[ Gale takes his hand, and Astarion allows himself to be pulled along, his head tipping back as the fireworks explode across the night sky. The light weight of Gale's coat brings his gaze back down, though his eyebrows remain suspended a tad higher in an expression of surprise. ]

"One such person," [ is what he manages, the words spoken gingerly even as his gaze follows the stray strands of hair that fall across the wizard's features, his fingers twitching with the temptation to brush them away and settling instead upon his own chest, pulling the lapels of Gale's coat together. ] I suppose I shouldn't presume.

[ Despite the kiss, despite the confession that followed (that they'd been each other's firsts since their respective imprisonments, though Gale would likely argue the terminology). It's a different color of vulnerability than the way Gale has seen him caught on his back foot: insecurity, the inability to accept what's been laid out in front of him lest he be made a fool soon after, illuminated by another shower of red sparks overhead. Gale's seen more of him, now that they've caught up to each other. Surely his feelings might have changed, surely he'd see him differently, found some new secret revealed to be to his distaste or discovered a habit that could drive him crazy if endured for too long. ]

You didn't doze the whole day away. You've a few minutes left to remedy your lot, if you make a run for it.

[ As if Gale hadn't called him here to begin with. ]