[ He's glad, suddenly, that they're having this conversation over text and not in person. Through the remove of a cellphone screen, Gale can't see the way Astarion falters — of course he means to fluster the priest, in no small part because he wants (needs) to be wanted, or at least some clearer path through the bramble of thorns formed by the late nights, the walks about the grounds, waves that press against but never crest the boundary of chasteness. You make me blush. He doesn't know what to do with that, when he senses the arm's length still separating them. ]
no subject
you're lucky i'm in a generous mood.
[ A beat. ]
you look well, too.