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The surface is so much louder than Orzammar. It's been months since their exile, and Gylaw still doesn't feel prepared for it.
The nights, in a way, are the worst of it - Orzammar hadn't had anything resembling night or day, of course, but the various lanterns and lava channels had kept the markets brightly lit during the cooler times, bustling and busy, and sequestering themself in their room during the warmer times had been plenty dark even for dwarven vision.
"What's wrong?" Zevran asks one night, noticing his lover’s sleeplessness. "If you're this wide awake after that, I think I have done my job badly."
Gylaw just shrugs. "It's just loud. I'll get used to it."
Zevran leaves it at that for a few nights. Until one night, he comes back with some strange sort of... ear covering, stuffed with a soft mess of fibers.
"You didn't have to-" Gylaw begins, but Zevran just cuts them off with a gentle finger to the lips.
"Sleep," he instructs. "I will listen for both of us."
Gylaw drifts off in blissful silence, feeling nothing but the soft beat of their lover's heart against their back.