Of course, it doesn't last. His sense of humor pales at the sight of Hades gone wholly sharp at the seams, eyes dropped, posture sunken down into the folding of his hands.]
Hells, darling. [A painful mutter, that one. The sort of half-breathed curse that comes with a heavy dosage of remorse. Strewth, he'd been so blind.]
I thought you'd meant that because you didn't know anyone else.
[Aloof and removed, at odds with the world itself at times. Having an appetite for someone familiar— it made sense, you know. If one's options are limited, anything begins to look enticing. Especially if it's as intentionally prurient as Astarion himself.
Now, though....
Well, hindsight is so often flawless, for better or worse. Laid out in terms like understanding, and whether I had lost yours. But like a blindfold lifted, sight doesn't instantly reward the unmoored soul with knowledge of where they are— or where they ought to navigate to next. His tongue is dry. His lips drawn thin.]
I wasn't— [He tries once more with the worlds you didn't—, but it falls flat, too, long before it has a chance to spread its own figurative wings. Yes, Hades lost it, as much as he didn't actually lose anything, either. Complex and tangled and frustratingly messy.] It wasn't intentional neglect.
I wasn't yanking my offer to rut or keep company from your hands, I just....didn't realize that's what you wanted.
[Something more. So then, in that respect, it becomes Schrodinger's arrangement: Hades lost nothing because Astarion wasn't giving him what he hoped for, and Hades lost everything he'd hoped for because Astarion hadn't granted it in the first place.]
And nothing else has changed, you know. I won't shun you just because my heart is his.
[Astarion still struggles with it, calling friendship by name. Even so, he feels it just as keenly.]
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[Self-flattery, that is.
Of course, it doesn't last. His sense of humor pales at the sight of Hades gone wholly sharp at the seams, eyes dropped, posture sunken down into the folding of his hands.]
Hells, darling. [A painful mutter, that one. The sort of half-breathed curse that comes with a heavy dosage of remorse. Strewth, he'd been so blind.]
I thought you'd meant that because you didn't know anyone else.
[Aloof and removed, at odds with the world itself at times. Having an appetite for someone familiar— it made sense, you know. If one's options are limited, anything begins to look enticing. Especially if it's as intentionally prurient as Astarion himself.
Now, though....
Well, hindsight is so often flawless, for better or worse. Laid out in terms like understanding, and whether I had lost yours. But like a blindfold lifted, sight doesn't instantly reward the unmoored soul with knowledge of where they are— or where they ought to navigate to next. His tongue is dry. His lips drawn thin.]
I wasn't— [He tries once more with the worlds you didn't—, but it falls flat, too, long before it has a chance to spread its own figurative wings. Yes, Hades lost it, as much as he didn't actually lose anything, either. Complex and tangled and frustratingly messy.] It wasn't intentional neglect.
I wasn't yanking my offer to rut or keep company from your hands, I just....didn't realize that's what you wanted.
[Something more. So then, in that respect, it becomes Schrodinger's arrangement: Hades lost nothing because Astarion wasn't giving him what he hoped for, and Hades lost everything he'd hoped for because Astarion hadn't granted it in the first place.]
And nothing else has changed, you know. I won't shun you just because my heart is his.
[Astarion still struggles with it, calling friendship by name. Even so, he feels it just as keenly.]