...he's going for it. He goes for Astarion's shoulder, settling the inside of the mask neatly on it like a stylish pallid pauldron. Astarion will feel him settle in Astarion's own being, his sense of taste whiting out into nothing and yes, his left arm will go numb up to the shoulder luckily enough.

With it will come the sense he'd talked about: John, the sense of his mood, some of his joyful wonder and the hope and happiness of Astarion letting him share like this. There is no overwhelming sense of love the way there is with some of his friends: he'd told Astarion the truth, that he cared about him as a person, but Astarion was right that he didn't love him like he did Natalie or something. They didn't know each other yet. But there is something there, the bud of something that could become that, bright and warm and fond. It's like the first time a cat decides they want to accept pettings from you, only in the center of one's self.

He'll hear John's voice inside of his head now, a little less otherworldly, a little smoother.

[ Everything okay? ]