[ A helpless little laugh, more out of fondness than any amusement. He releases Astarion with a reluctance both playful and sincere, fingertips brushing until the last moment. Gale hangs back, then, watching Astarion test their fine handiwork until his eyes crinkle. Even staring down the barrel of his holy mandate, he has to wonder: What could possibly be more worthy of his time — his attention, his devotion — than this? ]

That we do. [ Not quite tentative, after all this time, but still careful in his approach. He settles beside Astarion, their shoulders bumping as he splays his hands on the comforter. ]

Though we may have overshot the mark, in terms of pillows. [ There are rather a lot, stacked at the head of the bed. Most likely a result of his taste for creature comforts and Astarion’s inclination to hoard rare luxuries. ] Or not, if we’ve need of a very soft barricade.