There are a half dozen places he might catch hold of to anchor Astarion in place. His hand opens and closes in the space between them, briefly indecisive.

But instead, he follows the example. Straightening, breathing deeply, observing the twinge from beneath the bandages, before he says, "Maybe."

His hand passes briefly over the bandages, then reaches to hook his shirt where it had been laid. There is a splotch of blood that will need some attention, lest it become a stain.

"Thank you," is more straightforward. Ellis' gaze is steady when he lifts his eyes to Astarion. "For your kindness."