[ At her confession, Astarion idly begins taking photographs of her from his chair, head tilting slightly as he adjusts the angle of his phone every now and then. It's as much a gesture of his care for her as it is a method of distraction. ]

I think it may be all we can do, [ he says, in agreement rather than defeat. His gaze flickers up to her, his hands pausing over his phone. ] Keep them alive in our memories, hope that they ... if not return, then that we'll see them again.

[ He looks down again, opening the last picture of her he'd taken — tucked into her seat, a disarmingly earnest look upon her pale face, framed by the dark waves of her hair. He turns the screen to her, then, offering her his phone for inspection. ]

I can't claim I understand it any better than you do, but— we've more time together, at least. Plenty enough to grow more accustomed to it.