[ Two sentences, each a single word. In any other circumstance, that would constitute an emergency— and perhaps it still does, even though Gale had said good news. Astarion can't help but feel nervous, though when he arrives at their suite, he has carefully ironed out each wrinkle of any such dubiousness out of his expression. He's wearing his usual, in this place: a button-down shirt and slim black pants, though the shirt, notably, is a deviation from his usual preferred white and cream shades, though the lightness of the lavender tone it boasts is such that a passing glance might mistake it.

But more importantly, there's the self-assured smile, which promptly falters — or rather, shifts, uncertain — when his eye catches the new glint upon Gale's ear. He does his best to play off the dip in his gaze, his fingers fluttering to Gale's collar to fix the skewed edge as he slips past him and into the room.

Half-marveling: ] You really did just wake up, didn't you?

[ He wonders if the earring is meant to be the good news, but it wouldn't explain just how long the wizard has been out of commission. (He hasn't noticed the new scar just yet, his touch a little too quick, too cursory for his gaze to have dipped below what's immediately visible.) ]

Alright, then — don't keep me waiting.

[ His glance strays again — he can't help it, even knowing that it gives him away. ]

And don't make me guess, either.