She's been setting the majority of her own feelings aside, which she's good at when there's a need in front of her, be it her own or someone else's; she'd resolved to keep doing so for as long as she could, or as long as Astarion needed, whichever ran out first.
But even that small contact feels good to something she's not looking at, something that'll be easier to deal with later for having it; she keeps her promise, doesn't try to take his hand, but she does brush the tip of her thumb over the backs of his fingers lightly before tipping her head to invite him to the bed beside her.
"There's nothing to thank me for," she assures him, nonetheless.
"There is," he says, and stretches out alongside her. "You've long since
been decent and patient with me in a way you might see as nothing, but -
I. I don't."
"Well, I am a decent and patient person." She is not. She is markedly not either of these things, and her wry tone advertises that she does in fact know this.
She lets him get settled and then flops back herself, shifting onto one hip so she can see the tablet too.
"You're one of my people, cariño. You have my heart for as long as you want it."
Astarion smiles, faintly, while something sour and bitter writhes in the pit of his stomach. Everything feels...
He doesn't want to think about it. The fight is out of him. Easier to touch and be touched. To concede. If he's choosing that instead of having it thrust on him, then it's...fine.
She sees it, something shadowy and hidden, something unknowable to anyone but him; she doesn't know what she said or did, or maybe even just what she is, that hits on it.
She's dug enough for now. She'll keep her hands to herself, as promised, unless or until he initiates. She smiles for the return words, and nods at the tablet.
"Ready for your introduction to John Hughes films? They're a whole thing."
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"...Thank you," Astarion says, and then exhales slowly. His fist loosens; his fingertips touch hers.
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But even that small contact feels good to something she's not looking at, something that'll be easier to deal with later for having it; she keeps her promise, doesn't try to take his hand, but she does brush the tip of her thumb over the backs of his fingers lightly before tipping her head to invite him to the bed beside her.
"There's nothing to thank me for," she assures him, nonetheless.
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"There is," he says, and stretches out alongside her. "You've long since been decent and patient with me in a way you might see as nothing, but - I. I don't."
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She lets him get settled and then flops back herself, shifting onto one hip so she can see the tablet too.
"You're one of my people, cariño. You have my heart for as long as you want it."
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Astarion smiles, faintly, while something sour and bitter writhes in the pit of his stomach. Everything feels...
He doesn't want to think about it. The fight is out of him. Easier to touch and be touched. To concede. If he's choosing that instead of having it thrust on him, then it's...fine.
"...I feel the same."
That, at least, is true.
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She's dug enough for now. She'll keep her hands to herself, as promised, unless or until he initiates. She smiles for the return words, and nods at the tablet.
"Ready for your introduction to John Hughes films? They're a whole thing."
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"A whole thing, you say? Very well, darling. I'm not sure how prepared I can be, but - consider it so."
He reaches for the Play button.