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.
“How tiresome it must be, always fighting to keep everyone else at arm’s length.”
His chin lifts, his posture shifting— he slips his weight sidelong to one heel before the rest of him follows, rising. A little stiff from sitting idle, but his muscles remember grace well enough to make that truth far from transparent in the moment
When he pulls his hand from Ellis’ own, it’s not unkindly.
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."
“Don’t mention it,” Astarion says, the words light as silk— though the look he fixes Ellis with out of the corner of his eye is too focused, too unblinking. It’s punctuation for what might otherwise be interpreted as a joke.
Astarion, after all, doesn’t care to be known for traits like mercy or compassion. It tarnishes. Troubles.
And he has enough trouble as it is.
“Ever.”
They’re even now, the both of them. They can leave it at that.
Meaning taken. It's nearly unnecessary. Ellis is hardly given to chattering about his evening exploits, much less the exploits and actions of those accompanying him.
"Good night," comes more quietly, as Ellis draws the laces of his tunic closed, makes for the door.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t offer to follow— not that there’s much room to be had in a space as narrow as this one, watching those footsteps in near-contemplative silence.
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no subject
"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.
no subject
His chin lifts, his posture shifting— he slips his weight sidelong to one heel before the rest of him follows, rising. A little stiff from sitting idle, but his muscles remember grace well enough to make that truth far from transparent in the moment
When he pulls his hand from Ellis’ own, it’s not unkindly.
no subject
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."
no subject
Astarion, after all, doesn’t care to be known for traits like mercy or compassion. It tarnishes. Troubles.
And he has enough trouble as it is.
“Ever.”
They’re even now, the both of them. They can leave it at that.
hovers bow over this thread menacingly
Meaning taken. It's nearly unnecessary. Ellis is hardly given to chattering about his evening exploits, much less the exploits and actions of those accompanying him.
"Good night," comes more quietly, as Ellis draws the laces of his tunic closed, makes for the door.
ties it for you
“Look after yourself, darling.”