Archive of Our Own

Oh. This was stupid.

Astarion furrowed his brows into a contemptuous scowl, but the sun-bleached, two-piece sign dangling overhead swung leisurely in the light breeze, entirely unaffected.

Miss Tara's read the first sign, aged and fading.

Tea and Kittens read the second, attached by a pair of short chains, significantly newer.

A dreadful name altogether. Entirely frumpy.

Yet by some cruel twist of fate, a crumpled voucher clenched in his fist had summoned him to this quiet section of the Lower City. A ninety-minute seating with a complimentary beverage and pastry...

And the promise of a guilt trip if he backed out.

It looked... tired. Not helped by the sweeping gold lettering or the chipped pastel pink border on the signage, nor the way the color faded in a smooth gradient as the neighboring buildings steadily eclipsed the storefront in shadow throughout the day. In contrast to the blocky, clean lines of next door's apartments, the café with its worn white siding and arched, multi-paned windows looked as if it had been plucked from some sleepy seaside town and accidentally dropped into Baldur's Gate. Some part of his gray psyche was amused, charmed even by its resistance to the architectural monoculture that was slowly overtaking his home city, but he quickly stomped out the feeling like his cigarette butt, ground into the sidewalk with a booted heel.

He glowered at the "No Smoking" sign on the front door as if Miss Tara's was the sole bearer of such a ridiculous restriction. It was up along with several others, adhered with thick strips of transparent packing tape, some so old the edges had frayed and the tape rose in tight, debris-filled curls. One advertised their hours and was dotted with cartoon paw prints. Another advised guests on the proper way to use the two-stage entryway to prevent escapees. The freshest was a photo of two black kittens. Left Shoe and Credit Fraud, the latest successful adoptees if the looping handwriting in the corner of the photo was to be believed.

Awful little things.

"Stop being such a sourpuss," Shadowheart whined, and she had the nerve to shoulder check him. The cheek! She ought to know better, but... she did know better.

Which was why she got away with it.

"Indeed, you're wearing a face that could make a hag blush," Minthara had agreed in her usual harsh timbre, her voice barely cutting through the roar of the exceptionally crowded Elfsong Tavern. The three of them, shoulder-to-shoulder around a tiny table clearly meant for two and sharing a devastatingly good (and dangerously salty) fish fry, had to shout to hear one another. Big night for Baldur's Gate, apparently. None of them were the type to follow sports, save for Shadowheart's passing interest in roller derby and Minthara's general interest in legal acts of violence, and therefore none of them realized how packed it would be until far too late.

They were just awful, caring about him like they did. Made all the worse when Shadowheart thrusted a limp paper slip into his hands from across the sticky table. After everything he'd done, the countless sleepless nights reigning in the absolute disaster that was ProFang Ascension's latest social media scandal, he got absolutely zero recognition from his dickhead boss, not even a "thank you" email from his shithole job, and... this. A few drinks from his obnoxiously well-meaning friends and, apparently, a ninety-minute time sink. He sneered at the poorly-printed, watermarked cartoon cat on the voucher with contempt.

"Are you serious?" In a way it made sense. Neither Shadowheart nor Minthara were flush for cash, and between the two of them, he would much rather be a customer at the former's place of work. Of course, he'd prefer not to patronize place where everything he touched would be covered in cat hair and Gods only know what else-

Still, it might be nicer than angrily hooking up with the first good-looking match on Firehair... or See You Sune if he felt like getting his feelings hurt too.

Plus it would get Shadowheart to stop begging him to visit her at work.

"Listen, we both thought it was a good idea," Shadowheart patiently explained, meeting his heated fury with a downright ludicrous look of genuine affection. "If it got me to stop being so... well... maybe it could give you the chance to just relax for a bit. Animals are good for-"

"I hate cats."

One was watching him now. Huge green eyes, slightly narrowed in feline-flavored judgment, stared at him through one of the two massive storefront windows, still as a statue. At least its fur was pretty, puffed up like a silky tortoiseshell throw pillow.

He shuddered under the cat's gaze all the same.

They were deeply unsettling creatures, really. Wide, unblinking eyes. Tiny mouths full of needle-pointed teeth. Wickedly curved claws that pricked skin and ruined upholstery. Attitudes as unpredictable as Tarsahk weather.

Yet here he was. Just to humor his idiot friends.

Next to the cat was yet another sheet of printer paper, taped to the glass from the inside. Astonishing, really, that whoever made the printout had the cleverness to generate a QR code for the café's socials yet chose Comic Sans of all things for its cheery message. "Find us online!" it innocently suggested in all of its tasteless, wobbly glory.

It's not even centered, he thought with a groan.

The cat, seemingly done with staring at him, primly licked one of its front paws, jostling the tag dangling from its collar. His elvish eyesight allowed him a glimpse of her name. Tara, apparently.

Gods, did the cat own this establishment?

The problem with large, charmingly arched storefront windows was that they were transparent, and before Astarion had a chance to succumb to Tara's judgemental stare and flee, Shadowheart threw open the weary mint-green door and wrapped him in a strangling hug. "You actually came!" After squeezing him hard enough to crack something in his torso, she pulled back, her small hands gripping his shoulders firmly. "And now Min owes me dinner." Said with a proud, upward tip of her chin.

"You bet on me showing up?" he wheezed, eyeing her cream-colored, cat hair-covered cable knit sweater with disdain. Some had already transferred to his own clothes, clumps of white fuzz sticking eagerly to his band tee- Shadowheart's traitorous top had hidden just how coated she was in the stuff. Thank the gods he had the foresight to shove a lint roller into his messenger bag.

With a half-hearted swipe down his front to rid him of the clingy fuzz, Shadowheart laughed. "Obviously, but only because I knew you'd come through." Fluttering her dark lashes, she smirked. "Anything for me, right?"

"You are the worst," he hissed, but try as he might, there was no maintaining his grimace. There was a time when Shadowheart never showed a lick of joy, her forest green eyes dull, downcast, the truth of herself locked behind layers of cynicism and hopelessness. Her happiness, hard-earned and radiant, was a gift and he'd be damned if he refused to enjoy it with her... even if she had a "Kitty Wrangler" nametag pinned to her chest. "But yes. Anything for my second favorite blonde elf."

"You being the first."

"But of course, my dear."

Shadowheart ushered him inside without further ceremony, ensuring the front door had closed behind them before nearly shoving him through the second. While the exterior door had the same time-worn quality as the rest of the building, the inner one was far nicer. Solid wood treated with a dark stain, large windows to allow a peek into the café proper, and yet another piece of printer paper taped to it, this one nearly at eye-level. Another photo of a cat. Orange, this time, with a notch out of one ear and a milky blind eye on the same side.

Beholder Jerky, it seemed, had a habit of darting for the door.

The smell hit him first. Cat, that bodily, warm animal smell that Astarion loathed, and he wrinkled his nose in protest even if it wasn't that overpowering. Swiftly following it was the comforting embrace of coffee. Good coffee, if his offended olfactory senses could be trusted. Pastries followed soon after. Rich butter, sugary glazes, and the bright, sweet scent of fruit, and gods it was getting harder to stay pissy already.

Still, he tried his best, crossing his arms with a huff as Shadowheart guided him through the spacious main room. It was evident the café's residents took priority, with massive carpeted constructs lining the walls and hanging from the ceilings. Platforms jutted out from a stone-veneer wall, leading up to several miniature -charming, even, though he loathed to admit it- rope bridges that criss-crossed overhead, leading to several plush, dark cubbies. A little white paw, complete with rosy-pink pads, peeked out from one of them.

Elsewhere, a few sofas and a handful of more traditional cat towers stood, bolted securely to the vinyl wood floor. A brown, barrel-shaped tabby was busy scratching at one of them, its claws catching on frayed sisal rope and pulling off with low, hollow tears.

Rip. Rip. Rip.

"That one's Cosmo," Shadowheart said, pointing to the cylindrical creature with eyes so soft and affectionate, Astarion could have retched. "If I had the room, I'd take him with me in a heartbeat."

Cosmo, as if he understood their conversation, detached himself from the scratching post and trotted over, winding between Shadowheart's legs with a cheery trill.

Acquiescing to his demands, Shadowheart stooped down to scrub at his back. "He's such a sweet boy, but he's so sensitive and..." She paused thoughtfully. "... a little high maintenance- nobody's been willing to take him. I'm surprised he's out, honestly. He's usually too shy with anyone who doesn't work here."

Cosmo leaned over to sniff Astarion's boots, pink nose twitching. It was almost cute, at least until the round little cat realized he was fraternizing with a stranger and bolted through a white, cat-flapped door on the far wall. An attached sign read "Employees Only."

"I don't think he works here," Astarion supplied drily.

Shadowheart shook her head with a fond smile and guided him deeper into the café, a gentle hand on his elbow. "You should feel honored. He's never spent so long around a stranger before."

The seating area was in a smaller room slightly offset from the main entryway, separated by a half step down onto cool gray tile. A long wooden bench wrapped around the room with tables made from worn, deeply stained two-by-fours and a small leatherbound book atop each one.

Astarion swiftly tucked himself into the most secluded corner, sheltered from view of the entrance by the slight outcropping of the wall. Overhead, the exposed lightbulbs were pleasantly dimmed, and the long windows that sat high on the wall allowed the late-day ambiance to trickle in.

Returning a moment later with a clipboard, Shadowheart presented him with a few pages of paperwork. "Normally we have people sign these when they make their reservations, but I didn't want to give you an excuse to back out." A waiver acknowledging that cats have teeth, fur, and claws, an agreement to treat the furry little beasts with respect, and an adoption interest sheet lay in a stack before him.

He was sure to check the "no" box on that last one.

"Should be an outlet behind you," Shadowheart informed him as she collected his forms. "Already told the kitchen your coffee order too. On the house with your voucher." She flashed a soft smile. "I'll be cleaning up, but if you need anything I shouldn't be far. Try to relax a bit, yeah?"

"If I can..." Astarion muttered as he shrugged off his bag and jacket, draping the latter over his lap. Stray cushions were piled along the bench, and he snagged a maroon one to tuck behind him. Calming bossa nova floated through the room, just loud enough to blend seamlessly with the dull hum of the building's HVAC. Were he feeling generous, he'd say it was quite cozy.

He was not, though, so instead it was dreary. The whole place was... a bit sad, actually. Not due to the decor, which had its homey, farmhouse-esque charm, but the emptiness of it. At some point, as evidenced by the scuffed floors, chipped tables, and well-worn seats, there had been a great deal of traffic. It made the barrenness all the more apparent.

He felt a pang of sympathy, which he quickly choked down with his freshly delivered latte. Curse Shadowheart for knowing what he liked best, and curse this hole in the wall for making such damn good espresso. Rich and fully-rounded, it coated his tongue like coffee-flavored velvet. Far nicer than what he usually picked up from the chain shop by his flat. To compare them almost felt like an insult. Even the mug, made of thick ceramic with a slightly iridescent white glaze, was comfortable in his hands, as if sculpted to fit him perfectly.

Perhaps he was looking a bit too comfortable, because as he pulled his laptop from his bag, the gray cat a few tables down rose into a languid stretch and began a leisurely stroll in his direction. It was a bit funny looking, its head crooked slightly to the side and its steps a bit unsure. Though Astarion was certain he was about to get a face full of tuna breath, the cat paused a short distance away, content to sit and stare.

Lovely.

As he waited for his money-sink of a computer to start up, his gaze drifted to the book on his table. It was decorated with cat stickers and a crude crayon drawing slipped into the protective plastic of the front cover. Scrawled in a clumsy hand was its purpose: "Cat-alogue."

With an admittedly performative, disdainful twinge of his lips, Astarion took a peek inside.

Past the first page, a simple introduction from the owner and an explanation of their adoption process that he promptly ignored, was the first cat. The tortoiseshell pom pom from the front window: Tara. Apparently named after the café's original owner, Tara was not just any cat but a tressym, and was a regular visitor to the café rather than a resident. Tressyms were, according to the legend typed beneath tidy lamination, excellent judges of character and to be deigned worthy of Tara's presence was a great honor.

He shrank a bit in his seat until he realized that it was ludicrous to be self-conscious about the opinion of a cat. Tressym. Whatever.

Beholder Jerky took up the second page. A resident cat named after his discovery in a cardboard box full of the stuff. Apparently he was a big fan of any toy with feathers and, as noted by the sign at the front, had a penchant for bolting towards the nearest open door. Beneath it all was a note, adhered with cat-print washi tape, that stated "Beebs" was on a café-cation and would return next tenday.

A few pages deeper, he found his visitor. "Ah, there you are," Astarion muttered with a sidelong glance at the gray cat, who had since settled into a smooth gray loaf, paws tucked under its chest. Kevin was available for adoption, and though she very much enjoyed the company of people, she did not enjoy being randomly petted. It's best, according to her profile, to extend a hand and allow her to guide any interactions.

"I suppose we have that in common."

He continued flipping through the catalog between sips of his latte. There were at least a dozen cats in the café, and each time he scanned the room he noticed another one. A calico lounging on one of the overhead bridges, a streak of black fur chasing after a puffball of white and gray on the shelves, the white cat in the cubby now spilling out the front of it, so thoroughly asleep it looked half-dead. Basil (Babs), Fleur de Lis (Foof), Hamhock (Ham), and Fist-Ordered Community Service (Fizz) respectively.

Cosmo occupied the final page, his round little self photographed as he comfortably lounged in one of the plush cat beds strewn about the place, his eyes closed in happy crescents. Their oldest adoptable cat, surrendered from an elderly couple who no longer had the means to take care of him. He was, as Shadowheart said, quite sensitive, but loved cuddles and was very affectionate with his favorite people. Apparently he was named after the smattering of white spots on his tummy, but visitors were highly discouraged from attempting to pet him there. Another sticky note was taped to his page. "I have been here for 6 months!"

Someone tsked, and Astarion realized with horror that he was the only one in the room, setting down the book with urgency.

His laptop was finally done starting up.

He glanced up at the "Employees Only" door Cosmo had disappeared behind, but there was no sign of him.

Was he disappointed? Hardly.

He didn't like cats after all.

Except for Kevin. Kevin seemed like good company. When he glanced at her she responded with a slow blink of acknowledgement. He nodded politely in return, opened a new tab away from his woefully active yet entirely uninteresting dating profiles, and checked his email.

His inbox was a disaster, as it always was. In spite of a hefty spam filter, nonsense from all of ProFang's socials still piled into his work inbox. Still, staring at it with glazed-over eyes gave him the brief opportunity to prepare for the nightmare that was his correspondence with his boss.

Accepting this job at ProFang Ascension LLC was, in retrospect, one of the worst decisions he had ever made. He ought to have been more skeptical of the pay, as what he naively assumed to be a generous salary from a progressive employer was, in fact, an act of sheer desperation. One ridiculously over-complicated contract later, and suddenly Astarion felt his generous salary was not nearly enough for the bullshit he was forced to run through every fucking day.

He tapped the offending message with a sigh.

Caz, as always, opened with a compliment:

Astarion,

Excellent work smoothing over that unfortunate situation with Sharess's Caress. As you are well aware, we pride ourselves at ProFang Ascension for our STRONG MORALS, including CONTEMPORARY FAMILY VALUES. There is room for EVERYONE at ProFang, and we value all people, regardless of their walk in life. Moreover, as the family that we are, it is deeply gratifying to see how hard you work to ensure our image remains true to our message. Thank you for your dedication.

His eyes rolled so hard he was able to catch a glimpse of his brain shying away from the rest of the email. True to form, his boss's next words were far more... honest.

With that in mind, I would like to inquire about your recent request for vacation time. I do not need to remind you that we are nearly finished with the applications for PROFANG ASCENSION: EVICTIONS TO EMPIRES (WORKING TITLE). I also do not need to remind you that our interactions on all socials for the past two tendays have been ABYSMAL.

DO BETTER.

I have been told that thumbnails featuring the creator's face are what does best. PUT MY FACE ON THE THUMBNAILS TWICE. I expect a gracious THANK YOU for my performing of your duties.

"Prick."

"What was that?" Shadowheart asked, rounding the corner with a broom in one hand and a folded napkin in the other.

Astarion waved a hand at his laptop with disdain. "Cazador is pissed that people aren't falling over themselves to worship him again after his rant about Sharess's Caress got leaked." Placing a hand to his face in mock shock, he bemoaned, "I can't imagine why people don't trust Caz's word after he said..." Even quoting his boss's hateful diatribe was too much for him. "...that shit." Dropping his hand, and his faux-scandalized expression, he slumped in his seat. "Fucking dickhead."

Shadowheart grimaced and placed the napkin in front of Astarion, the scratchy brown paper unfurling to reveal a glossy, perfectly golden croissant. She set her broom aside then, offering her now-empty hand to Kevin.

After an inquisitive sniff, the cat gave Shadowheart's hand one prim, silver-cheeked nuzzle.

"How much longer are you stuck working for him?"

"At least until he's finished with this next project, but then I'd have to find something else to do..." With a groan, he dropped his head to the table, his laptop's fan whirring away in chorus with the rest of the café's ambiance. The croissant, right in front of his face now, beckoned to him like a flaky, buttery temptress. "Maybe I'll join up with the Order of Silvanus. Forsake tech. Live in the woods. Eat... acorns or something."

Shadowheart hummed. "Lot of bare asses out there."

"That's one of the perks, my dear." Rolling his head so he faced Shadowheart, Astarion glanced up at his friend. Her attention was on Kevin, who had decided to bless her with yet another nuzzle. Then, because she was a cat and cats were awful, her treacherous maw opened and clamped down on Shadowheart's patiently still fingers.

"This is why I hate them," Astarion sing-songed as Shadowheart withdrew her fingers, entirely unharmed apart from four teeny dents in her skin, earning him little more acknowledgement than an eyeroll.

"Don't be an asshole," she sang back with a brief curl of her upper lip. "Besides, they seem to like you. Look."

Astarion, unmoving apart from his eyes, looked down and caught the dark tip of a short brown tail jutting straight up beside him. A cold, wet nose brushed against his hand and soon after, a fuzzy face pushed into his palm.

His lips twitched with the effort to keep his miserable expression in place. He could do it. He hated cats. Awful little beasts. Dreadful-

A white-toed paw pressed into his thigh and the top of Cosmo's ridiculous circular head peeked over the edge of the table.

And then he trilled, the tone swinging up as if asking a question. This seat taken? Or maybe something more like, Do you really hate me?

Wicked little monster, how could he resist?

Begrudgingly, Astarion scrubbed his fingers into the top of Cosmo's head, and the beanbag had the nerve to start purring. His eyes closed happily, forming the same little crescents as in his photo, and he stretched a bit taller to press into Astarion's fingers.

"Hate you..." Astarion mumbled as he scrubbed a bit harder, scratching gently behind twitchy triangular ears. Cosmo met the challenge with glee, purring even louder as his short tail rattled. The paw on his leg lifted briefly, then came down splayed.

Claws.

"Ah!"

Astarion would never do something as undignified as yelp, and yet by some cruel twist of fate, it still happened. He shot upright and Cosmo similarly shot up into the air. For a moment it looked like he was going to bolt again, but instead he scrunched up and started making the strangest, strangled little rasps.

Oh.

"Sensitive..." Astarion grumbled as Shadowheart took his jacket with a rueful smile. Little demon was fully on his lap now, settled onto him like the world's densest loaf of sourdough, purring up a storm. Those pokey paws of his were tucked away, and he rested his chin atop the table, eyes closed in an expression of pure feline serenity.

"You were warned." She reached over to stroke a finger over Cosmo's forehead, who remained resolutely in place. "Though since you are trapped for the foreseeable future, I can throw this in the wash? If you don't mind staying after we close."

"Only if it's free," Astarion agreed, unwilling to acknowledge the fact that he was achingly comfortable with Cosmo settled in his lap, and he dreaded the prospect of them separating. "You have laundry here?"

"Down the block. I have to wash some of the cat blankets anyway."

Once again alone with his laptop, Astarion shot Cazador's email a withering glare. It went on for at least ten more paragraphs, as peppered with all-caps phrases as the previous had been. Something-something replacing him with an AI, something-something ungrateful, something-something pointless personal projects...

He was joking earlier about joining the Order, but perhaps he would be better off. "Would you come with me?" he asked the bundle of fur in his lap, scratching between his shoulder blades to a chorus of trilling purrs. "No, you'd want a nice house. Somewhere warm and cozy and quiet. Big windows with lots of sun." A wicked grin spread on his face. "You could earn it, you know. All you'd have to do is put those claws to someone more deserving..."

Cosmo, being a cat, said nothing in return, but did let out a short, displeased squeak when Astarion stopped scratching him.

"Oh, my apologies."

Cats were the worst. He was still sure of that.

Cosmo was simply an exception.

As was Kevin.

"I think we're done with this for now," he muttered, both to himself and the cats, and closed out of his email. This was meant to be his time, after all.

Astarion never aspired to be a social media manager, especially not for a prick like Cazador, but he was good at it. His own socials, entirely separate from his work for ProFang, had a respectable following. He'd started with vlogs, as so many others did, and then it was makeup. Fashion. More vlogging. Vine. Youtube. TikTok. His snarky attitude, snide humor, and openness about his queer identity got him through several different periods of interest, and though his following remained small, they were loyal, fun people. He quite liked them.

The downside of being niche though, was he could not aggressively monetize what he did. He was not the sort of internet darling that got sponsorships or massive piles of monthly ad revenue. Last year he attempted to start a Patreon, but it swiftly took the joy out of what was, at the end of the day, a hobby.

Honestly, it was for the best that he did not rely on his internet presence for anything more than fun. Although Astarion was careful to make sure nothing directly tied him to Cazador, he still worried that his job could compromise the little community he had built. The obvious hypocrisy of working for Caz, who touted progressive ideals solely to serve his own interests, rattled him. Better that his two internet personas remain entirely separate from one another.

Tapping through his files, Astarion skimmed a half-dozen unfinished scripts, the laptop whirring in chorus with Cosmo's purrs. The products of a recent side project, a means to heal his artistic side from all of the soulless content-pushing bullshit he did for ProFang.

It wasn't anything special, just a video series about online marketing from the perspective of a small-scale content creator. He wasn't egotistical enough to believe his insights were of particular value, but he hoped that someone appreciated his perspective. At the very least, they could expect more honesty than that from a "self-made" Youtube millionaire like Cazador and his bizarre series of motivational alpha-male-esque guides.

No, Astarion aimed to offer practical, easily-applicable pointers. One of his favorites from the series detailed his journey in developing his online persona and offered advice on how to be real without being too real. While he never expected himself to be one for internet safety, he felt a bit better knowing his own shitty experiences could spare someone else the same. Genuine was great in person, but when preserved online, any flaw was a weakness waiting to be exploited.

This script was a bit different. Where he usually offered advice on how to increase one's online presence, this time he was going back to basics. Channel assets. Graphics. Simple little things that any aspiring online personality ought to have some understanding for.

He glanced towards the café's front door and its menagerie of inkjet printouts.

Perhaps it also had some real-world relevancy.

Maybe it was Cosmo's pleasant weight in his lap. Maybe it was the sinfully delicious croissant that he picked his way through layer by layer. Maybe it was the calm quiet of the empty café, but regardless of the reason Astarion found himself completely engrossed in his script. He usually aimed to make his videos between ten and twenty minutes long, and while it was never that difficult to come up with what to say, the words were flowing with untold ease that evening. The orange streaks of sunlight that managed to reach the back wall of the café crept up, up, up until they winked out, and he turned down the brightness on his screen to spare his eyes.

Shadowheart puttered about, wiping down tables and pushing in chairs, playing with the cats, and offering them their nightly meal, for which Kevin slinked away to enjoy. Once or twice he caught her watching him out of the corner of his eye, smug as anything.

Fine. She earned it. Being miserable was proving impossible.

Cosmo remained his constant ally, his purrs quieting as the fuzzball fell asleep atop his thighs. Astarion learned that cats could snore, and Cosmo's were teeny wheezes.

It was heart-achingly adorable.

Shadowheart dimmed the lights even further and stepped out to grab the laundry, leaving Astarion truly alone.

This was... good. Humility did not come to him easily, and he certainly was not going to give Shadowheart the satisfaction of hearing him say it, but she was right. This café, in all of its sleepy wonder, had given him respite he did not know he needed. At the same time, it was baffling that the place felt so... forgotten? It wasn't Astarion's scene, but there were plenty of people in the Lower City who would love a place like this.

Curiosity led him to his browser, typing out the café's name in the search bar-

Suddenly, the back door swung open, hitting the wall with a soft thump. A man clad in a flour-dusted apron and an incredibly unflattering combination of a hair and beard net stumbled into the room. He watched, frozen, as the stranger wearily shuffled to a sofa in the front room, head down and seemingly unaware of Astarion's presence, collapsing heavily into the cushions with a groan and a loud click of his knees. A broad hand pulled the nets from his head, revealing a tight bun of silver-streaked brunette hair and a similarly speckled short beard, while the other shucked his apron, exposing the ill fit of his t-shirt around his middle.

Almost immediately, he began to snore.

Cosmo, woken by Astarion's sudden change in demeanor, lifted his head to sniff the air. Then, in an act of astonishing betrayal, he rose on his short legs, stretched, and trotted over to the newcomer. At the same time, the elusive Tara appeared, fluttering to the couch to drape herself over the man's shoulders. Kevin settled on the unoccupied portion of the couch while Fizz curled up against the man's thighs and Eebee flopped onto his feet.

Then, as if Astarion's heart was not already shattered, Cosmo hopped up and wedged himself between the man's thighs, purring so loudly Astarion could hear it from across the café. Worse yet, the traitorous feline didn't even loaf in his lap, but tipped over so he was effectively mirroring the man's pose, revealing the flecks of white on his belly that inspired his name.

Ridiculous...

...and cute, loathe though he was to admit it. The man's features certainly helped with that, Astarion indulging in just a bit of ogling. He had a strong nose and long, thick lashes that fluttered as he slept. Strong brows scored with worry lines and dark circles under his eyes. His simple white t-shirt hid little of his figure, full-bodied with a curve at his waist and a soft belly that peeked out beneath the worn hem. And, compared to his own lean legs, Astarion could understand why Cosmo preferred to be bracketed by the other's soft thighs. Apparently a white-speckled tummy was a trait they both shared.

Tara was staring at him now. Cats- tressyms.

"What?" he whispered indignantly.

She remained perfectly still, unblinking.

Shadowheart returned a few moments later, arms laden with blankets and his jacket, breezing through the front door and startling in a way that was definitely not funny when she saw the man asleep on the couch. "Gods," she hissed, shuffling over to kick the man in the shins. "Gale!"

"Set an alarm. 's fine,'' the man mumbled, his voice a low baritone. "You can lock'p." He sleepily lifted a hand to wave her off, but it swiftly fell over his chest with a quiet thump. "'ave a good night."

"Gale, there's still someone here."

"Wha?" Gale's eyes opened and oh, weren't they a pretty sight? Long lashes parted to reveal sleepy, coffee-brown irises, distant and unfocused. "Someone's..."

"Over here, darling," Astarion called with a short wave, sparing the poor thing from having to find him. It was a bit dark in the café now, the overhead lights switched off, and the human was squinting through the shadows.

"Oh!" Gale startled and raised a broad hand. "Hullo. I- Oh dear." His face reddened curiously as he looked down at himself, gently taking Cosmo around the middle and lifting him off his lap. Cosmo let out an indignant squeak of protest. "I- Excuse me for a minute, please."

Tara remained on his shoulders as Gale shot to his feet with a wince and another click and scurried away, yanking the door most of the way before gingerly clicking it shut.

Astarion shot Shadowheart an inquisitive look and she shrugged. "He's just a little awkward," was all she offered before placing his freshly laundered jacket at his side. "Don't take it personally, I'm sure he-."

"Shadowheart? Do you have a moment?"

In spite of his rather sharp elvish hearing, Astarion could not make out the hushed conversation happening just behind the door. What he could tell was that Gale sounded upset and Shadowheart found it all very... funny? She was giggling, and when she emerged back into the seating area, her grin was disturbingly self-satisfied.

Naturally, Astarion didn't trust her for shit. "What?"

"Oh nothing, I just let him know you're the friend I got the voucher for. He's very happy to hear that Cosmo likes you." She spoke sincerely, but there was a telltale wobble of barely-suppressed amusement in her voice.

Astarion's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"That's all," she said, lifting her chin in quiet challenge. "Did you get anything done?"

"I... did, actually." Astarion turned his laptop to reveal ten fresh pages of script that he'd drafted. "New video's going to be about graphic design basics. Making assets. Consistency. That kind of thing." He stood to don his jacket.

"Back to your roots I see."

"It's important! Brand identity doesn't mean anything if that branding is clumsy and disorganized," Astarion informed her, borrowing a bit of smugness for himself.

"Don't I know it."

Gale emerged from the back looking decidedly more put together. His bun had been let down and retied, capturing only the upper layers of his hair in a scrunchable bundle, and his t-shirt was now layered beneath a thick purple argyle cardigan, the sleeves slightly frayed. There was a kiss of pink lingering on his cheeks and Tara still stood on his shoulders, but whatever tension he'd been carrying seemed to have dissipated.

Striding over to him with an outstretched hand, Gale smiled, crinkling up those pretty brown eyes. "Gale Dekarios."

"Astarion."

Gale's hand was delightfully warm and his grip gentle as he placed his other hand atop Astarion's to shake it. "A pleasure to meet you. I do apologize for my behavior earlier. When Shadowheart mentioned she'd bought a voucher for a friend, she failed to inform me that friend was you." He chuckled, shifting a bit on his feet as he released Astarion's hand. "I've been watching your how-to videos for a while now."

Astarion, ever the opportunist, smirked. "Oh, well I've never had the pleasure of meeting a fan before."

Gale laughed nervously as the dusting of pink on his cheeks intensified. "I suppose I am one, aren't I? Wish I could have applied a few of your lessons before you got here, though. I can't imagine what kind of impression you got coming into this place." He eyed the front door and groaned. "The font choices alone..."

A brow quirked with surprise, Astarion asked, "You... aren't the one who made all of those?"

"Oh no." Gale shook his head wearily. "That would be the owner's doing. My mother. It's uh, it's difficult to do much here without her stamp of approval. Or her direct involvement. In spite of her lack of presence on the premises." He wrung those warm hands in front of his chest, dark eyes darting around the room before settling on Astarion's shoulder. "I hope your visit was better than the first impressions at least."

"It was... " He was going to make a snarky comment about Cosmo's little mishap, but Gale was standing there, all nervous hope, and the complaint died in his throat. "...lovely, actually." And that was honest. He swung a hand in Cosmo's direction, who was curled up where Gale had been sleeping, happy as a clam. "He makes a good cuddle buddy."

"Cosmo?" Gale asked, incredulous, meeting his eyes once more. They got so wide when he was surprised, and in spite of the way it creased his forehead, the expression took years off his tired face.

"Fell asleep in my lap," Astarion affirmed with a nod.

Gale had a gorgeous smile, Astarion decided. Genuine and warm and he wondered if the man was capable of being anything but. "That's... that's wonderful. He's been here for months you know, and as much as I love him, I can't take him home and the café is just too chaotic for him to be a resident..." Again, there was that dreadfully earnest look in Gale's eyes. "He's a very sweet boy."

"He is," Astarion agreed, aware of the dangers of such a statement. Gale's gaze, soft as it was, still felt like it was burning a hole through his resilience. "I could be convinced to come by and visit until he's taken."

"That would be lovely." Gale blinked and Astarion was taken aback as his eyes closed into the same adorable crescents as Cosmo's did. It was cute on the cat, obviously, but on Gale? With those pinchable, rosy cheeks bunching up and crinkling the corners of his eyes?

His heart may have skipped a beat.

And then Shadowheart cleared her throat, eyeing the two of them with that godsdamned sly smile of hers, that mischievous little twinkle in her eye, that teeny crease of her nose that mocked him... Did she-?

No, surely not.

"I think I'll head out now," she said, a playful lilt in her voice. "I'll see you tomorrow Gale." As she placed her hand on the door she paused. "Oh, and Astarion's laptop has been overheating- think you have time to look at it?"

That- that sneak!

"I- Oh, I think- Yes! I can do that, if you'd like me to?" Gale looked at him and oh! Oh it was unfair! He was just so damned- "I've got a repair kit in the office."

Astarion narrowed his eyes at Shadowheart and her sly grin softened.

"You hate literally everything," she countered, popping another fry in her mouth as she began to count on her fingers. "Pop music. Sparkling water. Babies. The beach-"

"You can't even swim! You shouldn't like it either!"

"My point is-" she continued, ignoring his interjection, "-you're going to gripe about it no matter what, so you might as well just do it to make us happy. Unless you're on your gift-giving bullshit again..." She fluttered her dark lashes. "Or am I wrong?"

Astarion gasped, hand to his heart with indignity. "Shadowheart! I did not come here to be picked apart by your half-finished psych degree." Though his tone was playful, there was an edge to it, one that both Shadowheart and Minthara leaned in for. "I am entitled to be particular about what I like, I just enjoy being a dick about it." No acknowledgement for the struggle with gifts.

He knew when he'd been had.

"Fine," Shadowheart replied dismissively, swirling the dregs of her drink, ice rattling in the condensation-coated glass. "I guess if I was committed to being miserable, I'd refuse to indulge my friends too." Then she sighed heavily, drooping like a cut flower. "Here I was, thinking I'd get to share one of my favorite places with you..."

"Gods, I thought this was supposed to be a night out for me! A treat! And you have the nerve to treat me this way!" He took a fry, delightfully crisp, and his tongue shriveled from the heavy coating of salt. There had been a time he claimed to hate fried food...

Ugh.

Mintahra scoffed. "You could spare what dignity you have left by accepting the gift, then. It's far better than what you were planning."

"And how do you know-"

"You spew the contents of your mind onto your story. Hourly."

"Wild that you look at all of it," Astarion huffed, caught.

Shadowheart nodded. "If things go the way I think they will, you'll be very happy. All I'm asking is that you give it a shot."

It took all of Astarion's willpower not to groan as Shadowheart's plan came into sudden clarity.

Curse her. Not really... but curse her just a teeny, tiny little bit. A pinch of misfortune. Punishment for her meddling.

Because she was right. Because if he did truly enjoy being a miserable asshole, he'd have stuck to his original plans for a shitty hookup and been done with it. He'd have run out the door the second he noticed how pleasant the café was. He'd have languished in the emptiness of it, bemoaned the ridiculous cat names, nitpicked his latte, stormed out when Cosmo threw up on his jacket...

And, with her ulterior motive now exposed...

Gale waved to Shadowheart as she left, his expression taken with fondness. Wracking his memory, he couldn't recall Shadowheart ever mentioning him, other than the fact that her good friend was the reason she got a job at the café in the first place. Given that Gale was the owner's son, it stood to reason that he was the friend in question.

A wave of gratitude washed through him. Shadowheart had... she'd been through a lot. More than a half-elf of her years should have ever had to face. And through all of the personal work, the therapy, the making amends and drawing boundaries, her job had always been a source of peace.

Gratitude warped into guilt. He could have been kinder about it all. When Shadowheart gushed about her job, how it was so fulfilling to work with her friend and the cats, Astarion would tease her. Gently, of course, and he was genuinely happy that she had somewhere that kept her safe and busy, but he kept getting hung up on the damn cats.

He... he hated- didn't like cats.

Right?

And she still did this for him. It was... more than he deserved, honestly.

With a sigh far more dramatic than necessary, Astarion surrendered. "Help would be lovely."

Gale's office was down a short hall through the Employees Only door. In stark contrast to the warm, cozy public portion of the cafe, this space felt... old. From the greyish-blue linoleum tile floor to the discolored drop ceiling, it felt like Astarion had stepped into an entirely different building. The stark white walls were textured by countless slap-dash paint jobs and though everything looked fairly dust-free, there was an aged weariness that made it all feel grungy.

There was, however, a lingering scent of pastries and coffee in the air, drifting down the hall from the unseen kitchen, and Astarion caught a trace of something else as he trailed behind Gale. Lavender, perhaps? It was pleasant enough to distract from the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, cold and casting harsh shadows over Gale's face as he turned to open the dented door to his office, but when Gale placed his hand on the worn silver handle, he hesitated.

"Everything alright, dear?" Astarion asked, pleased to see a fresh shade of pink overtake the high points of his cheeks. Gale blushed so easily, and Astarion would be remiss not to relish in each wash of color that overtook his tanned skin.

Gale nodded, his brunette waves shifting slightly and revealing a silver stud in his left ear. "Yes. Yes! It's just a bit messy is all."

Astarion was unconvinced, especially when Gale glanced at him with the same wide, anxious eyes he'd seen when he startled awake from his nap earlier.

"Is that all?" Flustering him was fun, but the thought of causing any legitimate distress made his stomach twist. "I don't mind a mess, you've seen my backgrounds before." His bedroom, to be precise. And it was bad.

Gale let out a breathy chuckle. "Fair enough." The tension in his shoulders fell as he opened the door. "Move things as you need, I don't even know what half of this is anymore."

A bit messy was a bit of an understatement. Organized chaos, while generous, would have been a far more accurate description... if one considered stacking things into piles to be a form of organization. There were obvious attempts to keep it all somewhat under control, with wire organizers stuffed full of forms and envelopes lining the edge of a U-shaped desk that sat against the wall. There were notes tacked onto everything in two distinct handwriting styles, and Gale hurriedly scooped up what he could to shove into the overhead cabinets that were, in stark contrast, tidy and sparsely occupied. "I assure you this is not entirely within my control," Gale huffed as he skirted around the desk to scoop up another pile of discarded paperwork to free up a seat, unceremoniously shoving it into the cabinet as well.

Gale's blush was not nearly as cute when it sprung from shame, staining his ears more than his cheeks, and Astarion took the initiative to scoop up his own pile of paperwork from the peeling orangey veneer desktop and pass it off to Gale. He looked a little lost as he accepted the stack, and Astarion briefly wondered if he had overstepped. "Thank you," Gale said softly, present again after a few seconds. Then, after clearing his throat, he nodded. "This should be enough space, I think. Mind handing me your computer?"

Astarion passed the laptop into Gale's waiting hands and seated himself opposite him. Unlike the worn, comfortable seating in the café proper, this chair was hard, lumps digging into his back and thighs, and the cheap pleather cushion stuck to his palm when he braced himself against it. Gale seemed to notice his discomfort... or maybe it was made obvious by Astarion bouncing on the squeaky cushion. "Another relic from my mother. Whenever she doesn't want to deal with something she just-" He gestured helplessly at the remaining mess before them. "-leaves it for me."

"She doesn't want to deal with a chair?" Astarion wondered as Gale turned the laptop in his hands.

Gale sighed and set the computer down for a moment, a weariness beyond his years settling over his face. His shoulders hunched under an invisible weight. "Apparently not."

With a grunt, Gale reached under the desk and hefted a frayed nylon duffel bag into his lap, fishing around until he produced a deep purple leather glasses case. It flipped open with a satisfying thwack.

As if he couldn't get cuter, Astarion thought helplessly as Gale affixed the round-framed, silver spectacles to his face, lips pursed with concentration as he examined the laptop. "It's a pretty new machine," he mused quietly, talking more to himself than Astarion. "Doesn't look damaged in any way..."

Gods, he needed a distraction, and his eyes flitted desperately around the small office. Tara had entered with them and settled atop the cabinets, watching him with those ever-piercing green eyes. While not unsettling per se, he felt a little too... seen under her gaze.

He swiftly looked elsewhere.

Beyond the mess of paperwork, random trinkets, and a few gnawed and forgotten pencils, there were several framed photos adorning the weary drywall. Most of them featured two women, one beaming in a cute gingham waitressing uniform and the other stern in simple, practical wear with an apron and a hair net. They grew older with the photos- gaining vibrancy and age as time wore on, joined sometimes by a random cast of staff. A few broadsheet clippings found themselves framed and mounted to the wall as well, including one that proudly declared Miss Tara's as a highlight of the Lower City's casual dining scene.

And then there were the photos on the desk. In the far corner sat a computer that was at least a decade older than it should be, and alongside it several more picture frames. These ones featured only the waitress and a younger Gale, clean-shaved, thinner, and adorably baby-faced in nearly all of them. From the strong nose to the soulful brown eyes, the resemblance between him and the waitress was uncanny.

In some of the pictures, Gale was in the café's kitchen, his short-cropped hair in a net as he burrowed the heel of his hand into a mound of dough or artfully poured steamed milk into a carefully cradled mug. Others looked more like family photos, Gale and his mother laughing while seated on a staircase or stiffly posed in front of a mottled blue background that reeked of decades since past.

There was only one relatively recent photo, one that featured a Gale much like the one in front of him, acknowledging the camera with tired eyes and his mother's time-worn hands clasped in his. Both of them were dressed fully in black, and tucked into the corner of the frame was a navy blue memorial card, the cardstock warped and its edges slightly fuzzy. In Memory of our Beloved Tara, it read above a photo of the much older, but still recognizable, stern woman from the wall gallery.

And then there was the photo right beside the monitor.

It was Gale's mother again, looking as young as she did in the earliest of the faded pictures of her and Tara, a young girl on her hip as late evening sun illuminated them from behind. They were smiling, nose-to-nose, the girl's face scrunched up, mid-giggle as loose brunette hair spilled from her twin braids and over her face, violet ruffles flipped up around her neck by the slight breeze. Astarion could practically hear her gleeful squeal, and Gale's mother was looking at her with a fondness that made his heart ache.

Gale cleared his throat, and Astarion's attention snapped back to him. His laptop was resting on the desk now, and Gale was drumming his fingers over the plastic casing. "I um, I don't suppose you remember the last time you cleaned the vents in this thing, do you?"

"Never," he answered simply, grinning as Gale's anxiety collapsed into shock and horror.

"Astarion! Well, you ought to get in the habit of doing so. I clean out my machine at least once a month with all the cat hair that gets around." He moved to one of the overhead cabinets, flipping up the door and grabbing a little spray can, his shirt riding up as he reached for it.

Ever the gentleman, Astarion made sure to eye the fuzzy swath of his lower back for only a moment.

"You should consider getting one of these. Compressed air. Excellent for a quick clean." Gale held up the can as if he were hosting an infomercial, rambling about how easy they were to use, how one had to be careful not to freeze their hands, but his blooming nerves were painfully obvious.

Gale took his seat again, still yapping away. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, of course. Plenty of people don't consider computer maintenance when they buy one, and this model has particularly atrocious airflow-"

Gods, this man could talk.

"Gale," Astarion interrupted, gently covering one of Gale's fluttering hands with his own. Gale's mouth snapped shut with a click, those gorgeous brown eyes locked where Astarion held him. "You're going to pass out if you don't take a second to breathe."

"I am?" Gale asked, appropriately breathless, before an anxious laugh shook his shoulders. "Ah, forgive me. Terrible habit of mine, that. My mother used to threaten to tape my mouth shut when I was a child. In jest, I hasten to clarify, but that is to say, I've had a lifelong propensity for verbosity. I apologize, for you seem to have fallen victim to it."

"Think nothing of it," Astarion said with a dismissive flick of his wrist, surprised that he actually didn't mind. Were it anyone else, he was certain he would have gone for Gale's throat by now, desperate to shut him up, but... no. For some reason Gale's nervous babbling was delightfully endearing. Was it the novelty? Astarion never really went for the shy ones..

Tipping his chin down, Astarion met Gale's eyes through a fan of snowy lashes. "Not that I mind seeing you breathless. I'd just prefer it be for other reasons."

Gale blinked once. Twice. Body rigid as if time had stopped altogether. It rode the line between cute and concerning, if only because Astarion had no clue if he'd broken Gale in the correct direction, his face a brilliant crimson. Thankfully, thankfully, Gale broke into a beaming smile a moment later, pretty eyes sparkling. "Terribly forward of you, Astarion. And at my place of work!" He chuckled and Astarion gripped the cheap armrest of his chair for all he was worth. "Workshopping your material, are you?"

"You've caught me. That was dreadful, wasn't it?" Astarion conceded, feigning bashfulness with a shake of his head as he willed himself to relax. He was fine. "You simply must help me."

"Oh, I'm afraid I am rather hopeless in that department," Gale said, properly bashful as he turned his gaze back to Astarion's laptop. "Though I tend to be verbose, the proper... application of my words tends to elude me. And goodness knows that I've not found myself on the receiving end of such attention in so long that I..." Briefly, Gale's face darkened, but he shook it away like a wet dog drying its coat. "No, I've found that the best way to someone's heart is a listening ear and a bit of home-baked bribery." And there it was, that cute, smug little smirk back where it rightly belonged on his face.

"Is that so? It's certainly working on me." Astarion leaned in, the lumpy pleather seat beneath him creaking and absolutely ruining the sultry air he was attempting to put on. Gale's lips twitched with amusement though, so a win was a win. "That croissant I had earlier was all your doing, wasn't it? You seem the type to put love into everything you make."

"I certainly try to!" Gale answered, all too sincere through the thick haze of theatrical flirtations. "It's a lot of effort, but they are one of my favorites to make. I-" He paused, cutting off his own ramble. "Are you teasing me?"

Astarion was surprised to find himself disappointed. As if he was looking forward to Gale rambling about the intricacies of making croissants.

He'd have listened.

"Trying to," Astarion confirmed with a little laugh of his own. "But you're very cute when you get excited. Do tell me more."

Something shifted then, the mirthful twinkle in Gale's eyes extinguished.

Gale's chair let out a high-pitched groan as he straightened in his seat, the fuzzy warmth their banter created evaporating as if sucked through the square vent overhead. "Much as I am enjoying this, I do think I should clear something up with you." His broad hands were folded, resting on the desk, and suddenly it felt as if Astarion was attending a P.A. staff meeting rather than hitting on Shadowheart's funny little boss. Even his tone had changed, hardened now. Firm.

Surely Astarion hadn't misread the situation. Gale seemed to be enjoying himself up until this point.

The prospect that he had been mistaken, or even worse, led on should've angered him. He had stormed out of his fair share of failed hookups, though if he'd been more hurt or indignant, he was never certain.

The obvious problem was, despite Shadowheart's meddling, this meeting with Gale wasn't a hookup. Astarion was getting to know him with some romantic pretense, granted, but without the end goal of getting naked, he realized he didn't know what to do now that things had taken a turn. Terrifyingly, he didn't want to storm out on Gale. When and how he got so invested in this little connection, he had no idea, but... shit. Surely he hadn't already done something to disappoint Gale, right?

Damn it all.

As if he could sense Astarion's turmoil, Gale unfolded his hands and offered one, palm-up, across the desk. "It's not a- well, it is a big deal, actually. For me, though, not for you." There was still a hard edge to his voice, not sharp, but rigid nevertheless.

A shield rather than a blade.

Curious.

Doing his best to school his skeptical expression, and quell the bubbling anxiety in his gut, Astarion slipped his hand into Gale's. The back of Gale's hand had been unremarkable when Astarion held it earlier, but like this? His calloused palm and strong fingers, warm and gently closing around his own? It certainly did wonders in calming the chaos behind his eyes. "I haven't done anything to upset you, have I?" Astarion asked, startled by the earnestness of his own words.

"No! No. Not at all," Gale answered hurriedly. "I apologize. I'm not trying to keep you in suspense. I just, um..." Gale glanced around the office, his eyes settling on Astarion's shoulder again, the grip on his hand a touch tighter while Gale's other hand fluttered helplessly by his head. "I haven't had to have this conversation with someone in a long time, and I quite like you, or I think I would given a bit of time, or- well that doesn't... either way, I would really... oh blast it all."

His free hand now balled in a fist atop the desk, Gale sighed deeply. "Sorry. I'm sure this is doing nothing for your nerves. It's just... difficult to put words to-"

Astarion found himself squeezing Gale's hand, the frustration on his tired face softening at the touch. "It's doing wonders for them, actually," he teased with a weak, entirely unconvincing grin.

He was rewarded with a brief flicker of big brown puppy eyes and the smallest twitch of Gale's lips.

Then, lightning-quick, Gale blurted, "I'm trans."

"Oh." How anticlimactic! And after all of that waffling... "Well, that's no big deal," Astarion cooly informed him as he slumped back in his seat, the tension in his body melting away in an instant. Here he was, worried that Gale had some sort of deadly disease or thought Astarion was a total asshole or was some part of an illegal underground cat-dealing ring...

"It is, actually," Gale insisted, finally meeting Astarion's eyes again, jolting him from his thoughts. "It's a big deal to me."

"Right! Right. Of course it is." Leaning forward once more, Astarion took Gale's hand in both of his. Gale was hardly the first trans person he'd met, and while he was no expert on an experience far outside his own, he could at least refrain from being dismissive. "Would you like me to call you something else, then? Whatever you're comfortable with," Astarion told him gently, sincerely, complete with a soothing rub on the back of his hand.

Strangely, Gale frowned. "What? I-"

That was progress! Confusion was better than stress, surely.

"No, no." Gale huffed a laugh through his nose and shook his head. What a relief it was to see him relax a little, a spot of warmth blossoming in Astarion's chest. "I started my transition as a teen and am quite settled into who I am now. Kind of you to ask, though." He was smiling again, his voice that same gentle cadence from before.

"I do understand if this affects your interest in me," Gale continued, the lines on his brow deepening as the faintest traces of worry crossed his face again. He withdrew his hand. "No hard feelings, of course."

Astarion chased after it, catching Gale's retreating fingers in his own once more. "Darling, didn't you hear me? I already said it was no big deal. To me." Astarion winked as he echoed Gale's words, smiling properly when those tense shoulders of his fell with relief. "I'm just glad you felt safe enough to tell me."

"I thought you should know." Though relieved, Gale still spoke with some reservation, as if he did not fully trust Astarion's words. A few more strokes on the back of his tanned hands seemed to soothe him at least, a wariness in his eyes that slowly abated the longer Astarion sat with him in gentle silence. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for anything," Astarion assured him, more earnest than he ever thought he could be.

Over Gale's shoulder, Astarion caught another glimpse of the photograph by the computer. The one of Gale's mother and the little girl.

So was that-?

Gale caught his gaze and turned to take the frame. "You know, I used to be so paranoid about having this out on the desk. I'd hide it every time a guest came in..." He looked upon the photograph with the same affection his mother showed for the squealing child in her arms, though his face was clouded by melancholy. A raincloud eclipsing the golden summer evening frozen behind the glass. "A complete waste of time, as it turns out. People just assume she's my sister, or daughter on occasion."

"It's a very cute picture," Astarion offered. "Purple has always been your color, I suppose."

"I agree. Not to brag, of course," said Gale, distantly.

"Of course. Though the ruffles leave something to be desired."

"Oh! Well, you'll have to blame my mother for that. Had I been in charge of my wardrobe back then, I'd be in nothing but a wizard costume all day." And there it was again. That smile. Gorgeous, adorable, golden and sweet as honey. The things he would do to see it break over Gale's face again and again... "Thank you," Gale said quietly, encompassing all that had gone unsaid, those beautiful, soulful eyes glistening... and then with a few rapid blinks and a sniff, his attention turned back to the laptop. "Ah, but where were we- compressed air! It's quite cheap and..."

Astarion leaned forward, content to listen as his rambling kicked up once again, more eager than nervous now. Gale's hands, now freed from Astarion's grip, fluttered through the air as he spoke, and Astarion decided he enjoyed this Gale, all expression and enthusiasm. He did blast his laptop with the compressed air eventually, sending up a significant puff of dust and startling Tara from her perch atop the cabinet. She swiftly declared her displeasure, thwapping the back of Gale's head with a wing before seating herself between both of them.

"Tara please, this is hardly appropriate," Gale protested weakly, but Tara planted herself right in front of Astarion, emerald eyes level with his, evaluating him with a look far too sharp to belong to an animal. She fluffed her wings, an ear twitched, and with a strangely humanoid sigh, she flew back up to her perch and resumed her staring, though softer than before.

Gale seemed delighted at least, a look of pure adoration plastered on his face as he twisted to eye his companion. "That's kinder than she usually is with new people. Tressyms are remarkable judges of character you see, but once they're bonded with someone they can be a bit... protective." Gale turned back to Astarion with a look of mischief. "You should see how she treats our more... rambunctious visitors. One needn't speak Common to get a proper scolding across, apparently."

"Hopefully I can make my way into her good graces, then."

Tara's eyes narrowed in response, turning up her nose with feline haughtiness.

Gale, however, grew nervous again at the suggestion, his eyes darting to stare at one of the piles still stacked on the desk. "There is one other thing... I feel I should be honest with you, Astarion. Not that it's my intention to keep piecemealing confessions to you until morning." He swallowed hard, his fingers drumming atop the desk, and Astarion placed a hand over his once more. This time Gale withdrew fully, folding his hands in his lap, and Astarion tried not to let the rejection sting.

"As you are aware, I have been a viewer of your work for quite some time and, um, I suppose in the course of that, I have developed a bit of a crush on you." He was staring at his lap now, adorably red in the face. "Entirely parasocial, of course, but I feel it would be... amoral not to mention that if you intend on spending more time with me."

Astarion hummed as his thoughts turned to Shadowheart, to her little scheme to get the two of them alone together. "I had a feeling," he began, and Gale's eyes widened with horror. "Not that it's a bad thing! Just that Shadowheart looked far too smug when she asked you to look at my computer."

Thankfully that eased the dreadful look of shame off of Gale's face, a weak grin replacing it. "Gods, she's so..."

"Obnoxious? Nosy? Meddlesome?" Astarion suggested helpfully.

"Sweet," decided Gale. "She's been teasing me about it for months. I guess it makes sense, seeing as you're her friend, but I never thought she'd go so far as to have you come here and..." He sighed, sinking into his seat. "It's just so funny, because you yourself said that you cultivate a persona for online, so it's hardly even a real crush. I don't actually know you at all. Honestly, it's rather embarrassing."

Hmm... it'd be hypocritical to agree with such a statement when Astarion blushed at the sight of Gale donning his glasses, but he figured such a quip would be unhelpful right now. "It may not be a crush, then. Admiration, perhaps," he suggested, though he wasn't fond of the thought. "Unless..."

Briefly, Gale glanced at him, brow creased with worry, eyes sad and searching. There was hurt in there, one that went far deeper than the shame Gale showed. "You're... confident. Competent. Passionate. Witty. The way you orate your videos is so professional and you give real, grounded information. It doesn't feel like you're trying to sell me something, but you're also honest about the fact that it's not you on screen. It's... refreshing. I do admire that a lot."

Gale took a shaky breath and laughed. "And you're... you know... who you are. You don't hide that. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. Even moreso in person, which I didn't think was possible." He picked at a bit of lint on his sweater. "And now you've been so kind to me... accepting... I haven't needed to tell anyone about that part of my life in ages, nor have I wanted to, but if I am to give in to hope, I want you to know now." Then, at last, he lifted his gaze to meet Astarion's. "However, I know what it's like to have... expectations set upon you, intentionally or not. I would hate to burden you with that, even in an acquaintanceship."

"Oh Gale." What was he to say to that? It was a very good point, even if it raised questions that Astarion was afraid to find answers for. Expectations, the hurt in Gale's eyes, the anxiety around who he was... Astarion had known Gale for only an hour, yet so much of who he was had been laid bare before him. "Give me your hand. Please."

Gale hesitated for a moment before obeying and Astarion clasped it with both of his, gentle but firm. "Thank you for being so honest with me," he said softly. "You're right that I'm not the same person as I am on screen. I am... cynical. I can be cruel. I'm more disillusioned than I would ever dare show." He struggled to believe the words spilling over his lips, but there was something about Gale that begged for him to bare his soul; show this dangerously earnest man that he did not have to be alone in his vulnerability.

"I can be such an asshole. I came here determined to have a bad time, Gale, and I couldn't. Cosmo threw up on my coat and I didn't tell you because I didn't want to hurt your feelings. That is not who I usually am." It was Astarion's turn to laugh, shaking his head incredulously as the realization hit him. "But it's nice, you know? You are so sweet and it makes me want to be kinder... and I only just met you."

Gale laughed and Astarion fought the urge to cup his bunched, lightly freckled cheeks in his hands.

"And, Gale Dekarios, you are adorable."

"No..."

"Yes." Fuck propriety. Astarion stood and clapped his hands around Gale's face, squeezing him just hard enough to force eye contact. Spoke so sincerely that Gale couldn't mistake his words for teasing if he tried. "You are so. Fucking. Cute. Gale."

Gale squirmed, his lips forced apart from the press of Astarion's hands on his cheeks.

"Reawwy?"

Astarion snorted.

Gale giggled.

It was a terrible feedback loop. Gale had such a delightful laugh, a quiet puff that pitched up into a nigh-hysterical cackle, one that had tears streaming down his face and was agonizingly contagious. Astarion was all but folded over the desk, at one point desperately inhaling hard enough to choke on his own saliva, which only made them laugh harder.

Oh, he hadn't laughed like that in a while. His sides ached.

"By the gods..." Gale wheezed, wiping away his tears with the heel of his hand as he slumped back in his chair. "That was... that was very silly." He rocked with an aftershock of a chuckle. "Thank you."

Astarion nodded, pushing himself off the desk. "I meant it, Gale." He reached over and tucked a loose lock of silver-streaked hair behind his ear, earning himself a shy look of appreciation.

Those sweet eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, and Gale gently caught Astarion's hand by his face and pressed it to his cheek. "I believe you."

And, being the wicked little shit he was, Astarion smirked.

"Reawwy?"

Another giggle fit left them with Astarion sitting atop Gale's side of the desk, gently smoothing his cardigan over his shoulders. "It really is a good color on you," he mused. "Brings out the warmth in your skin. Makes you look sun-kissed."

Gale hummed. "Sun-kissed," he echoed dreamily, lopsided grin quirking just a bit. "It's a good idea, I think."

"What is?" Astarion probed, already cupping his jaw, indulging in the pleasant scratch of his beard on his palm.

"A kiss. If you want to."

"I think I do."

They leaned in. Their lips brushed. Astarion heard Gale's breath hitch, a stillness in the warmth between them as the scent of him flooded his nose-

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

At once, they both jumped, knocking their foreheads together with bruising force and a simultaneous cry of pain.

"I'm so sorry!" Gale cried, rubbing a thumb into the sore spot above Astarion's brow as he fumbled for his phone. "Damned alarm, I- I completely lost track of time." There was that adorable redness again, painting his cheeks as his face fell with disappointment. "As much as I don't want this to end, and believe me I don't, I do have to start work shortly."

"Work?" Astarion echoed, incredulous. "Right now?" It was nearly seven o'clock according to Gale's incredibly rude smartphone.

"Yes, I do call-in tech support in the evening... kinda," Gale said, and he pointedly tapped Astarion's laptop, still sitting on the desk. "Give people tips with their hardware sometimes, like with this, but it's usually just telling older folks to turn on their monitors and make sure their computers are actually plugged in." He shook his head and shrugged. "It's a niche position at a small company. A favor for a friend, really, so it's pretty lightweight..."

"Well so long as it is," Astarion conceded, the dark circles under Gale's eyes suddenly gaining new context. "Part time?" he asked, uncertain if he wanted the answer.

"About twenty hours a week, give or take. It's not so bad though, it rarely demands my full attention. Gives me time for-" A dark brow quirked and his lips snapped shut. "Point being, it's hardly any effort and it keeps me out of the house. And!" Gale stooped over to open a desk drawer, producing a colorful puzzle cube. "I have gotten very good at solving this thing."

"I believe you." Astarion stood there, uncertain of what to do, observing as Gale properly unpacked his duffel bag. Two laptops, a headset, and a USB mouse found a home on the narrow space next to the café's computer. A sinfully soft-looking blanket was draped over his chair and a similarly plush pillow emerged from the duffel, but he still couldn't imagine the overwhelming mess of this office could be better than working from his own home.

"I do apologize," Gale began as he opened up one of the laptops, impatiently tapping the spacebar in an attempt to speed up the login process. "I thoroughly enjoyed your company tonight, Astarion, brief as it was, and I do hope there are opportunities for us to spend more time together. Ideally without such an interruption." His brown eyes lifted, all soft and hopeful as ever.

With a gentle smile of his own, Astarion nodded. "I think I've made my intentions quite clear in that regard, darling."

"Good." Gale eyed the clock. 6:58. "I um, I don't suppose you would be willing to revisit the..." His voice trailed off, puppy eyes in full effect.

"More than willing," Astarion assured him, slipping off the desk and taking Gale's face in his hands once more, the bristles of his beard soft against his skin. "Come here."

Gale hummed, leaned in, and Astarion closed his eyes....

...to a kiss planted on the growing bump above his brow.

This goofy motherfucker.

All it took was a split-second glimpse of Gale's all-too-smug smile to yank him close and kiss him proper.

For a moment his lips worked alone, Gale's pulled into a taut line, his cheeks bunched under Astarion's hands. Then, with the softest sound of—relief? pleasure? both?—he surrendered to Astarion's ministrations, melting into him like warm molasses and sending a jolt of pure satisfaction up his spine.

It was far too soon to feel anything, and Gale was right: there was a peculiar dynamic in place between them that they would have to sort out if they didn't want things to turn toxic. Parasocial relationships were scary. Gale was clearly burdened by pressures far beyond what Astarion could see, and likely did not have time for a relationship. Hells, Astarion wasn't sure if he even wanted something more involved than what he'd been doing with his internet hookups.

Maybe he would consult Shadowheart. Dreadful, annoying woman... always seemed to know what was best for him no matter how much he protested. When she found out what they'd done… gods help him.

But right now there were sweet, supple lips on his and little sounds of bliss coming from the achingly adorable man in his arms. Right now there were strong hands gripping his shoulder and ghosting over the back of his neck, so eager for touch yet so gentle in their application. Right now Gale was warm and his hair was silky and his kisses tasted like coffee and strawberry jam.

Right now, he had this.

And this was nice.