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[thirsted]

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ASTARION

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💌 — delivery.

[corporeity]

Astarion,

I’ve made a small yet exciting discovery, which will amuse you alone.

The gesture you questioned the other day is another of this world’s symbols for the heart. A tiny one, though no less lovely! (What charming creatures, these ‘modern’ humans are, to create new ways of sharing the simplest sentiments.) I hope everyone and no one sends it to you, as I’m hideously jealous at the thought of how you learned of this, despite knowing you deserve affections both symbolic and tangible.

In the hopes of outdoing my rivals, imaginary or otherwise, I’ve left a collection of poems on the subject of, well, you — although the author perhaps hadn’t intended it to be so — as well as fresh flowers for our room, all of which represent the same feeling, which you can surely guess.

With love,
Gale

(Something to be said for the original wording, isn’t there.)

[thirsted]

My darling,

A heart, is it? I see it, now, upon explanation. And you'll see it in the shape of my hand, once I grow used to the gesture.

Thank you for the flowers.
Thank you for the book.
I plan to spend my afternoon with them both — to spend my afternoon with you.

Love, in scores,
Astarion

P.S. The culprit you're looking for is only the little picto-keyboard, but I'll look forward to your telling it off, regardless. I desire affection, yes, but I desire it only — ardently — from you.

[ (And he does as promised, finishing the volume in the golden light that filters into their room, and spending a little extra time preparing and then pressing one of the blooms within, once he's done.) ]

[corporeity]

[ Gale folds the note into a neat square, tucking it safely inside his spellbook (alongside their letters from Christmas and correspondence in between).

I desire it only — ardently — from you.

Something he’s known for months now and still delights to see written so plainly. Rather than respond to it directly, he hides a series of responses around their rooms and Astarion’s usual haunts. Every strip of paper holds the same message, though all remain blank until touched by Astarion himself. For him alone, the letters appear as they were written in Gale’s compact, academic hand.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you. ]