[Again, he finds himself surprised. Taken aback by the multitudes contained within someone he thought he knew so well. Between the two— yes, Kanan was always the more social one compared to Zevlor. Liked 'slumming' it at bars from time-to-time, even laughing with the guests of Moulin Rouge on those odd evenings when the whim struck. Where Zevlor excelled at business, Kanan was the one behind him, soft and steadfast behind the scenes. But—

He worked with costumes. He chose what drinks they stocked, or what lights they used, or where the couches went.

He wasn't a courtesan.

Picturing him amongst the herd, even partially imagined, feels....wrong.]

—what?

[Two overwhelming subjects competing for the small space of his mind, and Astarion blinks wide as his ears softly twitch with alertness, flush across his cheeks.]

—no. No, that— [he shakes his head] No. He wasn't just— I mean he was for practice but it wasn't only— I mean he's just a bodyguard. Or— will be. And that's not....

[His eyebrows drop. A look of consternation overtakes, and then:]

What do you mean you realized the life of a courtesan wasn't for you?

You weren't—


[. . . . ]


....were you....?