Hanna

Celeste turned in front of the mirror, adjusting the fabric of her dress with a scrutinizing gaze. It was a good choice for the occasion. She had worn it to work earlier in the day, and Gale had seemed to like it. This should be confirmation enough and yet, she wanted to make sure she looked decent enough to spend the evening among the very conservatives colleagues of Wyll.

Long sleeves to hide her scarred arm, a turtleneck to cover the scars on her neck, form-fitting but modest. The right balance of elegance and restraint. She had kept her makeup minimal, just enough to highlight her eyes, with a soft gloss on her lips to complete the look.

Her hair was freshly done, just some strands pinned back by a small clamp to free her face.

It would do.

Still, her body ached. A familiar tightness in her muscles, the telltale sign she had pushed herself too hard. Again. She rolled her shoulders, willing the tension away, but it remained a dull, persistent reminder of her own restlessness.

Which might get relieved tonight.

Her gaze drifted from the mirror to the medicine cabinet on their bathroom wall. Without thinking, she turned and her hand reached out, fingers brushing the handle. A voice echoed in her mind - Halsin’s voice, warm and patient, yet with a clear warning - and a small smile tugged at her lips.

Her hand opened and closed a few times before she exhaled sharply, stepping back. She wouldn’t rummage through Soren’s private stash tonight.

Instead, she grabbed her coat, the book she intended to gift Wyll and purse, calling for Scratch, who had been watching her expectantly from the couch.

“Come on, we are going to Wyllach’s.”

Scratch cocked his head before trotting over, obediently following her out the door.

Jen picked her up, barely giving her a moment to settle into the passenger seat before speaking.

“You look stressed,” she noted, eyes flicking over Celeste as she secured Scratch in the trunk.

“I am fucking stressed.” Celeste let her head fall back against the seat. “Can we please just drive? I don’t want to be late.”

Jen scoffed. “Because Kalla and Wyll are the epitome of punctuality.” But she started the car anyway. “For what it’s worth, the dress is nice.”

“You look nice too.” Celeste eyed the dark lilac jumpsuit Jen had paired with a cropped black jacket. One of the outfits they had picked out together during Jen’s last shopping spree. It had been Astarion’s influence to dress them properly, they both had just a variety of long-sleeved shirt and a random selection of mostly black pants. A skirt for a special occasion, that had been it.

“Thanks,” Jen grinned. “I have a friend with exceptional taste who took me shopping for this one particular outfit.”

Celeste chuckled, turning her gaze to the window, watching the city lights blur past.

Jen let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking again. “He hasn’t called?”

“No,” Celeste exhaled, fingers tightening briefly around the fabric of her coat. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“I’m sorry, Kell.” Jen’s voice softened. “I know you really liked him.”

Celeste scoffed lightly. “You know how I am. I push too hard. I want too much too fast.” She was merely voicing her own insecurity at this point. What had been established this morning was still so incredibly fragile, she was very much aware of how easy her own ways could break it.

“I think you dreamed about being pushed,” Jen quipped, earning a quiet chuckle.

“By him? Yeah...” Celeste sighed as she reached for the dial, turning up the music.

But Jen turned it back down just as quickly. “You’ve been evading me, and I can see what you’re doing.”

“I’m not evading you,” Celeste sighed. “You have enough on your plate. You don’t need me moping around. Besides, we’ve seen each other twice this week already.”

Jen shot her a pointed look. “And what if I want to hear all you have to mope about, huh? Jesus Christ, Kell, we’ve been here before. I’m here for you.”

“I know,” Celeste murmured. “I know you are. But that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? We’ve been here before. Can we just drop it?”

Jen let out a laugh, making Celeste turn to her, surprised.

“When was the last time you actually let yourself fall for someone?”

Celeste opened her mouth to respond, but Jen was quicker.

“Astarion doesn’t count. You both made that abundantly clear.”

The words died in Celeste’s throat.

She let the silence settle between them, heavy and unspoken, bracing herself for whatever the night would bring.

They let Scratch out to sniff around for a moment before ringing the doorbell. Karlach opened the door, wearing a fitted black suit, her sidecut freshly shaved. She was glowing with enthusiasm.

“Fuck, girl!” Celeste exclaimed.

Karlach laughed sheepishly, pulling Celeste into a tight hug.

"You are one to talk," she beamed, her voice dropping as she hugged both Celeste and Jen. "Thank you for doing this. It’s an important night for Wyll."

Both nodded.

“We know, Kalla. We will be on our best behaviour,” Jen ensured her.

“Kell, are you not high?” Karlach whispered, as she took their coats and added them to the wardrobe.

“I decided not to dive into Soso’s stash and haven’t taken anything, I promise. I won’t be drinking though. Why? What do you offer?”

Karlach turned around, scanning her but there was slight grin tugging at her lips. “You look stressed and with this company….let me know when you reconsider.”

Jen chuckled and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Jen said the same. I am fine.”

Karlach pulled her into another hug, holding her tight, and Celeste sighed deeply, feeling relieved.

“Let’s have a good night, hm? We have a bartender who does mean mocktails.”

“No pineapple?”

“No pineapple, I promise. Plus, there are some very nice colleagues of Wyll around, so you might find someone you like.”

Celeste forced a small grin. She didn’t need anyone. She didn’t want anyone.  She was waiting for the one and only thing she wanted right now, to make a late appearance.

The party was already buzzing. Since Wyll’s last promotion, they had been keeping a different kind of company. Not that they had neglected their friends, new people just got added in occasion.

Mostly solicitors and barristers, and Celeste found their company quite enjoyable. They were well-educated, mostly well-read, and capable of engaging in thoughtful conversation though a little snobbish around the edges. But a few decent fellow chess enthusiasts could be found among them.

Tonight, even the law firms owner’s were invited and both Karlach and Wyll had made sure to not only dress for the occasion but deep clean the already impressive house. Furniture had been removed, the large living room looking more like a ballroom than the place they usually smoked weed and played videogames until morning. The books in the white bookshelves lining the walls and hugging the fireplace with a mounted TV on top, had been rearranged, this time by colour. Celeste hated it and took a mental note to later scold Wyll for rearranging his books by colour other than by title, theme or author. The colour scheme gave the room an undeniable edge, she had to admit.

Celeste approached the bartender nestled into a corner and ordered a mocktail with orange juice. As she waited, she wished for less self-restrain. She should have taken the benzodiazepine, just to smooth the surface of her bubbling emotions.

She exhaled deeply, feeling a sense of dread. She realized, as she opened and closed her hands, looking at them, fiddling with her rings - she was nervous.

You can do this.

Everyone had promised to be on their best behaviour, she could sense it. Across the room, she spotted Astarion in a crisp white and blue suit, charming one of Wyll’s younger colleagues. He gave a wink and raised his glass toward her, gesturing to the terrace. Celeste nodded, grabbing her glass and made her way through the crowd, exchanging greetings and handshakes with familiar faces.

It took a bit longer than she expected as she already knew most of the guests.

"Apologies, I seem to be more popular than I thought," she grinned as she stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

Astarion scoffed playfully, extending one arm in her direction. Celeste leaned into his embrace, relaxing into his presence.

“Good evening, darling.”

“Good evening.”

“How are you feeling tonight?” he asked, his tone revealing more than just curiosity. It was clear she wasn’t hiding her feelings as well as she thought. She had always considered herself smart and careful, but apparently, everyone could see through it.

“I am doing okay. Work is annoying-“

“Whatever you trying to achieve, I must inform you, it is not working. Tell me the truth.”

She sighed. “I am surprisingly well.”

Celeste hated this. Every second of it. Why did she come up with such a childish plan? She was lying to her friends for absolutely no reason than her own amusement.

The thought sickened her.

“I am alright,” she added, “don’t worry.”

An eyebrow rose. “We always worry about you, Celeste.”

“I know and I hate it.”

“More than happy to be of service,” he smirked, his hand gently brushing her shoulder. His gaze moved over her face for a moment.

“So,” Astarion added in a lighter tone and Celeste felt relief. He was not pushing whatever he had seen on her face. “What do we think of all these expensively educated people? Someone might be snobbish enough to just be your type.”

Celeste laughed as she watched him smoke and leaned against the railing to face the house, her gaze darting into the living room.

“I saw you flirting with a cute young man.”

“He is gay. He just does not know it yet.”

She laughed again, it felt strangely freeing. “Based on the way he looked at you, I’d say you’re probably right. Though I didn’t think he’d be your type.”

“He’s a bit uptight, but they all are at first,” he grinned. “We’ll see how the night goes. What about you?”

“Oh, don’t hold back for my sake, please. I will not drink tonight. Jen will take me home later.”

“Didn’t you just arrive?”

“I did. And all I can think about is my bathtub. I want a long, hot bath, a good book, an orgasm and an early night on the couch cuddled up to Scratch.”

“What did you take? Did you bring me any?”

She could feel his darting gaze. “I wanted to take some benzodiazepine but did decide against it.”

“Much to Soren’s delight, I presume.”

“I didn’t see the need to run my Friday night drug routine by him,” she grinned and Astarion chuckled.

“If this is you being relaxed without on a muscle relaxant, you might want to reconsider. Besides, that boy knows how to party,” he chuckled. “Pity, I’d love some.”

“You are not to combine it with alcohol.”

“I know, darling,” Astarion snarled a little too patiently. “Leave it to me to combine my drugs.”

“I am sure there is some cocaine around. Or keta. Do you want me to find you some? Kalla kind of offered.”

“There you are!” Wyll stepped onto the terrace, looking sharp in a brand-new black suit she had never seen before. “Karlach said you had arrived with Jenevelle, but I couldn’t find you.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Astarion grinned, pressing a quick kiss to Celeste’s cheek. His eyes met hers, a mask of smugness and condescension back in place. He patted Wyll’s shoulder before slipping inside, leaving Celeste to hug Wyll.

“It’s good to see you, my dear friend,” he said warmly.

“It’s good to see you too, Duke. How are you feeling? Congratulations on your promotion!”

“Thank you,” Wyll grinned. “It was long overdue—just like yours.”

Celeste waved it off.

“It’s fine,” she lied, though Wyll’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She knew he’d caught the lie but wasn’t pushing it.

“Have you met everyone? You should know most of the guests by now.”

“I think I’ve met everyone. If you need to wave around the Professor card and introduce me to some of your higher ups, I am happy to be of service. Astarion invited me for a smoke, so I stepped out. I’ll be back in the party in no time, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about your attendance,” Wyll said, studying her closely.

“Okay, listen,” Celeste began, setting her glass down and placing her hands on his hips. She looked deep into his eyes before she lowered her voice to a serious tone. “I need everyone, including you, to stop worrying about me. Please. I’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse than some disappointment after a short fling, alright?”

Wyll’s hand fell to her shoulder. “I know, my friend. But you’ve had a rough few years, and all we want is to see you happy.”

“I won’t minimize how I feel, but I’ll promise to be a good guest tonight, alright? We can talk about it some other day - maybe over some weed on our terrace - but not tonight.”

Wyll pulled her into another hug. “You’re a good friend.”

“Among good company,” she sighed, rubbing his back. “And,” she added with a smile as they parted, “I brought a book I think you’ll love. Not for tonight’s company, but I’ll leave it in your study.”

Wyll’s eyes brightened. “I love your recommendations! Thank you.”

“You are most welcome but can we discuss why the fuck your books are now sorted by colour?”

Breaking into warm laughter, he answered, “It was Karlach’s idea. And you know I will not argue with her about choices of taste – or book sorting, in this case.”

They stepped to the side, Wyll slipping his arm around her waist. “Let me introduce you to one of my bosses. I can’t wait to hear what you think of him afterward.”

“Why?” Celeste asked, surprised.

“Because he’s a white, rich, conservative man, and having a conversation with a female scientist with a PhD and Professorship in STEM will probably break his brain,” Wyll laughed.

“Do you need me to hold back? I wouldn’t want to damage your reputation.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s one of the good ones. Conservative, but a decent person. Just be yourself.”

Celeste followed Wyll inside, immersing herself in the evening’s conversations. Wyll’s assessment turned out to be accurate – to no surprise - , she immediately disliked the old man. They had a polite but heated discussion about women’s rights, voting rights, minorities, and other sensitive political topics on which Celeste politely but firmly voiced her views before he excused himself.

When Celeste turned around, she found Karlach, Jen, Wyll, and Astarion watching her from the corner of the room.

“Fuck you,” Celeste grinned as she moved over to the group. They all burst into laughter, and she found herself smiling. The intellectual discussion had been a welcome distraction.

“I can’t believe,” Jen laughed, waving her hand to cool herself off, “you said that! FPTP marginalizes progressive voices and drowns out the will of the people, directly into the face of a white man in his sixties!”

They all broke into another round of laughter, and Celeste chuckled, feeling a small sense of pride. “He wanted to discuss our voting system, and Wyll said I didn’t need to hold back. What can I say?”

“Well done, soldier,” Karlach laughed, giving her a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Would you like another drink?”

“No alcohol, please.”

Karlach nodded, grabbed her glass to walk over to the bar as Jen’s eyes suddenly widened. Her gaze shifted over Celeste’s shoulder.

“Wyll, who is that? Fuck me, he can pin me against basically anything anytime he wants to…”

Celeste grinned as she turned around. Standing in the entrance of Wyll’s living room, dressed in a white shirt, a deep blue vest with matching jacket and fitted pants, was Gale.

One hand rested casually in his pocket, his eyes scanning the room before finally locking onto Wyll. A firm, nearly hidden smile crossed his lips, when he spotted Celeste.

Celeste’s breath caught in her throat.

“There you are, good to see you! Thank you so much for coming,” Wyll boomed, crossing the room to shake hands with Gale.

Gale was smiling warmly as he accepted Wyll’s greeting.

Celeste stood frozen, unable to tear her gaze away. In his office, just this morning, she had told herself, they could face anything together.

The two of them against the world.

A romantic and, arguably, most delusional idea, since the sight of him alone, in Wyllach’s living room, was enough to flip her stomach.

What had she been thinking? Their worlds collided right here, right now – the most sacred part of her world, her family with a man she barely knew. She had dreamed of inviting him, yes, certainly but actually having him here, approaching Wyll made her palms sweaty.

Well done, Celeste. One wouldn’t figure you possess a degree in advanced science. Fuck.

Confidently, smiling warmly, the small frown on his forehead formed when he wanted to reassure someone that he was truly present, Gale listened to Wyll.

He had trimmed his beard or at least added oil to smooth it in place. If humanely possible, he looked even more stunning than he had this morning.

As if he needed more perfection.

“Kell?” Karlach laughed, waving a glass in front of Celeste’s face. Celeste snapped out of her thoughts, clearing her throat as she forced a small smile.

“What has gotten into you?” Karlach whispered, her voice deeply worried, as Celeste grabbed the glass.

“The man who just arrived,” Celeste said quietly, her gaze lowered onto the glass, “is Gale.”

“Oh, I know. He trains at my dojo,” Karlach stated simply. “Wait….”

“That is Gale?!” Jen exclaimed a little too loud. Celeste flinched. “You spent two whole days in a hotel with this man and did not fuck him?! How exactly did that happen? Have you taken a secret vow of abstinence I don't know about? Has your vag stopped working? Are you fucking blind?!”

“Jen, please,” Celeste pressed through gritted teeth.

“He is a fucking dream, Kell! Look at those arms! Do you think he has a sixpack? By the gods, his hands…..”

“Oh, I am sure Kell has fantasized a lot about his hands,” Karlach grinned.

“May I introduce you to my closest friends?” Wyll’s voice boomed behind her and Celeste steadied herself. “You already know my brilliant wife, Karlach.”

Celeste took a deep breath and looked up, her gaze meeting Astarion’s, who was watching her intently from the terrace. She hadn’t noticed him slip outside. His eyes flicked toward Gale, and Celeste gave a brief nod, though she was forced to smile as Astarion gave her an approving nod in combination with a thumbs up in return.

“Allow me to introduce,” Wyll announced solemnly, “my dear friend Jen.”

Gale took Jen’s hand, bowing formally and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Jen was gleaming, blushing slightly.

“It’s an honour, Gale.”

“The honour is all mine, I assure you,” he mused, letting Jen blush even more.

Celeste supressed a grin, but it was getting harder to compose herself by the second.

“And this is our dear friend Celeste, just returned from a research mission a few weeks ago.”

Celeste looked at Gale, offering her hand. He smiled warmly, but she noticed a tingle of mischief in his eyes as he took her hand and bowed to kiss it.

“Celeste,” Gale said with a nod as he rose, holding on to her hand to move it around his hip while simultaneously reaching for her neck to pull her into a deep kiss.

All tension drained from her the moment their lips met. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a promise spoken without words, of shared longing, a achingly deep yearning.

Celeste chuckled, moving her arm around his neck, melting into him. Gale had been looking forward to this, she could tell. The exposition as much as her silly game. The longing in his lips spoke volume, only intensified by his gentle but firm hand on her neck.

The others gasped in surprise, Celeste noticed before losing herself in his kiss: it was all there. Weeks of pining and dreaming, hoping and fearing, trying to simply will this, to will them into existence.

Celeste hadn’t need more proof but it has absolutely been the right choice to go to his office.

Thank fuck.

When they parted, Gale rested his cheek on hers, turned away from the others.

“Was that close to what you had in mind?”

“Nothing less than perfect,” she whispered and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before they parted.

“So, you did go for it!” Karlach called out, playfully boxing Celeste’s arm. “Well done, soldier!”

Gale’s arm moved around Celeste’s waist, drawing her closer. Jen just stared at them, mouth open, eyes darting

"Celeste did indeed," Gale admitted. "She came to my office today and offered her feelings - her heart really - with a vulnerability and thoughtfulness that I have done little to deserve." He turned to smile at her and press a quick kiss to her lips. Celeste was just able to stare at him in disbelief.

Karlach just chuckled warmly. “I can imagine, Kell has a way of doing that.”

“This is certainly a surprise,” Wyll added, his arm wrapped around Karlach, touched by their kiss. His eyes moved over Celeste and Gale in admiration.

“I am so happy for you,” Jen finally, wiping her eyes. “I did not think you would be so perfect together, after everything she told us about you….. Gods, you are stunning. The two of you, I mean!”

“You did?” Gale’s eyebrow popped up.

“I did,” Celeste nodded. “I told you, they know everything. Of course, they are informed about the man I lost my heart to.” Lifting her index finger to his chin, she pressed another kiss to his lips, grinning at his surprise. “Wyll, would you offer your new guest something to drink?”

“Apologies, you are right. I have haven taken aback by this most romantic moment. I assume it was your idea?”

“Of course it was.” Celeste turned to Gale. “I’ll need you to excuse me for a moment.”

“Certainly,” he smiled though his eyes and the firming grip around her hand belied the conviction he tried to present.

“I will be back soon, I promise,” she smiled, reaching for his cheek to turn his face. It was unnecessary, Gale’s lips were already on hers.

Celeste felt herself giggling happily. A sound she could not remember herself making. Ever.

“I will be back,” Celeste promised, gently stroking his cheek.

Gale smiled, straightening himself to face her friends who were already pondering him with questions as she stepped onto the terrace.

“You have excellent taste, darling.”

“Not the first time I hear this today,” she grinned. Astarion nodded, his gaze darting in on her.

“You really like him.”

“I told you I do.”

"You told me you missed his intellect - the way he plays chess, the way his mind dances when he speaks. But I’ve seen it in your eyes, darling… and they say far more than that."

“What do you see?”

“You are actually in love.”

Celeste felt herself blush. “I am, yes. And I told you.”

“I remember. I just didn’t believe you.” Astarion pulled her into a hug, resting his hands on her neck and lower back. “You must be scared shitless.”

Celeste chuckled pained, wrapping her arms around him. “I am,” she admitted quietly. “I actually am.”

“I know we have not discussed this for a while, and you know I do not enjoy indulge in the past but I still know people.”

Celeste laughed. The sincerity of his words was to gentle, too caring to ignore. Astarion loosened his grip just enough to look at her.

His eyes darted over her face, watching her intendedly. “You know I mean it.”

“I do.”

“Good. If he hurts you in a non-consensual way, I’ll kill him myself.”

Gale had never been one to succumb to nerves. He was, after all, a man of reason - intellectually formidable, self-assured in both mind and appearance. He had delivered lectures to packed halls, debated the greatest minds of this time, and published work that reshaped entire fields of mathematics. And yet, as he fastened his cufflinks and regarded his reflection, he found himself - remarkably, uncharacteristically - nervous.

Tonight, he would be introduced to Celeste’s friends. Not mere acquaintances, but her inner circle, the people who mattered most to her.

Wyll’s colleagues, too - solicitors and barristers, sharp-eyed and sharp-witted, accustomed to dissecting arguments with surgical precision. It was an evening of pleasantries and conversation, of wine glasses balanced on fingertips and polite laughter filling the spaces between introductions. By all accounts, it should have been an effortless affair.

And yet, for the first time in years, he was preoccupied with the notion of making an impression. Not professionally - he had long since ceased to worry about such things - but personally. To her. To them. To the people she trusted.

The notion unsettled him.

The car ride to Wyll’s house did little to soothe his thoughts. He had been entertained, at first, by Celeste’s playful suggestion of maintaining the ruse until the inevitable kiss. The game of it had been charming, an excuse to remain close. But as the city lights flickered past the windows, doubt crept in.

Would they see through him? Would they think him unworthy of her?

More than that - was he?

Gale sighed as he pulled into the drive. The house was warmly lit, the sound of conversation and soft music spilling out through open windows. He had barely crossed the threshold when his gaze found Celeste, as if drawn by some unseen force.

She was breathtaking. Effortlessly so. The soft glow of the ceilinglight traced the curve of her cheekbones, the faintest dusting of colour warming her skin as their eyes met. Gale swallowed. She was smiling, that familiar, knowing smile, and for a moment - just a moment - he let himself imagine closing the space between them. The press of her lips, the warmth of her body melting into his, the way she fit against him so perfectly it made his head spin.

But this was not the time. Not yet.

He buried the thought deep, smoothing his expression into one of polite charm as Wyll made the introductions. He answered questions with practiced ease, exchanged pleasantries with practiced grace. But the moment Celeste leaned in, the moment her lips met his, warm and soft and not yet familiar, his composure shattered.

There were surprised gasps. Laughter.

Gale barely heard them.

His only thought, his only focus, was her. The feel of her fingers curling at the nape of his neck, the way she pressed just a little closer, as if she, too, was unwilling to let go.

And gods help him, he did not want to.

When they finally parted, Celeste's cheeks were flushed once more, and Gale found himself seeking reassurance. Had their little play-acting achieved the desired effect? Had he performed well?

Her answer, her praise, meant more to him than he anticipated. It is a peculiar sensation, this hunger - not for accolades in the academic sphere, not for recognition among his peers, but for her approval. The thought unsettled him, and yet, it did not dissuade him from wanting more of it. He suddenly craved hearing her say how well he had done, how much she had enjoyed playing pretend with him.

Gale remained engaged in conversation, speaking fluidly, contributing where expected, though a part of his mind remained tethered to her. A pull he did not particularly wish to sever. When she excused herself, he had to resist the entirely irrational urge to reach for her hand, to find some excuse to keep her by his side. He knew, intellectually, that this was an evening of introductions, of pleasantries and social diplomacy, and yet, his thoughts were stubbornly fixated on her presence, or rather, the absence of it.

Wyll and their mutual friends were warm, inviting, and Gale allowed himself to be guided through the motions. He was, however, taken aback by how openly Celeste has spoken of him to them. For a moment, it puzzled him - she was so often careful with her words, so intentional in what she shared. But upon second thought, the answer was clear.

These were not mere friends; these are the people she trusted most in the world, the ones she called her created family. That she had introduced him to them, that she has allowed him into this space, is not a matter of casual social engagement.

It was a declaration, whether she intended it as such or not.

Understanding the weight of this, Gale did his utmost to leave a good impression, to be charming, the version of himself that won over audiences and sceptical minds alike.

But there was one who remained unconvinced.

Astarion.

The man watched him with an appraising sharpness, every quip laced with something just beneath the surface. Not outright hostility, no, but a sort of possessive wariness that spoke volumes. It was not long before he extended an invitation, outside for a smoke. Gale did not smoke, but he followed nonetheless.

He stepped onto the terrace, closing the door behind him with quiet finality. The evening air was crisp, the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation filtering through the glass. Astarion, for his part, appeared utterly at ease.

“Oh, do relax, dear,” Astarion drawled, his grin positively wicked. “You look as if I’m about to toss you over the balcony.” A beat. Then, far too pleased with himself, he added, “Though I suppose that would be one way to send a message.”

Gale inhaled slowly through his nose, exhaling with measured restraint. “I do hope this isn’t a poorly veiled attempt to stake a claim. I was under the impression that Celeste was not an object to be passed from one set of hands to another.”

Astarion’s smile sharpened, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “Of course not. She is, however, a woman who has endured quite enough, and I’d rather not see her heart ground into dust. However poetic the metaphor may be.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze assessing. “So, let’s be clear about a few things, shall we?”

Gale lifted his glass, taking a deliberate sip of wine, choosing patience over indignation. “By all means.”

Astarion’s expression was unreadable, but Gale sensed something beneath the theatrics.

“Celeste is… complicated,” Astarion began. “She’s also brilliant, infuriatingly stubborn, unfathomably kind. Gentle. And though she’d never admit it, fragile in ways you do not yet understand.” A flicker of something passed through his gaze as his eyes narrowed. “I do.”

Gale’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The words unsettled him, not because they were entirely unexpected - he knew Celeste was more than the sharp wit and easy laughter she wielded like armour - but because it was a reminder of how much he did not yet know. Astarion, however irritatingly, did.

“So,” Astarion continued, “here’s what’s going to happen: You will cherish her. You will be patient with her. You will roll out the metaphorical red carpet wherever she walks. You will praise and protect and worship every part of her, but especially the complicated ones. No exceptions. And should she wake up one day and decide this - and by this, I mean you - isn’t what she wants, you will let her go. No grand speeches, no selfish pleas, no clinging to the wreckage. You just leave.”

The weight of the words settled in Gale’s chest. It was not an unreasonable request, nor an unfamiliar concept. But the ease with which Astarion delivered the demand - like it was a certainty, like it was only a matter of time - made Gale bristle.

“And if I don’t?” he asked, voice even.

Astarion’s smile returned, slow and deliberate. “Then, my dear, you will become very familiar with just how creative I can be when I’m feeling… vindictive.”

Gale did not doubt it.

Astarion patted his shoulder twice, almost affectionate, if not for the unmistakable warning beneath it. “But I do hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The door opened before Gale could respond. Celeste stepped onto the terrace, arms crossed, brow arched in clear suspicion.

“Astarion,” she stated. While her tone was steady, it was abundantly clear she knew what had just transpired. “What are you doing?”

Unrepentant, Astarion turned to her with an innocent smile, hands splayed in mock surrender. “Darling, I am merely setting expectations.”

Celeste’s eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced between them before fixing Astarion with a look that could wither lesser men.

Gale, for his part, simply watched, sipping his wine, fighting back a smirk.

“And what, exactly, makes you think this is in any form appropriate?”

Astarion pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. “Oh, must we be so cruel? I am merely performing my duty as a devoted friend. A pre-emptive strike against potential heartbreak, if you will.”

Celeste stepped closer, gaze unwavering. The evening light caught in her hair, the sharp set of her features softened just slightly.

“I can take care of myself,” she stated firmly.

Astarion grinned. “Oh, I know, darling. But isn’t it charming how deeply I care?” He reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips with deliberate grace, his eyes locked onto hers. “Besides, someone had to make sure our dear mathematician here understands precisely what he’s gotten himself into.”

Gale took another measured sip of wine before murmuring, “I assure you, I am under no illusions.”

Astarion hummed. “And yet, here you are. Either admirable or foolish, but we shall see.”

He turned back to Celeste with a wink. “Now, don’t be too cross with me. You know I only want the best for you.”

Celeste sighed sharply but was already shaking her head, irritation fading as she pulled him into a brief embrace.

“Behave,” she murmured. “You don’t need to get involved. Just… stay out of this, please.”

Astarion smirked, pressing a fleeting kiss to her forehead. “Never. But you wouldn’t love me if I did.”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered but smiled briefly.

Astarion leaned in conspiratorially. “Come now, darling, admit it—this was at least a little fun.”

Gale cleared his throat. “Oh, yes. Riveting.”

Astarion’s grin widened. “Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your evening. But just remember, Gale: if you make her cry, I will know.”

Gale exhaled as Astarion disappeared inside, leaving the night air thick with implication. He let his head tip back slightly, eyes scanning the sky, as if the stars might offer some clarity. They did not.

Celeste was watching him, lips pressed together in quiet amusement.

“Well,” he murmured, swirling his glass, “I suppose I should be flattered.”

She chuckled, stepping closer, and when she wrapped her arms around him, resting her forehead against his chest, the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding melted away.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. Gale set his glass onto the railing, his arms settling around her in turn.

“There is no need for apologies,” he assured her. “His devotion to you is evident - unmistakable, even.”

“It is,” she sighed, tightening her embrace.

Gale swallowed hard. He wanted to leave with her, to fly back to Iceland and lock them in that suite - anything just to have her closer. To himself.She moved her hands up his back, and he shivered.

“I am so sorry,” she repeated, lifting her face just enough to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “He means well, but he gets overprotective. The others are a bit more restrained.”

Gale exhaled a quiet laugh, dipping his head to brush a kiss against her forehead - so soft, so light, so natural, it made something in his chest tighten.

“It was quite the warm welcome, I assure you. No need to worry, I can handle a shovel talk from one close friend.”

She smiled against him before lifting her head, capturing him in a kiss that left no space for doubt. There was longing in it, and in him, a not-so-hidden need unravelling between them. She pulled away just enough to grin.

“The Spice Girls were right after all.”

“They were?” he asked, an eyebrow lifting.

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”

Laughter burst from his lips before he could stop it, and he didn’t hesitate to pull her back in, pressing his lips to hers again, a lingering, indulgent kiss that felt dangerously close to addiction.

He had made many mistakes in life. Celeste would not be one of them. But then he remembered.

Gale broke away with a sigh, pressing his forehead to hers for a brief moment before drawing back.

“I have to correct my earlier promise, Celeste, and I am truly, deeply sorry.” He took a breath, willing his voice to remain steady. “I misread my calendar. There is a flight tomorrow I have to catch.”

He felt her hands still against him, and for the briefest moment, panic coiled tight in his chest - swift and instinctual. His breath hitched. He braced himself without thought, as if waiting for a blow. It was a reflex, carved into him by the weight of past mistakes and the sharp edges of someone else's anger - an anger that had taught him to fear the quiet just as much as the raised voice.

A moment like this, a hesitation, a pause, would once have cost him dearly. It would have been followed by a cold lecture, clinical in tone but cruel in intent. It would have meant days of silence so cutting it hurt more than words ever could. He remembered the sting of being called careless, selfish, unworthy of trust - accusations flung not with fire, but with frost, with the heavy disappointment that lingers long after.

So, his body tensed, his thoughts raced ahead, trying to soften the blow he was sure would follow. But it didn’t.

Celeste only giggled.

His head snapped up, eyes searching hers for any sign of irritation or disappointment. Instead, she simply smiled, reaching up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Are you postponing our night?” she asked, her voice low and teasing. She leaned in, her breath ghosting over his lips, the barest flick of her tongue against his lower lip making his stomach tighten.

Gale swallowed hard.

She was looking at him like she wanted him. Like the idea of being with him - truly with him - wasn’t an obligation or a fleeting indulgence, but a choice.

“Or,” she continued, her fingers skimming the line of his jaw, “would you like to take me home and allow me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?”

His breath hitched again. Gods, she was good at this. At making his thoughts stutter, at unravelling him so easily. A few seconds ago he was bracing himself for the impact of cruel words and intentionally spoken harm, only to find himself aroused now.

“How would you get home from the airport?” he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper. Celeste laughed - bright, unrestrained, and utterly delighted. She stepped back, and he immediately felt the loss of her warmth.

“I can drop your car off wherever you need or park it at the airport,” she assured him, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. “I’ll find my way home, don’t worry. I can ask Kalla, she wanted to grab something to eat tomorrow anyway.”

She met his gaze, searching.

“You’re not… angry,” he realized, almost breathless with the relief of it.

She huffed a soft laugh. “Do you know how many flights I’ve missed in my life because I got the time or the gate wrong? Or worse, the date?” She shrugged. “Happens.”

There was no resentment in her eyes. No exasperation, no sharp-edged remarks. Just… understanding. A small thing, but gods, it settled something in him.

“You would consider spending the night with me, knowing we’d have to get up quite early in order to-”

“- or possibly not sleep at all,” she interrupted with a grin. “Though we both might be too old for that.”

The laughter that escaped him was warm and unguarded as he pulled her back into his arms, inhaling her scent, feeling her heartbeat against his own, finger threading into her hair to draw her even closer.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. She stilled for half a second, clearly surprised, but then relaxed into him, her arms winding tighter around his waist.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. “Just… tell me what you need. What you want. We’ll find a way, hmm?”

His smile was soft, genuine.

“I’d very much like to take you on a proper date,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “If you’ll permit me.”

She tilted her head, lips quirking. “Gentleman,” she teased, her fingers tracing absent patterns along his back.

Gale chuckled, leaning in just enough to let his lips brush the shell of her ear. “I have been accused of such a thing on occasion, yes.”

Celeste grinned. “You are allowed, most certainly. Name a time and place, and I’ll be there.”

She leaned up, her lips hovering just over his - close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath, the teasing promise of another kiss. But before she could follow through, a voice rang out.

“There you are!” Karlach’s voice.

Celeste grinned and kissed Gale. Quiet, gentle, as if she had all the time in the world. That nothing could break this moment, a moment where she had chosen him as her priority.

When she stepped back, she smiled as Karlach approached.

“Kell, can I have you a moment? Or both of you, really.”

Gale exhaled through his nose, feeling the tension in his body settle into something warmer, something easier. Celeste grinned, linking her fingers through his before turning toward Karlach.

“Certainly, Kalla, what do you need?” She made a step forward, pulling Gale with her.

“Oh, I see,” Celeste then grinned, as if the look Karlach’s face had told her enough.

Watching Shadowheart wrestle with the deepest, most personal demons of her soul has never been easy. But this time...this time feels different.

Worse.

Heavier.

Her pain cuts deeper, her silence more deafening. You have always known of her troubles, but now you see the well-hidden chaos cracking the surface.

And still, you try not to interfere. You want her to make her choice freely. But the truth is: you need to make sure she does not kill Dame Aylin.

And gods, how you hate that.

You remind yourself: Shadowheart will become an extraordinary woman. She is already halfway there. So you stand by, eyes watching her every breath, every flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, only gently guiding her. This is her battle. But your heart aches all the same.

When Aylin is finally freed, you guide Shadowheart outside. Astarion lingers nearby, tension coiled beneath his skin, but your priority is still Shadowheart. She needs grounding, someone to help her sort the chaos in her mind.

On the walk back to the Last Light Inn, you talk her through her thoughts. Soft words, a quiet presence, whatever she allows. She is shaken to her core, her beliefs shattered, her identity bleeding at the edges. You suspected there were doubts beneath the surface but this unraveling is still hard to witness.

You offer your support, not pushing, only standing steady in whatever way she will accept. And when she finally excuses herself for solitude, disappearing behind her door with barely a word, you understand. You let her go.

The moment the door clicks shut, you sigh and lean your weight against the wall for just a heartbeat, giving yourself the smallest reprieve. Then you push away from the silence and seek out Raphael and Astarion.

Astarion is already pacing, tension radiating off him in waves. His agitation is nearly palpable when you arrive, and it only intensifies as Raphael, with his usual theatrical flair, finally begins to share what he knows - about Yurgir, about the ritual, about the scars that mar Astarion’s back. You don’t care about the orthon. You don’t even really care about Raphael’s gloating knowledge.

All that matters is clarity. For Astarion. For the person he’s trying so desperately to become.

And when Raphael speaks of the Ritual of Profane Ascension - its cruelty, its purpose, its implications - you reach for Astarion’s hand before you even realize what you’re doing. Instinct. Pure and unthinking. But he doesn’t pull away. He lets you hold it, and the smallest flicker of relief lights your chest.

You know his mind well, the spirals it can fall into, the way he isolates rather than confronts. So you are not surprised when he asks for space afterward. You respect it, but not without promising you will be there when he is ready to talk.

Later, when you finally peel yourself out of your armour, you scrub yourself clean and pull on a soft linen shirt, hoping for a moment of quiet. You’re not surprised when Gale’s simulacrum finds you. He has become something of a constant now, showing up in just the right moment, almost as if summoned by the ache you try not to show.

And gods, you need him tonight.

You follow him outside without hesitation. His voice trembles under the weight of fears he barely dares to name, and it nearly breaks you in half. You offer reassurance, gentle and unwavering. You will get through this, together.

When he invites you along for a perfect night in Waterdeep, your throat tightens. It is exactly what your soul needed. You let yourself fall into it - the magic, the comfort, the closeness.

Aetherial sex is still a strange thing to you—unfamiliar, disorienting in its depth and intensity —but you crave him. The connection. The merging of soul and breath and skin. If he wishes to make love beneath the stars, then stars it will be.

It is transcendent. It always is. But tonight, it feels different. Like something inside you is finally allowed to settle. When you collapse beside him afterward, face pressed into his hair, breathing in his scent like a lifeline, you grip his hand just a little tighter than necessary.

You didn’t even realize how much you needed this. Not just closeness, but him. This version of him. The one who cherishes you, who sees you, who holds you like you are something sacred. You have missed them all in some way, but this Gale… this one who loves you is what you missed the most.

It feels like a puzzle sliding into place. Like old wounds closing. For the first time in this iteration, you sleep peacefully.

The next morning, you consider calling for another day of rest. You ache to stay tucked in Gale’s arms, linen wrapped around you, the world held at bay. But you know the stillness cannot last.

Halsin is growing restless. Dame Aylin’s presence has brought a resurgence of hope, and the entire camp feels it. There is movement again. Purpose. A momentum you cannot ignore.

So, you rise. You organize weapons, reposition personnel, distribute scrolls and healing potions with an efficiency that betrays your underlying dread.

You cannot repeat last time. You will not let them fall again.

Gale is in a wonderfully cheerful mood, pressed close to you, peppering your temple with kisses and rattling off strategic variations for the coming assault. He does not notice the tension curled in your spine, and you are grateful. Let him have this moment.

Storming the tower is easier than expected. The enemies fall quickly, your momentum building with each clash of steel and spell.

For a fleeting moment, it feels almost easy. Almost right.

And fighting beside them - truly beside them, as a unit, as one breathing force - is a rush like no other. They trust each other now. Not just in battle, but in purpose. It is brutal, yes. Bloody. But it is also beautiful.

You are slightly lightheaded after the first clash with Ketheric, but you push through. There is no time to rest. Jaheira joins your ranks again, her usual snark subdued now that she has seen what you are capable of.

Down into the rotting well of tentacle flesh you go.

You free Zevlor. Mizora too, though every fibre in you resists the urge to spit in her face. You hold back only because you know her information will be useful. Wyll needs her, even if you do not trust her.

Descending deeper, you reach for Gale again. You know what’s coming. You know what he is about to see - and what he is about to suggest.

Your hands are damp with sweat by the time the grotesque platform opens and reveals the truth: the Crown. The Netherbrain. The full horror of what you are truly up against. The others are still stunned in shock when Gale starts speaking.

You stop him.

Your voice is firm. He will not use the orb. You won’t let him. You will not finish this story without him. You will not lose him to self-sacrifice, to misguided martyrdom. If you have to knock him unconscious to stop him, so be it.

But you do not have to. He sees you. He hears you. He believes you.

And thank the gods, he stays.

The battle that follows is no less vicious than the first, but less tragic. Scratch frees Aylin mid-fight, and with her aid, Ketheric Thorm and the Avatar of Myrkul fall.

Karlach and Lae’zel take the brunt of the damage this time, while you and Shadowheart tend to their wounds. Gale takes over the conversation with the Dream Guardian, who is explaining the Netherstones, the true weight of what’s coming. You watch your companions listen and understand.

Later, back at the tower, you watch Isobel and Aylin’s reunion from the safety of Gale’s arms. Their joy is radiant. Infectious. It wraps around your soul. Gale is already muttering about Sorcerer’s Sundries and the knowledge he suspects is buried there.

You almost tell him what you already know. Almost. But that is a conversation for another time.

Tonight, you celebrate.

The party at Last Light Inn is a dazzling blur - music, laughter, dancing, wine. You let it carry you for a while, let the joy wrap around your shoulders like a cloak.

And then… rest. Real rest.

Two days. Just two days. Wrapped in Gale’s arms. Letting the world fade. Where nothing is of relevance but you and him.

The road to Baldur’s Gate waits. And though you know what is  coming - though you have died there before, though you have lost everything there before - you grip Gale’s hand tightly in yours.

“Celeste.” His voice breaks, heavy with all he feels. The longing, the devotion, the ache of the years between them. He kisses her face to remind himself of her taste, her warmth, her existence beyond his dreams.

She winces at the sound of his voice, at the weight of it, at the overwhelming truth of their connection. He feels her shudder when he begins to move his hips up, gently at first. He won’t hurt her and she knows it, relaxing into his movement. And he relishes it, drinking in her breathless gasps. She kisses him again, hard, her lips parting on a cry as he meets her with equal fervour.

He can see it in her eyes - the love she tried to deny herself, the need she had caged away for far too long. Halsin has waited, patient as the roots of an ancient oak, but now?

Now, his restraint is unravelled. Undone by a single moan, one single gaze. A wide grin spreads across his lips as he wraps one arm around her hip and rolls over, carefully flipping her beneath him in one fluid motion, never breaking their connection.