[When he laughs this time, it’s a clear-cut thing. No performative lilt, no haughty pride— just him. Just them, a pair of wounded things huddled up for shelter in the middle of a storm and finding just enough warmth to forget, only for a little while, that the wind outside might be howling their names. Speaking of terrible atrocities that yet still might come to pass. So yes. Here, tangled in stolen covers, and warmed by a fire that’s little more than a glorified, dug-out hole in the wall, they’ve cut something for themselves, and sometimes that’s the only victory one gets.

The only one needed, too.

He snorts softly on the heels of it, leveling out instead of continuing to thrive in his own wicked glory, finding his way back into his own far subtler skin.

But the smile stays.]

Mhm. A little. [Soft. Contented. Easy in his own silhouette when he slips an elbow across his knee, keeping the whole of his stare fixed on Fenris in the dark.]

But you’ll figure those out in time.

[Oh, it’s not all pretty. Even Astarion knows just how mean he can be when prompted. Ambition turned to gluttony and greed. Pride twisting into callousness. Cowardice without end. There are moments when he looks in the mirror and fears only Cazador is staring back, but...

Savior.

What an intriguing fantasy for a monster like him.

He lifts his free hand, two fingers brushing white wisps of hair from Fenris’ eyes— ring and little fingers— so precise in their work that they barely graze skin. Less an intrusion, and more a barely mentionable show of care. Small. Quick.

And then he’s back within his own space, shifting to lie down once more. Turning away and lifting the covers, keeping them tucked close against his neck.

An old, pointless habit.]

For now, try to sleep. I know it’s all so terribly tedious, but no one in Riftwatch’s going to be content to let you rest once they find out you’re here.

Better take what you can get in the meanwhile.

[The door is locked; nothing will come for you tonight.]