[ A circular disagreement. Iorveth knows he'd never agree to leaving Astarion if anything were to go awry, and he can tell that Astarion won't budge on his point, no matter how improbable (to Iorveth) it seems. Brows knit and posture straight, Iorveth considers their impasse through a hiss of breath between his teeth. ]

As flattering as your assessment is, beloved, [ in a tone of voice softer than he'd intended, ] you forget that I've made it a point to be off-putting for decades.

[ He reaches to press his palm against Astarion's cheek, warm skin to cold. ]

Not just physically, but in spirit. You were the first to break my defenses in ages. [ A light huff, exasperation laced with amusement. ] It would be easy for me to make it so that Alkam would sooner slit my throat than want to have me in his periphery for centuries.

[ Which probably isn't ideal, either. A no-win situation. Iorveth sighs again, and lowers his shoulders just a fraction. ]

Astarion. You know I could never leave you.