elise morgan, astrid knew, often referred to the younger blonde as a ‘baby bird’ or ‘wounded animal’ or something of the like. she didn’t think elise meant it as an insult; once upon a time, she and elise had been the best of friends, and she had protected astrid like it was her job. much like bo still did. the morgans were a protective bunch, and astrid was grateful for the friendship.
she was aware, however, that compared to elise, or leah, or even bo, the people she was most often with, astrid was viewed by some as timid and weak. and she didn’t begrudge those people their opinions. it was up to her to change their minds. she didn’t think that kindness and softness equaled weakness, and she found value in being intentionally good; in approaching everything she did with a soft smile and the best expectations, and in seeing the best in people. and if people thought that she was boring or invaluable for being quiet, then astrid simply had to prove them wrong. not everyone had to rule the world; some people were content with making it beautiful.
still, the Society was a competitive sport by nature, and astrid, though gentle, was not stupid. she could see, when she was approached, the auction for what it was; a chance to step up, out of her comfort zone. an opportunity to prove that she, and her art, had value. and it was out of her comfort zone - greatly so, but she’d be damned if she didn’t prove herself. her art being the topic of sale, well that, the artist was used to. she near enjoyed it, actually, the validation of her work having real value to the people around her. it was putting herself up for sale that caused her anxiety.
she knew Felix Salamanca, at least somewhat, and she liked him. he was fun, and kind (to her, at least), and he flattered her greatly. she was not immune to his charms, and she was fairly pleased with the way the night had turned out.
(she’d assumed her best friend would’ve gotten in on the game, but it wasn’t like he had been expected to and what did it matter? it wasn’t a productive thought.)
she grinned at the compliment, grateful for the space he left. “once again, you compliment me greatly,” she demurred. the mere mention of their date brought a pale hue to her cheeks. astrid had never been smooth in personal matters - in fact, she’d cried in elise’s dorm room before prom, and she’d only been going with bo - but she gamely took the offered arm, appreciative of the ability to take it herself, rather than be grabbed. “planned it already?” she giggled with some degree of surprise.
“That’s the thing,” Felix said, humming as they walked, “I have been planning it. I’ve been thinking about it this entire night. I love planning things, you know. Parties. Business strategies. Social media empires. So, yes, I’ve been planning it. I can’t think about anything else.” There was laughter in the chilly air as he stepped out onto the terrace, finally letting go of Astrid so he could smile at her, taking the space across her and leaning against the railing. He looked at her for a moment or so, at the way the moonlight illuminated her hair, her features, soft and sharp as they were, a contrast that caught every gaze in its trap. She looked beautiful. God, he could feel his heart stop in his chest. What an absolute fucking loser he was for Astrid van Renesslaer.
He looked away for a moment because he couldn’t bear it, and then he forced a smile and looked at her once more. “I literally couldn’t think about anything else. I wanted to give you the perfect night. The most wonderful night of your life. And I kept thinking about what that would entail. Would you enjoy an evening in an exotic country you’ve never been to before? Rich, new cuisines, a funny experience with a language barrier, the whole restaurant closed down, a damn orchestra just for you — or would you enjoy a simple night out? A night in your home city, at all your favorite places, maybe an old arcade or laser tag place, where we eat ice cream and pizza and shawarma off the cold streets — the thing is, what I realized is — I don’t know. I don’t know.” Felix was gesturing, and a small chuckle escaped his lips.
She looked so beautiful under the moonlight. It almost made him want to reconsider. In another world, perhaps he might have said this: And I’m asking you now because I want to know, I want to know how to make you happy. I want to know how to make you think of only me.
But he didn’t. In this world, what he said was:
“But I would bet my life that Bocephus Morgan does.”
He was silent again, silent for one small moment. He looked at his own hands, and offered it vaguely forward. Perhaps for Astrid to take, if she wanted, but merely a gesture, if not. “I want to give you the perfect night. I want to make you so damn happy. But you deserve so, so much better than what I can give you. You deserve the world, Astrid, and I think that there’s nobody in the world who knows better how to give it to you than Bo Morgan. I see how much he cares for you.” He saw it in the bidding, he saw it in the chats, he saw it with every movement that the other made, every single breath that he took. “And with your consent,” he said, “I’d like to donate your date to Bo, so he can give you your perfect night.”
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