It's remarkable how Alistair's demeanor shifts with Cullen nearby; how quickly the set of his shoulders relaxes, the tight blankness of his expression smoothing away into a faint smile.

...It also doesn't hurt that Cullen, as usual, cleans up very nicely.

He nods. Catches one of Cullen's hands long enough to give it a squeeze. "All right," he says, no louder. "I love you."

(Fiona, rather than watch this display, has moved on to the kettle to fix herself a cup of tea.)