[ Astarion isn't certain he likes Iorveth occupying his restless mind with thoughts of Astarion's upcoming return to the dark. Is it because he dreads being saddled with a partner who can't even walk outside during the day without burning to a crisp? Whatever drawbacks Astarion will have, Iorveth will have, too. It makes him feel— well, bad. For another person's misfortune, which is still a strange and foreign concept. ]

You mustn't worry that pretty little head of yours, [ he says, stroking Iorveth's hair as he comes back around to the front. ]

Not when I've given you so many better things to occupy your restless mind with. Although I fear some of them may only make you more restless.

[ He cocks his head as he surveys his work. Shorter bangs, swept to the side and out of Iorveth's face. Kept longer on the sides and the back, but cleaned up; Iorveth's hair no longer looks scraggly and uncared for, like the hair of, well, a woodland terrorist. He fluffs the sides a bit, pleased. ]

I'd offer you a mirror, but I don't keep one on hand. [ For obvious reasons. Shadowheart probably keeps one for doing that ghastly makeup, though. ] Go look.