[ He hugs the pillow to his chest, shifting onto his side so that he can be face-to-face with Iorveth, a polite two inches between them not unlike the night they'd first shared a bed. Different, though, because Astarion isn't burning with embarrassment at the awkwardness of someone wanting to be close to him without having sex; the intimacy of innocent closeness is comfortable now, welcome. ]
I know.
[ Sort of. Iorveth has never shamed him for feeling, but that little prey animal part of him still wants to hide anything that could be a weakness for predators to latch onto. ]
no subject
I know.
[ Sort of. Iorveth has never shamed him for feeling, but that little prey animal part of him still wants to hide anything that could be a weakness for predators to latch onto. ]
But you've plenty on your plate as it is, and—
[ Another frown. ]
Besides. He's dead.