"I... I think I may have fallen for you."
What follows is a snort. Light, a thrumming of air passing through nostrils. How cute. Was that meant to be as funny as it is?
It came out of practically nowhere. The pair had been wandering the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, beyond sunset, gathering crumbs of intel while the whole of the city slumbers in silence. A petty reconnaissance mission, sans the bulk of the others' company.
Shadowheart took it as a joke. After all, what else could it have been? Astarion treats everything like a joke.
"Pick yourself up, then. I know it's rather easy to tumble head over heels in my presence, but do try and behave."
Her eyes swivel, sprouts of green muddled under nightfall, searching for Astarion. He blends so easily with shadow, wears it like a second skin, it takes more than a moment for Shadowheart to find him.
He isn't smiling. He looks rather sad, actually.
"Ah—oh, don't look so down. It was funny. A good joke, you know." Clumsy, desperate to comfort him, despite how clueless she remains. A shuffle. A step closer. A tilt of her head, hoping to salvage a glimpse of ruby reds; a pair of eyes she's grown unnaturally comfortable around.
"…it…was a joke, wasn't it?"