[ Interesting, that there are things even Astarion takes seriously. He doesn’t quite know what to make of the brief flicker in his expression, but it’s something. Relief eases the butterflies in Gale’s stomach.

Gale rises to sit beside him, nearer the arm of the sofa than the miles of exposed skin. He leans forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped under his chin. ]

It seems wise to establish a framework. [ a sideways glance, assessing. ] The closer we hew to the truth — within reason — the better. [ waving a hand in Astarion’s direction. ]

Perhaps you’re a visiting acquaintance, a friend of a friend, and we’re only just now realising there might be something between us. [ with a sigh, ] That way, anyone I might have entertained before would have no reason to take offense now.

[ Entertain meant in its loosest sense, here. Gale has hardly made himself available, in the months since Mystra dismissed him. The only courtier he speaks to with any regularity is a clever botanist — and Clara has always seemed more interested in discussing her work than outright flirtation. ]