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He first notices it in the underdark.
A soft fluttering in his breast, as he sits by the campfire. He’d been looking at you, but that was nothing new. Lately, that was all he’d been doing during quiet moments in your journey.
In that moment he’d been watching you laugh as Gale regaled you with yet another tale of his days in the academy. He gasps, a hand quietly coming up to his chest. Was he being poisoned? Cursed?
He immediately seeks the refuge of his tent, closing the flap as he goes inside. The feeling was odd, and it went as fast as it had come.
Days pass. And the fluttering happens with increasing frequency.
He hides whenever it happens. Sometimes, it’ll be in the heat of battle. He’d be watching you and see you almost get hit - and there it is, that fluttering in his breast where his heart used to beat.
Used to.
Right?
He shakes his head. It’s impossible. Vampires are undead. He is undead. He has been for two centuries.
But he feels it anyway. When you’re close. When he drinks from you. When you laugh. When your hand touches him.
He ignores that feeling as best as he could, just like how he tries to ignore that growing affection for you.
He caves in, eventually. He tells you of his feelings, of what he was initially trying to do. He expects you to be hurt, to lash out.
But you hug him.
Pressed against your body, he feels that flutter again. For a second, he assumes he’s feeling your heart. But no. There are two beats there. Not one.
You’re too focused on the hug to notice the change. His eyes widen at the realization of what has happened. What has been happening all this time. Slowly, he lets the feeling in. Lets you in.
It’s not a flutter anymore. It’s a beat. Slow, and very much unlike a living heart, but it still does beat.
Not long after, when you have developed a habit of sleeping over in his tent, you finally notice it.
You’re lying on his chest as he reads a book. Your eyes are half-closed, resting, when you finally hear a slow, constant thudding. You’re so used to hearing your own heart race when you’re with him, so missing a sound so subtle made sense.
“What was-“ you begin to say, trying to get up and ask him what on earth that was. You know for a fact when you slept together at the clearing that he had no heartbeat. You tap his chest questioningly.
He puts his book away, and looks down at you. He smiles. His hand finds your hair, stroking it lazily.
“I was wondering when you’d notice.”
You frown, trying to think of an explanation. “You’ve started feeding on my blood. Mine and our enemies’. Thinking creatures,” you say, more to yourself than anything. You’re enjoying this, teasing out the puzzle of his heart.
He laughs, a soft bark of sound in the silence of the evening.
“Don’t flatter yourself, darling. Your blood - or that of goblins and gnomes - isn’t that miraculous,” he drawls. “This.. doesn’t usually happen.”
Then again, vampires usually don’t fall in love, either.
“Then what?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, challenging him. “Because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there before.”
He thinks it through for a moment, then lets his guard down. His eyes widen and he cups your cheek. It’s not often that he does this, but lately you’ve been seeing it more often in your quiet moments together.
“I think.. it just found a reason to beat again,” he murmurs. He looks away immediately, embarrassed at the raw vulnerability of the moment.
You know not to lean too much into this moment. Instead you offer him a retreat into the safety of banter.
“I’m actually stunned. I didn’t even think you had a heart, Astarion,” you say, a grin forming on your lips.
He takes your offer gratefully, slipping back into it without missing a beat.
“Darling,” he scoffs, playing up the offended expression on his face, “I’m hurt. Here I am, treating you so nicely, and you think I’m heartless?”
His hands move to pin you down and tickle you, and the conversation dies and becomes cursing and screaming, as you try to fight him off.
And deep inside his chest, his heart soars.