure known:
“Nope, no way I’m doing this. Sorry, dear.”
“Come on, you won’t get used to it slowly, you just need to dive in! Rip the band-aid off.”
“Okay, well, easier said than done!” He scoffs indignantly, flailing his arms around.
And so to prove her point, Eve plunges in, the cold clawing at her body. It’s shocking at first and she gasps hard as she comes up for air. The wet shirt clings to her skin but as the sun rays fall upon her again, she finds the whole endeavor quite refreshing.
“Your turn,” she declares, eyeing Astarion in anticipation.
“Ummm… I might pass, actually.”
“It feels really nice, I swear!”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Eve briefly considers splashing him, but then a better idea comes to mind.
“You know, I played rugby in high school…” she starts.
“No, you didn’t,” he insists, crossing his arms. “You hate sports.”
“I did, though. And I was really good at tackling people.”
Astarion quirks his brow, unconvinced.
“I don’t buy it.” His daring tone and smirk make it sound like a challenge.
And Eve is more than happy to prove him wrong.
With no further warning, she leaps forward and catches Astarion around his waist, sending them both careening backwards.
“What the–” The rest of the sentence is muffled as they fall underwater. “Shit!” he yelps, coming up for air. “Fuck! It’s so cold!”
“Astarion, you can’t swear, there are children around here.”
“Fuck if I–” But then he seems to compose himself, voice lowering to a theatrical whisper: “Fuck if I care. What in the hell was that?”
“I told you.” She winks at him, his disbelieving smile only widening. “I can sweep you off your feet in more ways than one.”
Astarion bites back a chuckle as he leans down to kiss her.
“How dare you be corny? That’s my job.”