[He won't say so (not now, at least), but oh, Astarion is the spitting image of Zevlor when he does that little move. Pinching his brow between two fingers and shaking his head as though the weight of the world bears itself upon his adolescent shoulders . . . but then again, he's always imitated Zevlor in the subtlest of ways. Canny and clever, and both of them shockingly ruthless beneath a deceptive set of pretty eyes.

There's a scolding little click of his tongue and a sharp tug to one errant curl, but that grumbling attempt at backtracking is enough. For now. Though there is a certain archness in Kanan's gaze as he looks back at him— that's his husband, thank you, and he's every bit as dashing now as he was all those years ago. Even more, maybe, for he's aged into his looks like a fine wine.]

. . . you can, yes. But Astarion . . .

[He frowns faintly, the waspishness lost from his expression.]

Be certain that it's what you want to do. I know it is now— but remember to ask yourself that as you go. There's no shame in changing your mind— and no cowardice in realizing that your drawn lines are very different than what you originally thought.

Simply cultivating passion isn't enough. There's more to it— and it's harder than it seems. I have no doubt you're capable of the work . . . but to become the Diamond of the Moulin Rogue means giving up so much. A social life. A life outside of these halls. Romance, potentially, unless you find a partner willing to endure jealousy night after night. And the loss of more intangible things, too. It takes a toll on your mind, working in such a manner, and wear you down year after year.

I would not want to see you regret it— nor rue the things you missed because of it.

That includes Fenris.

[Warning given and taken to heart, he hopes. It won't be the last time he offers Astarion such an out, but there's no use in lingering on it now. Instead, a little briskly:]

Now, little Diamond: tell me how you plan to make up with him and spin this in your favor.