Too embarrassed-- and still too confused-- to look Zevran in the eye, Cade lifts his head just enough to gingerly take the flask, and takes three distinctive sips. Then, looking at the floor again, he holds it back out to Zevran.
Zevran waits silently until Cade has finished, taking back the flask with a murmur of approval, all the former warmth and pride slipping back into his voice easily. "Very good. I'll want to check your back tomorrow during our first debrief."
Because that? Is still a thing. And so too will be looking over the welts and bruises to see how they've settled.
Another downcast nod follows. Cade finds all he truly wants to do now is go to sleep and pretend none of this happened, but he remembers that there is a Tranquil waiting outside-- who has been waiting outside this entire time-- who will bring him back to his quarters. And probably know everything, and probably report it to Nerva or Alayre in their offputting, monotone way that is somehow still so incriminating. He sits there, head down, hands folded, and waits to be dismissed. He'll have to face it eventually, he always does.
"If you wish to spend more time here and rest, relax, you may. If you wish to leave? You may." There is little more Zevran can offer Cade in this; the man is so far in his own mind that nothing he could say or offer might help him back out again. The ball is in his court.
Predictably, Cade decides to take it and go home. For now, at least. Zevran has made it clear that he will be expected back tomorrow, and he is not so bold as to directly ignore that, Especially not after what has transpired tonight. There's... leverage now.
He nods and rises slowly to his feet, wincing in pain as the skin on his back protests once more. Then, in spite of it-- ever the soldier-- he slips his shirt on, his face screwing up in repressed anguish as he allows it to settle. Then, of course, he shrugs on his doublet and begins to lace it up, eyes swimming with tears. Even with the healing potion, this is pretty intense.
Finally, he decides he's embarrassed himself enough. "...goodnight," he says quietly as he turns to go, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. Zevran might be angry. Cade's not sure whether he should care or not, but when in doubt, he always does.
All the more reason to check in with him tomorrow. The aftermath hadn't lasted near as long as Zevran might have wished before Cade wound himself so tight as to undo all the good they'd managed- but tomorrow was a new day. Perhaps he'd be more settled.
And perhaps Nugs would fly over Skyhold. Actual nugs, not stuffed ones.
Zevran sat back in his chair, still cutting wedges of what was left of the apple for himself, neither angry nor concerned. He was, as ever, visibly relaxed no matter what had occurred. "Sleep well, Cade."
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Because that? Is still a thing. And so too will be looking over the welts and bruises to see how they've settled.
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He sits there, head down, hands folded, and waits to be dismissed. He'll have to face it eventually, he always does.
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He nods and rises slowly to his feet, wincing in pain as the skin on his back protests once more. Then, in spite of it-- ever the soldier-- he slips his shirt on, his face screwing up in repressed anguish as he allows it to settle. Then, of course, he shrugs on his doublet and begins to lace it up, eyes swimming with tears. Even with the healing potion, this is pretty intense.
Finally, he decides he's embarrassed himself enough. "...goodnight," he says quietly as he turns to go, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. Zevran might be angry. Cade's not sure whether he should care or not, but when in doubt, he always does.
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And perhaps Nugs would fly over Skyhold. Actual nugs, not stuffed ones.
Zevran sat back in his chair, still cutting wedges of what was left of the apple for himself, neither angry nor concerned. He was, as ever, visibly relaxed no matter what had occurred. "Sleep well, Cade."