Even at the best of times, the elf was the sort to work too hard, so it was little surprise he’d fallen into that vice here. He heard the door open, the echo of footsteps up the stairs but didn’t quite register them as deep into the rabbit hole of research as he was. But when Dorian spoke up he definitely noticed that, the anxious tapping of metal on paper pausing as he looked up, offering a small, apologetic smile at the quip, as if there wasn’t a tired cast to the expression. In any other circumstance, his lover coming to him like this, without having to be invited would have been such a wonderful surprise, but in his current mindset, he couldn’t help the twinge of guilt that marred the occasion. Clearly he wasn’t holding it together as well as he’d thought, was worrying Dorian.

“It’s not that late… is it?” He hardly knew, hadn’t paid any mind to the passage of time, though a glance at the nearby candle showed that he’d burned through quite a few hours, which just had him shaking his head. Not that it was surprising, when he had his head in a book, a high dragon could come crashing through a wall, and he’d only notice once it blocked his reading light.

“But stealing your role?” Athras sat back in his chair, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness from sitting for so long. “Hardly. I don’t have the face for such a lovely mustache as yours for one.”

Nothing was wrong. Just lost track of time, nothing to see here. He was fine. Nothing for Dorian to worry about in the least, right?