Sometimes, plenty of times, the gravitational pull of responsibility is a match for Sabine. When the responsibility is big enough. When someone else can't handle it, probably, even if they've all been away longer than he has. When she isn't smiling like that. His eyes slide sideways but his head doesn't actually turn enough for him to see the crowd before the cause is lost and he's busy with an exaggerated tongue-out grimace at the thought of a particularly handsome darkspawn. Ugh.

He starts to turn the arm around her shoulder into a gentle jostling chokehold—revenge for that mental image—but cuts short to nab her wiggling hand. A smacking kiss to the back, then a more somber and prolonged press of his mouth and nose, so when he shakes his head in answer (no one, never) it can be felt if not seen.

"I—" There's no topping handsome darkspawn. He isn't planning to try. He's planning to say something serious, I thought I was going to die or I should have said a better good-bye. Fortunately they're saved by the fact that he chokes up a bit and only shakes his head again instead before letting her hand loose.