[ In that fuzzy space between exhaustion and superhuman obstinacy, Iorveth watches the first signs of something amiss manifesting as soft shifts; instantly more alert, he's mid-motion in an attempt to press his palm against Astarion's cheek when he's shoved at, forcibly peeled from Astarion's front with that two-handed pushback.
It's both surprising and not－ he can hazard a guess as to what kind of trance would inspire Astarion to lash out. A breath to steady himself later, Iorveth sits up just slightly to honor the armspan of space that's been made between them, and brushes his fingers through Astarion's hair. ]
Astarion, [ he says, careful but steady. A few feet away, daylight is streaming through a crack in the curtains, drawing a line of yellow-gold along purple carpet. Still high noon, Iorveth notes. ] It's only a dream.
[ Keeping the contact to light petting, avoiding the potential to make Astarion feel cloistered. His expression pinches into a troubled frown as he makes a precursory check of the room, and wonders if Damris is spellcasting in the other room－ he couldn't be capable of that, surely. ]
no subject
It's both surprising and not－ he can hazard a guess as to what kind of trance would inspire Astarion to lash out. A breath to steady himself later, Iorveth sits up just slightly to honor the armspan of space that's been made between them, and brushes his fingers through Astarion's hair. ]
Astarion, [ he says, careful but steady. A few feet away, daylight is streaming through a crack in the curtains, drawing a line of yellow-gold along purple carpet. Still high noon, Iorveth notes. ] It's only a dream.
[ Keeping the contact to light petting, avoiding the potential to make Astarion feel cloistered. His expression pinches into a troubled frown as he makes a precursory check of the room, and wonders if Damris is spellcasting in the other room－ he couldn't be capable of that, surely. ]