“You seem,” Zevran says, tone light as an elf-flight arrow, “ill at ease.”
It’s all Theron can do not to shift under the suddenly sharp gaze. This is not how he imagined this.
He swallows, “I -”
Zevran closes the distance between them in two steps, reaches up to trace the designs in the armor. The Dalish armor. Theron’s armor.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed home and Tamlen until -
“Ah, well,” Zevran says, moving his hand to trace Theron’s jaw, “As lovely as you are like this, I believe I will divest you of all bindings save my own.”