Alistair, unvexed, tilts his head the rest of the way to rest the top of it against the wall. "I don't think I would survive that," he says, sounding as if he is actually thinking about it, which he is not. He wouldn't survive thinking about it either.

His fond smile fades a little, though. Not jealous, really not jealous, he refuses to be jealous. Not bothered by the gossip. Maybe a little bothered that Zevran is so bothered, but on that note:

"Last night, when I--I wanted to hug you, but I was afraid I'd hurt your ribs, so--" So he was weird. He substitutes a sheepish grimace for saying so. "And you did that thing where you don't move. I'm sorry."