Slip Away ~ Aradin Beno ||BG3||
Last night had felt so familiar, like slipping back into the embrace of a long-lost memory—one where you were hopelessly, irreversibly in love with him.
Years ago, the two of you had stormed through Baldur’s Gate, reckless and wild, racing down cobbled streets in worn shoes, knees scraped from scaling rooftops. You’d escaped whatever or whomever together, bound to him in ways you didn’t fully understand then. And now, with time between you, that same pull lingers, as if nothing had truly changed.
You glance at him now—his bare form half-covered by the tangled sheets from hours ago. His body, marked with new scars from battles fought and journeys taken without you, tells stories neither of you have shared yet.
As he sleeps, his brow, usually furrowed with tension, softens, though never entirely. There’s always a guard in place, even in rest. His curls splay across the pillow, framing the face you’ve spent years remembering—still stirring something deep inside you.
You reach over and brush a stray curl from his forehead, letting your fingertips linger just a moment longer than necessary, savoring the warmth of his skin.
Leaning in, you place a kiss on his forehead—gentle, almost reverent. And in that fleeting moment, selfishly, you wish—more than anything—that he was dreaming of last night. Of this. Of the way everything felt when it was just the two of you again.
As you pull back, your eyes linger on his sleeping form—the rise and fall of his chest, steady and calm. You wish you could freeze time, hold this moment in its perfect quiet. But then, a chill runs down your spine.
You don’t want him to know—not yet—about the hurdles still on your horizon, the things you must face. So, you pull the blanket up around you both, curling closer to him, holding on to his warmth before the world inevitably reclaims you both.
For now, that will have to be enough.
Your friends and allies have gathered around, and tonight, the weight of the world feels lighter. Music fills the air—Alfira strums happily on her lute, while her tiefling kin dance in mostly drunken, stumbling circles. But there’s hope in their carefree joy, and you can’t help but smile as you sip from the bottle of wine you’ve been nursing. Scratch sits contentedly by Zevlor’s side, his tail wagging slowly as he watches the revelry. Zevlor stands at the edge of the group, his posture a quiet contrast to the carefree energy around him. He watches his people with a soft yet distant gaze, taking in the warmth and chaos of the night without ever truly letting go of his own thoughts. Scratch rests his head on Zevlor’s boot.
Astarion is in a heated argument with Gale about the best types of wine, Wyll has already slipped away from the festivities, and the rest of your companions have found solace in their own tents, content in their solitude.
It’s good to see him again after all this time—better than you’d ever imagined. But there’s a bitter edge to the joy, the unspoken wish that this reunion had come under different circumstances. When you were younger, you never imagined the paths your lives would take. Ten years have passed since you last saw each other, and in that moment, at the grove, when your eyes met again, something shifted in your chest. It was a simple glance, but it felt like the world paused, the years between you slipping away as if they had never been.
Your heart had raced in that moment, and every fight since, every battle you’ve faced, has carried a quiet fear beneath it—the fear that you might never see him again. Fear that the world might take him from you, just as it’s taken so much else. Now, with him standing across the fire, silent and steady, you can’t help but wonder if he’s felt that same ache, that same longing, since you met again.
You watch him, the flickering flames dancing in his eyes as he stares into the bonfire. Deep down, you know you can’t let this moment pass without saying something.
You call his name softly, letting it float across the fire, through the crackle of the flames.
You wait, breath held, until he looks up.
“Care for a drink?” you offer, swinging the bottle forward by its neck.
With a quiet nod, he steps around the fire, moving closer until he stands beside you. You offer him the bottle, and he takes it without a word, your fingers brushing briefly as he does.
He doesn’t drink immediately, just cradles the bottle in his hands, his gaze shifting back to the fire.
“It’s been a long time since we shared a drink, hasn’t it?” you venture, trying to steady your voice, though your heart betrays you.
“Ten years,” he says simply, still not looking at you.
The weight of those years hangs between you, thick and heavy, like the smoke curling into the night sky.
“I used to think about what I’d say if I saw you again,” you admit. “A lot, actually.”
“And?” he asks, his voice quiet, curious.
Your throat tightens, but you manage a faint smile. “None of it feels right now.”
“Technically, you’ve seen me a couple of times already,” he says, dry but light, almost teasing.
Right, you think—the Grove, the road. But those moments were different. Danger had always lurked, companions nearby, ears tuned to every word.
“This is the first time we’ve actually talked,” you clarify, scoffing softly. “Just us.”
His lips quirk into a faint smile, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours. “It’s harder than you thought, isn’t it?”
You laugh softly, the sound almost lost in the crackle of the flames. “A lot harder.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
“You look great, though,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “You haven’t changed at all.”
You raise an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smile. “You haven’t either,” you reply, holding out your hand. He hands the wine back slowly.
You tilt your head slightly, teasing. “Your scowl’s just a little worse now.”
He grins, a familiar crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s a work in progress,” he mutters, his eyes softening as he looks at you.“Didn’t miss that,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
He chuckles, his eyes lighting up. “So, you missed some other stuff, then?”
You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, but then you look at him, carefully choosing your words. “Maybe,” you say, taking a large sip. “You didn’t exactly leave my mind.”
“That’s good,” he says, staring into the fire, his voice calm, though the words carry a weight. Your chest tightens, not in discomfort, but in something close to relief. It’s satisfying, hearing that you weren’t the only one holding on to the past—that you hadn’t been forgotten.
“You haven’t exactly been easy to forget, either.” He shifts slightly, leaning in just enough that the space between you feels suddenly smaller, the air thick with something unspoken. His gaze lingers on you, before he looks away, as if searching for the right words.
“Do you remember that summer?” he adds, his voice quieter, the weight of the memory settling in.
You tilt your head, “Which one?”
“The rooftops,” he continues, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “That one night we stole that cheap wine. How we sat there, just...”
Your heart skips a beat at the memory—those careless nights spent talking for hours, just the two of you. It felt like the world disappeared. A smile spreads across your face. “Yeah, I remember. You kept complaining about the wine, but we both drank it anyway.”
He chuckles, mischief flickering in his eyes. “And you almost slipped off the roof, couldn’t handle any of that shit.”
You raise an eyebrow, playful. “I’m no lightweight anymore,” you tease. “I promise you that.”
You shake the bottle, the last bit of wine sloshing inside. “I remember us being so proud of our little hideaway,” you say softly, a hint of nostalgia in your smile. “Fuck, we had so much we were running from, didn’t we?”
“Too much,” he chuckles, and that old weight seems so small now.You glance at him again—really look at him this time. The way the firelight dances across his features, making him look younger, almost like the boy you once fell in love with. His eyes still hold that spark, but now there’s depth—something lived-in. Your heart skips again, a familiar flutter rising within you. You wonder, for just a moment, if it could be that easy—to slip away again, just like you'd done thiose years before
“Hey,” you say, your voice softer, almost daring. “What if we... run off together, away from this party? Just tonight, if you want to.”Something you haven’t had in years. Something you’ve been thinking about a lot.You wait for his response, heart pounding in your chest, hoping—praying—that the boy you once knew is still in there loving you like you still loved him.
