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To Gale, flipping through his sketchbook is like strolling down a well-trodden path through the luscious woods of his mind, basking in the warm light of his favorite people, places and comforts. It's one of the reasons he keeps the book near his chest, literally and metaphorically close to his heart.
And thus, having Astarion peruse his art is terrifying, indeed.
“Gods, you draw everyone so happy." There is, for once, no bite in it. It's almost gentle.
“I…” Gale fidgets with the pencil still in his hand. “I draw what makes myself happy.”
Astarion runs his finger along the outer edge of the drawing of himself and Scratch strangely reverently.
“Sentimental,” Astarion chides, harmlessly. “How very you.”
In which Gale catalogues the entire journey since the crash of the Nautoloid in a sketchbook he hasn't drawn in since his exile and Astarion has enough confidence in his art for the both of them.
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Bookmark Notes:
Absolute poetry. I love ch. 3. I'd like to see it finished one day but even not quite complete it's a wonderful story
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5
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4
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Shoot I got attached to a fic again
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Bookmark Notes:
Chapter 5
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