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Wyll wrings his hands together and resists the urge to bolt. To ensure Gale’s Plane Shift spell doesn’t go to waste if nothing else.
It’s ridiculous that he’s more nervous about a party than fighting devils and demons in Avernus but here he is. The fact that nothing went wrong to prevent him from being here is nothing short of a miracle. Wyll is ignoring the fact that he had hoped something would— he shouldn’t have been hoping for it in the first place.
It’s just one event. It’ll be fine. Wyll can’t ditch it when everyone worked so hard to put it all together.
Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Gale are keeping Karlach company in Avernus while he and Astarion are away. His father spared no expense, tailoring new clothes to fit him perfectly and outfitting the event with some of his favorite foods and drinks. Astarion is even joining him for the night, bless him.
It would be selfish to leave. Incredibly so. Wyll hasn’t been to an Upper City event since Gortash, and he’s not sure that even counts.
But every time he looks in the mirror, Wyll’s stomach twists. Months worth of progress, gone the second he starts to think about what they’ll say.
It shouldn’t even matter what they’ll say. Wyll isn’t a teenager anymore— he's well accomplished. The name 'The Blade of Frontiers' is still well known and 'The Blade of Avernus' is catching on, mostly as a name that devils whisper in disdain or fear. Sometimes both.
It's so much easier to deal with devils. At least if they insult him, he can cut them down.
In the Upper City however, their comments are snide and hidden behind smiles and faux friendliness and Wyll is just supposed to take it. Supposed to be perfectly friendly and pleasant and not want to flee with his tail between his legs. Which is more literal now than it used to be.
Gods, they’re going to comment about his tail too. And his eye. And his claws.
Wyll glances out the window on his left. He’s on the fourth story. That really should be a bigger deterrent but it’s not because Wyll has handled worse.
He’s fought all manners of monsters, dealt with some of the nastiest people, and saved the world once. And now he’s trying not to climb out the window to escape a party.
Wyll doesn’t even have to stay for that long. A few hours of mingling, then nobody will mind much when he leaves. He’ll have made enough of an appearance. They know he's busy.
His gaze still lingers on the window.
“Oh dear. Should I prepare a scroll of Feather Fall or will you be fine without it?”
Tension bleeds away in an instant. Wyll huffs a laugh and his gaze shifts to where Astarion is leaning against the doorway.
“I’ll manage without.” Wyll tells him.
“Are you quite certain, darling? That tail of yours is coiled pretty tightly around your leg.” Astarion’s eyes glance towards the limb in question.
Wyll resists the urge to chew on the inside of his cheek. Damn his tail. It always seems to give him away, even if he’s had it for well over half a year now. He attempts to relax a little more, uncoiling from him. Astarion still looks at him expectantly— not getting away so easily then.
“Just a few jitters.”
“More than a few.” Astarion comments dryly. He watches Wyll for a long moment before finally closing the distance between them. Wyll knows to stay still as Astarion fusses over his outfit, flattening out the wrinkles on his coat and picking off any stray pieces of hair he finds.
He pushes Wyll’s head one way to get a good look at him, then to the other side before nodding firmly. “Well I think you look as handsome as ever. I admit, I do rather like how you look in armor, but you really do make everything look good.”
Wyll laughs and looks away, feeling as though he could burn up if he tried to maintain eye contact for another second. “You’re too kind.” Wyll tells him.
“I prefer to think that I’m simply right about this. But I suppose kind is another word for it.” Astarion’s gaze doesn’t waver for a second. When he struggles to say anything else, Astarion takes Wyll’s hands into his and asks, “Darling, I’m here for a reason. What good is bringing company to these sorts of things if you don’t talk to me?”
Wyll lowers his gaze to the floor. “I apologize. I don’t mean to shut you out.”
Astarion waves his hand dismissively. “I’m not looking for an apology. I’m looking for answers, Wyll. Is this about me or Karlach or any of the others?” Wyll shakes his head. “Seeing your father again?” Another head shake. Astarion frowns. “The party then.” Wyll nods this time. “Because it’s with the Upper City, who are fundamentally known for being judgmental bastards?”
“Don’t let them hear you say that.” Wyll says, unable to hide an amused smile.
“Oh, they’d agree with me if I said it in a way that didn’t hurt their pride. They know what they’re doing. They enjoy it— and don’t get me wrong, there’s a reason why I thrive in these environments.” Astarion grins in a way that shows his fangs. “That’s why I’m here and not Shadowheart or Gale. And that’s why I’ll be glued to your side for the evening.”
“You don’t have to be.” Wyll tries to tell him but Astarion just rolls his eyes a little.
“I’d rather be with you. I’m going to want to critique the outfits we’ll be seeing all night, and you’re one of the few people I know who won’t repeat it.”
“That’s not true. I might tell Karlach.”
“Karlach doesn’t count; she’ll find me hilarious too.” Astarion levels his gaze with him. “My point is that either I’m across the room sending multiple Message Cantrips to you every time I want to talk to you, or I just stay next to you all night and save us both the trouble.”
“Putting Gale’s magic lessons to good use?” Wyll finds himself teasing.
“Please, you’re talking in my head as much as I’m in yours. Now was your only worry about being left to the wolves or should I squash the others as well?”
Wyll considers, briefly, lying, but knows Astarion will figure him out one way or another and huffs, half in defeat. “I’m not particularly looking forward to their… Comments about my appearance.”
“Ah.” Astarion doesn’t look all that surprised. “Well, you’re in luck there. I’ve been preparing for that since I learned of this event.”
Wyll can’t help but feel a little surprised by that. “We learned over a month ago.”
“Semantics. But don’t you worry about that, darling.” Astarion smiles in a way that’s… Vicious. His eyes seem to glint in the light. “I will handle all of it.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Not at all.”
“For them, not me.”
“Oh. Well, what they say is on them. I’m not responsible for what comes out of my mouth should they provoke the blade.”
Wyll snorts, one hand grabbing onto the wall as he bends over laughing. When he looks up again, Astarion is preening like a cat, very pleased with his own joke.
“No stabbing.” Wyll reminds him, still smiling.
“I’m not an animal.” Astarion puts a hand on his chest like he’s offended by the mere suggestion of it.
“Or pickpocketing.” He adds. Astarion gives some pause then.
“They’re rich— they won’t even notice it’s missing!”
“We will manage just fine without it.”
Astarion makes a disgruntled noise but seemingly relents, though Wyll will be checking his pockets before they leave. “I suppose we don’t truly need it. Not when your father keeps sending you guilt money.”
“Please stop calling it that.”
“Karlach said it first, not me.”
“You enable each other.” Wyll accuses without any real bite to it. “It’s a wonder we’re surviving Avernus at all.”
“But we manage anyway. And if the Blade of Avernus can slay demons and hunt devils for months on end,” Astarion squeezes his hands, “Then he will survive a little party with his gracious lover by his side.”
“Gracious?” Wyll chuckles.
“Your words.” Astarion reminds him. “Not mine.”
Wyll can’t deny that. He nods to himself, taking a few deep breaths. “One party. I can do one party.”
“There you go. And need I remind you that I am not the only ally on your side here. As much as they’re on thin ice, your father and Counsellor Florrick will both be there, along with the few members of the Flaming Fist who adore you, and from what I hear, Master Rolan, who still acts like you saved his life only yesterday.”
Something eases in Wyll’s chest upon hearing it. He nods along and lets out another breath before leaning forward and kissing Astarion’s cheek. To which Astarion leans forward and insists a proper kiss from him, and Wyll happily obliges.
“Thank you, my love.” Wyll murmurs. He squeezes Astarion’s hands back. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Lucky for you, we don’t have to find out.” Astarion angles his head towards the door. “Shall we get it over with, or did you want to make your grand appearance later?”
“Another moment, if you’ll indulge me?” Wyll gives him his best smile. Astarion huffs, looking away.
“As if I could resist.”