[Something was lost in those breathless seconds. Something that Leto can't quite name, but his heart mourns all the same. Wait, wait, and he doesn't know how to beg to go back, nor even what he would say if they could. He's breathless as Astarion's words weave around him, his mind caught in that endless undertow—

Before he moves on, for there's no other choice.

(Hours later, when Astarion is asleep, he'll allow himself to wonder about that moment. And years from now, curled up in the circle of his arms, his memories half-restored to him, he'll pity his younger self, and be grateful for the way it inexplicably still managed to work out).]

It's enough to satisfy Riftwatch, in any case.

[His voice is a little distant, his mind still caught on before.]

I suspect you're right, but even if you aren't, they will not ask for confirmation.

[It's funny: nothing has changed, and yet all at once, everything has. The air smells a little less sweet; the noises around them are a little too sharp, vulgar laughter and the endless drone of violins now offensive to his ears. His legs are restless, and without thinking he stands, his hands pushing into his pockets as he glances down at Astarion.]

Come on. We can finish the bottle in our rooms. But it will be a long journey back to Kirkwall tomorrow, and a lack of sleep will not help it.