[Tenderness, warm and bright, fills him as Astarion speaks. It's the complete antithesis of his discomfort: a soothing answer to all the ways his fears gnaw at him. Insecurities that have long since been addressed but never fully quashed; the difference in their species a point for Leto to make up for instead of simply a fact. I am not strong enough, fast enough, I am not who I was, and it doesn't quite add up to I am not good enough, but the pieces are there.
But here and now, Astarion puts those to rest.
For Leto can hear the awe in his voice. He knows what Astarion sounds like at his most honest, and oh, every syllable aches with it. Sometimes I wonder if you're real, and Leto strains to memorize this moment, knowing he will need it later. There will be times when these fears rise again, prompted by some doting bit of patronization or his own stamina and strength lapsing before Astarion's does.]
You awe me just as much in return, you know.
[He reaches back blindly til he can smooth his palm over Astarion's thigh: a suitable substitute while he stays facing forward.]
I am not always good at articulating it . . . but never in my life did I think someone like you could exist. Someone who understood my past and my present both . . . who did not condemn me for my ways, nor scolded me for my fits of temper or my grief. Who fit me in ways I did not know I was aching for until they were fulfilled. Someone who knew of my past, and did not treat it tentatively or with clumsy enthusiasm, but rather . . . who understood it. Who knew what it was to survive the things I had, and understood all the ways in which I had learned to cope with them.
[A pause, and then:]
I know we are different now. I understand. I know that you are a different species than me, and there are things about your existence I am still learning. But . . . I am not who I was a few months ago, new to this world and this body both. And though I know it a mistake to ignore our differences . . . nor would I have us forget our similarities, nor let those differences outweigh them.
Allow me the joy of helping you as I once did. As you once did for me, and continue to this day. You will not hurt me— not to the point of no return. I promise you, Astarion. I could not survive it before, but now . . .
no subject
But here and now, Astarion puts those to rest.
For Leto can hear the awe in his voice. He knows what Astarion sounds like at his most honest, and oh, every syllable aches with it. Sometimes I wonder if you're real, and Leto strains to memorize this moment, knowing he will need it later. There will be times when these fears rise again, prompted by some doting bit of patronization or his own stamina and strength lapsing before Astarion's does.]
You awe me just as much in return, you know.
[He reaches back blindly til he can smooth his palm over Astarion's thigh: a suitable substitute while he stays facing forward.]
I am not always good at articulating it . . . but never in my life did I think someone like you could exist. Someone who understood my past and my present both . . . who did not condemn me for my ways, nor scolded me for my fits of temper or my grief. Who fit me in ways I did not know I was aching for until they were fulfilled. Someone who knew of my past, and did not treat it tentatively or with clumsy enthusiasm, but rather . . . who understood it. Who knew what it was to survive the things I had, and understood all the ways in which I had learned to cope with them.
[A pause, and then:]
I know we are different now. I understand. I know that you are a different species than me, and there are things about your existence I am still learning. But . . . I am not who I was a few months ago, new to this world and this body both. And though I know it a mistake to ignore our differences . . . nor would I have us forget our similarities, nor let those differences outweigh them.
Allow me the joy of helping you as I once did. As you once did for me, and continue to this day. You will not hurt me— not to the point of no return. I promise you, Astarion. I could not survive it before, but now . . .
Now, I am ready.