This invitation, it's not unfamiliar. They have tread here together more than once, and it is not far from the table in a restaurant where Astarion had gestured to a chair beside him. It is not even so far removed from the forests of Hasmal, Astarion's hand on his side, close in the dark. Ellis studies his face in the dim light. The sensation of Astarion's chin dug in at his thigh has lingered, even though Astarion has sat up and ceded the territory.

"You've offered before."

Not a yes or a no. Only observation, as Ellis gathers his own thoughts.

"But we'd be better served if I make my way to the ferry," Ellis tells him, setting his palm over Astarion's hand. There is light pressure, and then a turning, Ellis catching hold of Astarion's palm within his hand.