[ well he can try and let go, but there's a sort of... frustrated, annoyed prickle of emotion coming from astarion. like, what's new there? he's always prickly. he's always a little annoyed. but it's abnormal in that it's all of that and lost at the same time. like annoyance at being unable to navigate uncharted waters, frustration that everything's getting in the way of figuring it out.

or just. the desire to not figure it out. to let it bob along as is.

which all ends with him grabbing gale's wrists as he pulls his hands away. ]

I'm not fucked in the head, Gale.

[ he can understand, in a way. he did spend a very long time saying one thing and subconsciously doing another, before all this. not wanting to do something but knowing he would anyway. just get on with it, close his eyes and not think about it.

but he'd had his miserable little moment of clarity in moonrise, had his miserable little moment of not knowing what he wanted and having to pull himself back and really look at himself -- an experience he never wanted to go through again -- and start picking apart all the snarls and knots and scars left behind there. ]

-- Well, not. Not because of the curse anyway. [ trauma. ]

The curse is one thing, I've spent half the bloody day telling people I can't wait to not want to hug people! [ he hasn't! said that here! but-- ]

But I don't-- [ pulling words out and having to talk about things, especially when they matter, makes him want to crawl somewhere very small and dark and not think about it. feeling exposed like this makes his skin crawl, but the niggling doubt about what could happen if he squirms out of this makes him feel even worse. like there's a chasm in front of him and he either has to jump or remain stuck in one place. ]

I don't know what the Nine Hells this is. But I like it. [ whatever's left after all that, emotion wise, is just very, very small and very, very vulnerable. like ribs cracked open, chest and blood and bone exposed and nowhere to hide from it. ]