[ Astarion’s voice rings all the lovelier for its lack of practiced notes. Uneven in a way Gale finds terribly attractive, a song that differs every time it’s performed. Each tell of honest affection better than the last, the way his candlelit eyes stretch wide, the tremble in his hand that Gale steadies on instinct, cupping it from below. ]
You —
[ Kept it, already astonishing on its own, when Gale hadn’t done anything worthy of Astarion’s affection back then. Fixed it, when it tick, tick, ticks on, rescued from a lonely death in disrepair, not unlike Gale himself. Gale leans forward, not to kiss him — though he considers it, hazel eyes flicking to Astarion’s parted, pink lips — but to press their foreheads together. His lashes dust his cheek as he steels himself, eyes gleaming when they cast upward to meet their match. ]
I love you, too. [ Wonder and appreciation in every syllable. His thumb strays over the watch’s face, incontrovertible evidence of Astarion’s devotion. He can’t help the tear that slips from the corner of his eye. And with the utmost surety — ] As I’ve never loved another.
[ For all Astarion preens, Gale knows he falls victim to comparatives, and it costs him nothing to speak the truth of his place in Gale’s heart, exalted above all others. His goddess, forgotten. His inadequacies, deemed irrelevant. Having felt so imperfect, so unsuitable, for so long, he hadn’t dared contemplate the alternative. Now, it overwhelms. ]
no subject
You —
[ Kept it, already astonishing on its own, when Gale hadn’t done anything worthy of Astarion’s affection back then. Fixed it, when it tick, tick, ticks on, rescued from a lonely death in disrepair, not unlike Gale himself. Gale leans forward, not to kiss him — though he considers it, hazel eyes flicking to Astarion’s parted, pink lips — but to press their foreheads together. His lashes dust his cheek as he steels himself, eyes gleaming when they cast upward to meet their match. ]
I love you, too. [ Wonder and appreciation in every syllable. His thumb strays over the watch’s face, incontrovertible evidence of Astarion’s devotion. He can’t help the tear that slips from the corner of his eye. And with the utmost surety — ] As I’ve never loved another.
[ For all Astarion preens, Gale knows he falls victim to comparatives, and it costs him nothing to speak the truth of his place in Gale’s heart, exalted above all others. His goddess, forgotten. His inadequacies, deemed irrelevant. Having felt so imperfect, so unsuitable, for so long, he hadn’t dared contemplate the alternative. Now, it overwhelms. ]