[ The same way the moon chases the sun from the sky, Astarion's gaze finds Gale as Gale's leaves him, the naturally sly set of his features softening as he watches him dig. It lasts even as Gale begins to chatter, and it's only the sight of the dirt drawn across the bridge of his nose that finally draws a tsk and a sigh from Astarion's lips as he reaches out to gently brush it away, his other hand briefly rising to help, ensuring that none of it falls into Gale's mouth. ]
You know what I mean, [ he says, his chin tipping down to cast a (barely) disapproving look in Gale's direction. ] But ...
[ But he likes the sound of it, as much as he likes to pretend he isn't a particularly sentimental creature. His hand trembles just so as he finally lifts the pen he's been twirling between his fingers to set its tip to the parchment, beginning to scratch out a message. ]
Impractical, maybe. Hardly excessive.
[ And though he speaks the words somewhat idly, even that's enough to be telling as to how much more comfortable he's become with the idea of sharing — space, time, effort. Once upon a time, he'd have been loathe to remain in close quarters with anyone, let alone for an extended period of time. And yet he finds himself increasingly loathe to peel himself away from Gale's side. (More than once, he's pretended to remain asleep when the light of morning has come peeking through their bedroom curtains, desirous of just one more moment spent together.)
Another pause. His hand hovers in the air; his eyes flick up. ]
no subject
You know what I mean, [ he says, his chin tipping down to cast a (barely) disapproving look in Gale's direction. ] But ...
[ But he likes the sound of it, as much as he likes to pretend he isn't a particularly sentimental creature. His hand trembles just so as he finally lifts the pen he's been twirling between his fingers to set its tip to the parchment, beginning to scratch out a message. ]
Impractical, maybe. Hardly excessive.
[ And though he speaks the words somewhat idly, even that's enough to be telling as to how much more comfortable he's become with the idea of sharing — space, time, effort. Once upon a time, he'd have been loathe to remain in close quarters with anyone, let alone for an extended period of time. And yet he finds himself increasingly loathe to peel himself away from Gale's side. (More than once, he's pretended to remain asleep when the light of morning has come peeking through their bedroom curtains, desirous of just one more moment spent together.)
Another pause. His hand hovers in the air; his eyes flick up. ]
Did you make a resolution?