[ Regrets. A stupid thing for Astarion to ask, though the addendum that Astarion doesn't have any smooths over any errant ripple of exasperation. Iorveth may have wrung his hands over Astarion's future before, but they've had enough fights about takebacks that Iorveth has surrendered that option entirely.
(Or, well. Mostly. Sometimes, the thought still flits across his mind: 'he'd be happier without all this'.)
Into the bedroom, back onto purple bedsheets. By himself, this time. A bit strange, to be in bed without someone; to mitigate, he lets go of Astarion's hand to rummage inside the pack that he'd left by the foot of his bed, and takes out the bottle of perfume that he'd gifted to Astarion before. He dabs a bit of the contents onto his collar, then onto a pillow as he finally answers: ]
Fool. I could never regret you.
[ Glancing at Astarion, then softening somewhat. ] I've accepted that I love you selfishly and unreasonably.
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(Or, well. Mostly. Sometimes, the thought still flits across his mind: 'he'd be happier without all this'.)
Into the bedroom, back onto purple bedsheets. By himself, this time. A bit strange, to be in bed without someone; to mitigate, he lets go of Astarion's hand to rummage inside the pack that he'd left by the foot of his bed, and takes out the bottle of perfume that he'd gifted to Astarion before. He dabs a bit of the contents onto his collar, then onto a pillow as he finally answers: ]
Fool. I could never regret you.
[ Glancing at Astarion, then softening somewhat. ] I've accepted that I love you selfishly and unreasonably.