[You don't get to decide that is what he starts to say, but it never meets the back of his fangs
She already knows that. They're having this conversation because she already knows it— because it's just as inescapable here as anywhere else they've ever been (and for Astarion, the bliss of being lucky enough to stumble into something beyond wonderful is inescapably chased by the dread of its loss). His heart is rabbiting, his thoughts are dagger-sharp; he needs to walk away before he snaps at her for nothing she's done or believes, but still she presses on, and he's about to cut the line for their own good—
When her voice cracks once more.
And his own rotten heart follows.]
...I...
[Now he's the one helpless. Floundering and hopeless. Emotions sharp as glass and sticking in his throat.
Lucky for them both this is private.]
You know I—
This isn't.
[Wrong, and wrong, and wrong again, and it's only worse than his own fumbling attempt to be articulate in Leto's arms on Rialto's shore if only because she's upset. That she needs this while he's stuck choking on his own words.]
...I'll be fine.
[There, start there.]
Iffy on how at present, given the growing number of problems we're facing, but you know that I'm not about to let anything tear us away from one another. Or this place. Or my very pretty mansion and very pretty—
[No, getting off track. Don't deflect. Don't run.
His voice lowers again, soft and subtle and shockingly deep:]
I love you, too, darling.
[He does. Truly— undeniably— he does. After all this time, after everything they've shared...how could he do anything but love her for all her endless worth?]
And I can promise you, we'll both be happy. There's always a way out.
[His sigh is paper-thin. As tired as he feels.]
...so long as you don't go leaping into sacrificing yourself when I still need you here.
no subject
She already knows that. They're having this conversation because she already knows it— because it's just as inescapable here as anywhere else they've ever been (and for Astarion, the bliss of being lucky enough to stumble into something beyond wonderful is inescapably chased by the dread of its loss). His heart is rabbiting, his thoughts are dagger-sharp; he needs to walk away before he snaps at her for nothing she's done or believes, but still she presses on, and he's about to cut the line for their own good—
When her voice cracks once more.
And his own rotten heart follows.]
...I...
[Now he's the one helpless. Floundering and hopeless. Emotions sharp as glass and sticking in his throat.
Lucky for them both this is private.]
You know I—
This isn't.
[Wrong, and wrong, and wrong again, and it's only worse than his own fumbling attempt to be articulate in Leto's arms on Rialto's shore if only because she's upset. That she needs this while he's stuck choking on his own words.]
...I'll be fine.
[There, start there.]
Iffy on how at present, given the growing number of problems we're facing, but you know that I'm not about to let anything tear us away from one another. Or this place. Or my very pretty mansion and very pretty—
[No, getting off track. Don't deflect. Don't run.
His voice lowers again, soft and subtle and shockingly deep:]
I love you, too, darling.
[He does. Truly— undeniably— he does. After all this time, after everything they've shared...how could he do anything but love her for all her endless worth?]
And I can promise you, we'll both be happy. There's always a way out.
[His sigh is paper-thin. As tired as he feels.]
...so long as you don't go leaping into sacrificing yourself when I still need you here.