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The street below glittered with all sorts of decorations and magic lights, and Staeve seemed hypnotised by them, like a little kid walking into a toy shop for the first time.
Astarion watched him for a little while, fond. He liked seeing the wonder shining in his eyes. He liked seeing the corner of Staeve’s mouth twitching up every time he noticed something new.
“Enjoying the view?” he murmured, pressing up against his side to join him at the windowsill.
“It’s much better now that you’re here.” Staeve grinned, but scooted a little over to make room for Astarion. “I didn’t know Liar’s Night was so big in this part of the city. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“We’re close to the Upper City,” Astarion pointed out. “We’re close enough for its trends to spill over the surrounding area.”
Staeve raised an arm over his shoulders and pulled him closer. “Mh? What sort of trends?”
Astarion snuggled into his side, seeking refuge from the chilly autumn air that had nipped at his face when he had leaned over the windowsill.
“You know, business thriving in the spirit of the holiday. Turn the world upside down, turn theft into law and law into theft, let light become darkness and vice-versa.” He gestured to the milling crowd in the street, to the purposefulness in the twirls of their coats and the energy in their step. He sneered. “So shops stay open at night, regular low-class citizens join the high society balls, and scary monsters don’t hide from the public eye—whether they’re masks or not.”
“—I would’ve thought you excited about it, but,” Staeve observed, “maybe I assumed wrong.”
The quiet, sober note in his voice made Astarion grimace. He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter about it.
“Don’t get me wrong, the festivities themselves sound thrilling,” he said, quickly. “The chance of wandering around all night without suspicion, wearing fancy and dramatic outfits, pick-pocketing with no consequence… what’s not to love, especially for a vampire and a rogue like yours truly?” He exaggerated the sing-song in his voice to amuse Staeve, and he was rewarded by a small, charmed smile. He cleared his throat before continuing, a sudden tightness strangling him. “I just have—poor memories of the Night itself.”
Staeve then understood. Astarion could tell by the way his eyes had gone wide and pained for an instant, and then cold with fury. The ice in them felt warm in Astarion’s chest.
“He,” he started again, then stopped. He licked his lips. “Cazador had us spawn overwork ourselves during Liar’s Night. Pushed us to hunt outside of our usual grounds, as extravagantly as we could.” He gritted his teeth at the memory of his Master’s boredom and how dangerous it made him. “But what he liked the most was celebrating the Night the way most patriar families did, you see. The Neverwinter way, which dictates what is fashionable in the Upper City. Balls, masquerades…”
He shuddered. He remembered. Strange hands groping him. His body stripped and used. Drugs and wine and blood. Fragments of bone travelling under his skin, a blade cutting deep, deep, deep, icy fingers gripping his heart—
“I wasn’t fond,” he choked out.
The hand stroking his arm was warm, grounding him in the present, in the beautiful house, in the happiest life he’d ever known.
“I can tell it was very different for you,” Astarion continued, making himself smile at Staeve. “You like Liar’s Night, don’t you?”
Staeve pressed a kiss to his temple and let a long beat of silence stretch between them.
“Never did any big celebrations for it or anything,” he mumbled. “Definitely not as fancy as this. Where I lived, people decorated their doors with tallow candles and broomsticks dressed up as ugly rag-monsters, and that was it. Shops weren’t open, but people hung out in the streets anyway, even if they didn’t really dress up as anything.” He smirked, teasing. “A fancy vampire like you would’ve stuck right out. Like a sore thumb.”
It was Astarion’s turn to smile at his antics. Staeve grinned back, and then looked away, eyes trained to the street below once again. “But one thing that everyone did was stuff their pockets with cakes and candy. Used to go around with my siblings stealing sweets all night long.”
It was so rare that Staeve spontaneously offered stories about his family. “Is this the story of how you became a thief?” Astarion prompted him gently, barely daring to breathe.
“You know, it could as well be,” Staeve replied, amused. “For a while it was just a bit of dirty fun. It became kind of a necessity, later, after—but on Liar’s Night we would still make a game of it, for a night. Nita joined us as well. We would bet on who could swipe the most, and Logue would always win—” His voice cracked, and he fell silent.
He turned away from Astarion, eyes hidden in the crook of his elbow. Astarion didn’t say anything. He just wrapped an arm around his waist, pretending to look outside the window while listening to his lover’s heartbeat change erratically.
“Thrill-seeker and sugar-addicted since childhood,” Staeve croaked wetly after a while. “I guess I was fated to fall in love with you.”
“I love you, too,” Astarion replied. He let Staeve pull him into a proper embrace, and started rubbing soothing circles in his back. “As much as I would love hearing all the ways you think I’m dangerous and sweet—are you alright?”
“Yes.” Staeve’s next inhale was a little shuddery, but his voice wasn’t as rough anymore. “Sorry, I guess I hadn’t thought about that properly in a long time. Turns out maybe it wasn’t that happy a memory to share.”
“Of course it was.” Astarion lowered his voice. “That’s why it hurts.”
Staeve didn’t reply.
“Tell you what,” Astarion whispered against Staeve’s shoulder. “We should go out tonight. Check the shops. Find some ridiculous fancy costume. Eat too much sugar.”
Staeve hummed. “Make new memories. Happy ones, for both of us.”
They did not move, and didn’t go anywhere, that night. They just stood next to the window for a while, letting the cold night breeze wash over them.
Holding each other, happy and safe in each other’s arms.