[ Under most other circumstances, Astarion would call all of this indulgent, but— considering the month they'd spent both displaced and ever-wary of the undead, let alone Gale suffering two assaults in the space of the past hour, taking the time to simply enjoy each others' company isn't an indulgence but a reward. Something for them to savor, and a moment Astarion decides to recreate some other time, entirely separate from the attention of others. He doesn't want to be thinking of Armand or Spike as he kisses Gale, or for worry to still be a note in the thrum of his thoughts.

But he leans forward, regardless, chasing Gale for another peck before settling back onto his little stool.

He deserves someone to tell him how terribly handsome he is, not least because he suspects that Mystra hadn't been the sort to bestow what she'd likely consider to be idle compliments. But Gale is beautiful — the kind of man most would easily swoon over, easily transposed into the role of dashing prince or knight in shining armor. Clever and thoughtful, giving to a fault. ]

As glad as I am that she's here, I'll be happier when we're no longer sharing quarters, [ he hums, draping his arm over the side of the tub in a mirror of the pose Gale had held before. The opposite of how Astarion, in his darkest moments, perceives himself. ]

We could convert one of the rooms into a study for you. [ Then, hurriedly, ] Or keep them as they are.