[Distant and transactional. Those are words that Astarion would like to still apply to whatever exists between them—this arrangement he has carefully crafted for his own safety—but day by day, it grows too complex to house even that simple rubric. Moments like these prove that this relationship of theirs has become…
What? Unwieldy? The least generous way to describe it, though not wholly wrong for how it feels — “unwieldy” in how it makes his chest constrict, blooming with a sort of warmth that’s so, so foreign to him these days that it almost scares him in a different way altogether.
This is perilously dangerous, he thinks, looking at Winter’s face. How his expression has softened, how he gazes at him like that.]
I… [His usual loquaciousness has absolutely departed him. He tries to dredge it up, anyway.] I promise to keep all future heroics… practical.
no subject
What? Unwieldy? The least generous way to describe it, though not wholly wrong for how it feels — “unwieldy” in how it makes his chest constrict, blooming with a sort of warmth that’s so, so foreign to him these days that it almost scares him in a different way altogether.
This is perilously dangerous, he thinks, looking at Winter’s face. How his expression has softened, how he gazes at him like that.]
I… [His usual loquaciousness has absolutely departed him. He tries to dredge it up, anyway.] I promise to keep all future heroics… practical.