[ Gale settles into the water, relieved to hear the snick of the stool and the familiar bubble of nervous laughter amidst a silence that chokes. The heat prickles and pinks his skin (or maybe that’s the work of his audience). Had he been holding his breath before? It feels as if he might have been, his drowning a distant memory, nothing to do with the dizzying quality of his present surroundings. ]

—I’ll get used to it. [ Agreed hastily (hoping, perhaps, that the sentiment goes beyond the temperature and himself both). The stinging waterline at his chest only serves as a reminder of how bare he is. Though he doesn’t dare put his head under yet, instead carding a damp hand back through his hair. Cupping the water in his palms before splashing his face — easing the chill in his nose, his cheeks.

He looks up at Astarion through wet lashes. A new vantage point with which to admire the cut of his jaw, the dip above his clavicle. Light-headed fancies, a byproduct of the searing heat in his sodden bones. ]

Thank you. [ voice soft but intent, catching in his throat as the extent of Astarion’s efforts strike him. ] It was — awfully thoughtful of you, to do this.

[ To run the bath unasked, greet him with affection, stay with him now. He knows what Astarion has survived, even if they haven’t discussed what it means for their nascent relationship. Gale rests his arm on the lip of the tub and nestles his chin atop it. A familiar look worries his features, that of a man solving a particularly tricky equation.

His fingers curl and flex, working through the answer. ]

But I hope you know that I would be contented with you — with us — if things remained as they are. I was altogether pitiable when I said it last, [ unmoored, without his magic. ] and yet it was no exaggeration: You’re everything to me.