[ Like an affectionate kitten, Astarion nuzzles closer into Iorveth's overwhelming warmth. When he wakes next, his whole body will be warmed by Iorveth's touch; he only wishes he could carry that warmth with him all night, all throughout the opera. He closes his eyes and enters a dreamless trance, more and more peaceful with each passing day spent in Iorveth's company. He used to hate trancing nearly as much as being awake, as it meant reliving memories better left forgotten. Now, he revisits memories of Iorveth: the first time they'd met, the first time they'd shared a bed, the first time Astarion had been so fed up with Iorveth's obliviousness to his affections that he'd kissed him in frustration.

He could live in these moments forever, but Gale's arrival comes eventually, tiptoeing into the bedroom. "Astarion, the opera will begin in an hour," he says, an unnecessary mage hand knocking on the door. "Iorveth, I thought you might like to join me for din—"

A pause, as Gale takes in the wrinkled sheets, the clothing strewn across the floor. "Oh," he says lamely, and then, "Oh!" ]

Ugh, don't be like that. Surely you didn't actually think Iorveth was celebrating Fey Day.

[ "I— well, I didn't want to be insensitive toward the Aen Seidhe culture by doubting its customs—"

Astarion rolls his eyes, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. ]

I'll need to bathe before our outing.

[ The sight of Astarion's bare legs peeking out from the covers seems to scandalize Gale, and he turns away in an attempt at politeness, turning red. "As much as I love a good bath, do try to be expeditious. Our tickets are for eight, sharp." ]