[Astarion gives a hitched breath in reply. The hand at his mouth moves, pressing to the hair and soft skin of Gale's chest over his heart. He can feel the beat of it as well as he can hear it. And for all that it races, it gives Astarion something to pin his focus to. He breathes with the rhythm of Gale's worried pulse until he can make his throat work again, swallowing past the wet sound of his own tears.]
no subject
I--it's not that, dear.