"Yes, I do."

Fenris stays still and stubborn as Astarion leverages himself up to lean over him. He doesn't flinch as he meets that sharp stare. The pale elf makes a very good argument, however. Why hasn't he left? Why didn't he, as soon as he was able? There's a challenge as he looks at Astarion, and a struggle, as he is made to think about things he has deliberately ignored or pushed aside.

Why is he still here?

The answer is not complicated. He wishes it was, really. Fenris believes that he and everyone else are better off if he remains alone, but Astarion is right, too. He is lonely.

"I had... a cohort, for a while. In Kirkwall." He didn't like or even trust all of them, but it was the first time in years that he'd allowed himself to get close to anyone. Now that he's cut himself off again, he misses the companionship more sharply.

Fenris lowers his gaze. Saying anything further feels like exposing his belly. But he's already done that, hasn't he?

"It was better before I met them," he says quietly. "I could ignore what I was missing."