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The first time Hawke reached out to Fenris, he rejected him.
They were talking at the Hanged Man. He had known Hawke for a few months, and they were becoming close friends despite the fact that the other man was a mage. The Hanged Man was loud and obnoxious, making it such that they had to yell to hear each other over the noise. Fenris couldn’t help but wonder if there was a better place for them to meet. His mansion perhaps. Next time Hawke wanted to spend time with him, he would suggest they stay at his mansion.
It seemed like Hawke didn’t even think about it when his hand reached across the table and settled on top of Fenris’s. Fenris snatched his hand away as if he had been burned. Hawke was shocked for a second, and immediately apologized.
“I’m sorry, Fenris,” Hawke said sincerely, seemingly bewildered he had done that at all, “I didn’t mean to do that. I do it to everyone, but I wasn’t planning on doing it with you. I know you don’t like to be touched.”
Fenris raised an eyebrow. Hawke struggled to find the correct wording, licking his lips anxiously. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but Fenris.
“I just sort of. Naturally reach out to touch people,” at Fenris’s continually raised brow Hawke waved his hands, “Not sexually or anything. Just skinship. Hand holding and the like. It won’t happen again. Unless you want me to, of course. I am very charming.”
“Hm,” Fenris grunted, unsure of how to reply to that. That was enough for Hawke, though, and their previous conversation continued. No touching this time.
And once Fenris was aware of it, Hawke really did reach out to touch others quite often. He didn’t notice it before, but now he couldn’t stop noticing it.
Hawke would play with Isabela and Merrill’s hair, fix their nails and even help them with makeup sometimes. He would always lean in close to talk to Anders or Varric, sometimes with an arm thrown around the shoulder. Before he joined the Order, Hawke would always be bumping shoulders with Carver, despite their rivalry. He would fret about Aveline’s skin, helping her apply lotion to her face and exclaiming that she needed to take better care of herself.
And the hand holding. Hawke wasn’t lying when he said it was natural. When he was having a conversation with someone, he would almost always reach out to them to touch hands. Sometimes he would fiddle with their fingers, sometimes they would fiddle with his.
Fenris figured it was as much of a comfort thing for them at this point as it was for Hawke. But only with Hawke, he noticed. No one else acted like that around each other, despite how close some in the group were. Just Hawke.
But not with him. He had been fine with it at the beginning, but at some point he began to wonder. Why did everyone else seem to seek out Hawke’s touch? Sometimes they were the first to reach out to him. They would lean on him when they sat next to him, reach out to hold hands and relax into Hawke’s touch.
Fenris would be lying if he said he didn’t want to try it. It was no secret he had feelings for the other man, and he was beginning to think that allowing Hawke to treat him that way as well wouldn’t be so bad. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop himself from feeling excluded at times. He knew it was irrational and he had not wanted Hawke to touch him in the first place, but he still felt it.
On nights like tonight, he felt it the most. It was Wicked Grace night at the Hanged Man, and Hawke was seated right in-between Isabela and Anders. Isabela was leaning heavily on Hawke, and Hawke was stroking her hair absentmindedly. Anders was also leaning on Hawke, but not as heavily as Isabela, who appeared to be drunk already. The mage often reached out to play with Hawke’s fingers when it wasn’t either of their turns.
Fenris couldn’t help but feel anger at the scene, not sure who he was angry at the most. He knew Hawke had no romantic or sexual intentions with either of them, he had told Fenris as much. Had told him he was only interested in Fenris that way, as a matter of fact. He knew this, and yet seeing Hawke card his fingers through Isabela’s hair, tucking it behind her ear and untangling it, filled him with a rage he didn’t know he could feel towards the other man.
Isabela was just like that, especially with Hawke. He knew this, and could use it to calm himself down. But Anders. Anders made Fenris’ blood boil like no one else. Especially with how clingy he was with Hawke, eagerly accepting whatever Hawke was willing to give him and greedily seeking more. And Hawke just let him! It was like he was incapable of thinking his friends could interpret his touches as anything other than friendly.
“Ugh, I think I’m out,” Hawke complained, leaning back in his seat and throwing his cards down. Isabela was jostled at the movement, having fallen asleep on Hawke’s shoulder not too long ago. She snuggled closer to Hawke, an arm snaking around his torso. She rested her head on his chest and swiftly fell back asleep. Hawke allowed all of this to happen, even chuckling and adjusting himself so that she was more comfortable. It made Fenris’ blood boil.
“Me too,” Anders said quickly, throwing in the towel as well. It was truly pathetic how desperate he was for Hawke’s attention, Fenris mused. Fenris felt confident at the fact that Hawke wanted him and only him, but at the same time...
“Listen, Hawke, I wanted to tell you something,” Anders said, waving for Hawke to come closer. Hawke closed the distance between them, their faces close as Anders murmured to him in a low tone only Hawke would be able to hear in the loud bar. As if sensing his gaze, Anders glanced over at Fenris. After looking him up and down once, he smirked and resumed whispering to Hawke.
Fenris wanted to rip his heart out.
Fenris insisted on walking Hawke home that night. Some excuse about Lowtown being too dangerous for someone like Hawke, who seemed to have more enemies than he did friends, to walk around alone at night. Before they could leave, though, Varric stopped him. Hawke just nodded and agreed to wait until they were done talking, walking over to lean against the bar where Isabela was ordering more drinks.
“What do you want, dwarf?” Fenris asked impatiently, shuffling where he stood.
“Listen, broody, don’t take this the wrong way,” Varric started, scratching his chin, “But I, ah, noticed the way you were glaring at Hawke and Anders tonight. Kind of hard not to notice, really.”
Fenris scowled, “And you have something to say, I take it?”
“This is just the way Hawke is,” Varric said, “It’s how he’s been since I’ve known him. He’s just a touchy-feely guy. You don’t need to get jealous. Besides, he would never go for Blondie. Not his type.”
Fenris opened his mouth to reply, but Varric cut him off again.
“And!” Varric crossed his arms and took a glance over at Hawke, who was attempting to stop Isabela from drinking any more, “I’m positive he wouldn’t mind if you wanted in on it, Broody. You could just talk to him about it. All I’m saying.”
Varric walked off before Fenris could reply. He frowned, but quickly fixed his expression as Hawke approached.
“Everything alright?” Hawke asked curiously. He seemed concerned, like he thought Varric had upset Fenris in some way.
“Peachy,” Fenris replied dryly, “Let’s just go.”
The walk back to Gamlen’s house was quiet. The cool night air made him shiver slightly. Hawke offered him his cloak. He declined. Hawke didn’t seem like he was uncomfortable with the silence (or the rejection) in any way, which made Fenris feel guilty for some reason. He was deep in thought, attempting to decide how to best approach the subject of touch with Hawke.
There was fear. Fear that he wouldn’t like it, that he would always be on the outside because he couldn’t handle Hawke’s touch. Fear that he would always be jealous of what he couldn’t have. Fear that Hawke wouldn’t even want to, now.
But, underneath the fear, was anticipation. He felt excited at the prospect of Hawke treating him the way he treated everyone else, allowing him to touch him and reaching out to touch as he pleased. Something about the thought having that level of physical comfort with the man who had already shown romantic interest towards him was thrilling.
Before he knew it, they were at Gamlen’s front door and they hadn’t spoken a word the whole time.
“Well, this is me,” Hawke said, gesturing back at the door, “See you soon, Fenris. The Wounded Coast next week?”
Fenris nodded, and Hawke turned to go inside.
“Wait, Hawke,” Fenris reached out to touch his arm and stop him. Hawke turned, Fenris’s fingers falling from his bicep just as soon as they met skin.
“Yes?” Hawke asked, staring back at him questioningly. Hawke’s eyes darted away after a few seconds, staring at his own hands instead of Fenris.
“Hawke, I...” Fenris struggled to find the words.
Almost unthinkingly, he reached out and grabbed Hawke’s hand. What he didn’t expect was Hawke to pull his hand away sharply, taking a few steps back. His eyes were wide, staring at Fenris in a mixture of shock, nervousness, and something else he couldn’t quite place.
Not that he stayed around long enough to figure it out. He backed up, almost tripping on the stairs in his hurry to get away. Hawke seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and reached out to Fenris.
“Fenris, wait-“ Hawke called after him, even running down the stairs after him.
But Fenris didn’t stop, didn’t turn around, too upset at Hawke’s rejection to do anything but run back to his mansion in Hightown, ignoring the looks he got from the few stragglers who hung around outside at night.
He slammed the door shut and ran into his room, catching his breath now that he was alone. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that his past made him unable to interact with Hawke the way he desperately wanted to. Logically he knew that he had been the one to ask Hawke not to touch him in the first place, but the rejection hurt. He had rejected Hawke, and so in turn Hawke rejected him. Fenris was never going to be able to touch Hawke the way the others did and he wasn’t sure why that thought upset him so much. But it did upset him, and he closed his eyes, desperately trying to fall asleep and forget about the look on Hawke’s face as he pulled away.
___
Fenris didn’t see Hawke again until the trip to the Wounded Coast the next week. It was the longest Fenris had gone without seeing Hawke since the two were first introduced. Hawke had always found some excuse to see Fenris, cleaning his mansion or taking Fenris out “for fresh air”, or any other excuse that suited his fancy. But Hawke hadn’t come to see him since that night, and Fenris didn’t want to be so pathetic as to crawl back to Hawke so quickly after he had run away.
Despite his best efforts, Fenris couldn’t stop this trip from being awkward. Neither could Hawke. They didn’t speak to each other, whereas normally they were inseparable. Anders, however, was constantly talking to Hawke when they weren’t fighting random ruffians who decided it was a good idea to attack them. Hawke looked like he was straining to keep a friendly appearance at the constant badgering. Fenris at least took solace in that.
He was also fighting more clumsily than usual, using his anger at his current situation to fuel his energy. He had to be healed more than once, which made him even angrier. He hated relying on Anders to heal him. Feeling like he owed a debt to the man he despised.
Hawke kept sending worried glances his way, but his expression was unsure. He kept glancing back at Fenris, biting his lip and quickly looking away when Fenris made eye contact. Anders slung an arm around Hawke’s shoulders. Hawke didn’t push him off. A new wave of anger caused Fenris to clench his fists. He willed himself not to glow.
“I don’t think you could be brooding any harder,” Varric commented from behind him, nearly causing him to jump.
“Fenhedis, dwarf, what do you want?” Fenris asked, a hand over his still-fast heart.
“Did you talk to Hawke?” Varric asked, “Doesn’t look like it.”
“I tried,” Fenris replied tersely, through clenched teeth.
Varric didn’t reply immediately, instead watching Hawke and Anders. Hawke looked like he was going to snap any second. Fenris recalled observing that Hawke was always more receptive to touching from their female companions, despite having confided in Fenris that he was very much gay. Something about comfort, perhaps.
“I know it’s hard for you, broody, but Hawke isn’t going to understand unless you talk to him,” Varric said, still not looking at Fenris, “He won’t pick up on hints, he’s too oblivious when it comes to things like this. You have to talk to him if you want things to change.”
Varric turned to look Fenris straight in the eye and held his gaze. Fenris looked at the ground instead of replying and sped up his pace so he was closer to Hawke. Hawke glanced back at Fenris, but said nothing to him. At least Anders was finished talking.
“Duck!” Varric shouted from behind them. Fenris nearly didn’t duck in time as an arrow shot past him and over the heads of Hawke and Anders, embedding itself into the skull of a raider who had been about to attack.
Immediately, they all went into battle positions, Anders casting a haste spell. Hawke set a few glyphs in front of himself, Anders, and Varric as Fenris rushed into the fray. He could feel Hawke’s lightning electrifying the air close to him and frying an enemy, leading him to collapse to the ground. Fenris took out a few raiders, keeping an eye on the mages and Varric.
They were doing a fairly good job themselves, Hawke continually casting glyphs in front of them to keep enemies from getting too close and Anders healing whenever someone got seriously injured. Hawke glanced up, making eye contact with Fenris. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open.
“Fenris! Behind you!” he called out, casting a bolt of lightning behind Fenris.
The air nearby him crackled with electricity and Fenris swiveled around, teeth bared. His opponent stumbled from the shock, but recovered too quickly for Fenris’ liking. The next moment the other man was swinging at him, Fenris blocking every attack. The man was attacking hard and fast, however, and Fenris was wearing down quickly. When Fenris glanced behind him to ask for assistance, he found the rest of his team surrounded. Hawke kept glancing his way, but had to focus on the enemies around himself to avoid Anders or Varric getting hurt as well. He was swinging the sharp end of his staff, impaling enemies left and right. Seemed like all the long afternoons Fenris had spent teaching Hawke how to weild his staff as a melee weapon hadn’t been for nothing.
His attention swiftly snapped back to his own battle. Fenris was wearing down, getting clumsier with his blocks and receiving nicks and cuts all over his arms. With a frustrated growl, his tattoos glowed blue. He shoved his hand through the other man’s chest, pulling his heart out with ease. He didn’t even realize anything was wrong until he heard Hawke’s gasp.
He sent a questioning glance over to the other man. The rest of their enemies laid dead at his feet, but Hawke was only looking at him. Anders and Varric sent him alarmed glances as well. It was only when he felt the cool touch of healing magic at his side when he realized he had been cut, deeply. Blood caked his now-closed wound. When he looked back at the rest of their party, Hawke looked more tired than he did earlier, leaning on Anders for support.
Rage swept through Fenris’s entire body, making him feel like he was on fire. He may have been glowing. Again, he had relied on the abomination to live through another fight. He had needed the man he despised to heal him again. He wasn’t going to thank him.
“Wait, Fenris, are you okay?” Hawke asked, pushing off of Anders gently and approaching Fenris. Fenris scowled and took a step back.
“I am fine,” he said, not letting Hawke get close enough to inspect his wound. Hawke looked like he wanted to fight him, wanted to check and make sure for himself. The mage wrung his hands uncertainly, even as Fenris was already walking away.
Fenris stewed in his anger for the rest of the day. His anger at himself, Anders, and Hawke. When it was time to make camp, he was more than happy to wander off in search of something to eat, since someone forgot to bring any food. Hawke had defended himself, saying that he had a lot on his mind and at least he remembered to bring blankets, but that wasn’t going to feed them.
When Fenris heard rustling behind him, his tattoos began to glow. He quickly lashed out, hand buried threateningly in the chest of the person who approached him. Hawke’s eyes went wide and he grabbed at Fenris’s arm embedding itself into his chest.
“What the fuck, that feels weird,” Hawke choked out, his grip on Fenris’ arm hard enough to bruise, “Fen, what the hell, get your hand out of me!”
Startled, Fenris quickly retracted his hand. Hawke’s hands immediately went to his chest, rubbing at it to make sure he was okay. Fenris took a concerned step forward, but Hawke flinched slightly and stumbled backwards. A few tears escaped Hawke’s eyes, but it looked like the man himself was unaware of them. Fenris took a step back and clutched his hand to his chest, the feeling of guilt and upset washing over him. He swallowed thickly.
Hawke didn’t run. Just stood there, hands to his chest, blinking rapidly and wiping away the tears he finally noticed. He coughed a few times, as though testing to make sure he could still breathe. Finally, after what felt like forever, his eyes met Fenris’s.
“Maker, I just thought this was a good opportunity to talk alone,” Hawke said. His hands hadn’t left his chest.
“Hawke, I-“ Fenris stumbled over his words, “I am sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”
“Who did you think it was?” asked Hawke.
“I didn’t know. It was a reflex.”
Hawke didn’t respond immediately, instead looking away from Fenris awkwardly and rubbing his chest. Fenris forced himself to control his emotions.
“A reflex,” Hawke shook his head, “It’s okay, Fen, I’m not mad. It was just...” Hawke struggled to find the right words, “disconcerting.”
Fenris almost expected Hawke to leave after that, but of course Hawke wasn’t done.
“You never let anyone look at it. Your wound. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Hawke said. He rocked on his feet awkwardly, “May I?”
Fenris almost said no. Didn’t want Hawke so close to him, not after what he had just done. But instead he found himself nodding, and Hawke bent down to look over his wound.
“Yep, completely closed,” Hawke said, running a finger across the scar. Fenris shivered. “Not bad for my first big heal, huh?”
He rocked back on his heels, looking up at Fenris expectantly. His hand was still pressed to his chest.
“Your big heal?” Fenris asked. He made no move to step away from Hawke. “I thought it was Anders who healed me.”
Hawke shrugged, “He’s been teaching me healing magic. Since you two don’t get along, I can confidently leave Anders out of the team if I can heal. I thought it might make these trips more bearable for you.”
Hawke rocked on his feet again, this time just so he had something to do while Fenris processed this. It hadn’t been Anders who healed him earlier. He didn’t owe anything to that abomination. Not to mention the fact that Hawke was learning healing magic for his sake.
“Do you remember that night at the Hanged Man?” Fenris asked abruptly. Hawke startled, looking confused. “When I told you not to touch me like you do the others.”
“Yes?” Hawke answered. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else, not having this conversation right now. He took an unsure step back.
“I want you to,” Fenris blurted before Hawke could bolt. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he couldn’t meet Hawke’s eyes.
“What?” Hawke cocked his head to the side. One of his hands was still on his chest, gently stroking as if he could still feel the ghost of Fenris’s hand inside his chest.
“I want you to treat me like you do the others,” Fenris said, still not looking at Hawke. He clenched his hands into sweaty fists.
Hawke’s hand twitched, as though wanting to reach out right then and there. He kept it still by his side, however, and his other had yet to leave his chest
“Fenris, are you sure?” Hawke asked, “You don’t think you’ll regret it? You don’t just feel left out or something? I know I can come on strong...”
“I’m sure,” Fenris stated. He had a lot of time to think on this, after all. “Just... maybe start out small.”
Hawke broke out in a dazzling grin and gripped Fenris’s hand in his own. His other hand left his chest and gently touched the side of Fenris’s face. Fenris immediately knew he made the right decision when the warmth of Hawke’s hand encased his own, and it just felt right. He broke out into a grin of his own.
Hawke really did take it slow. It started off with simple touches, a brush of the fingers or a bump on the shoulder. The satisfaction Fenris felt when Anders’ eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets when Hawke rested his hand on top of Fenris’s almost made all those weeks of stewing over his decision worth it. Varric gave him a sincere smile, as well as a congratulatory look towards Hawke.
As the months passed, Hawke’s touches gradually progressed towards pushing Fenris’s hair out of his face or all-out hand holding while they were walking through Hightown. Now used to the feeling, Fenris began to seek it out, his hand almost unconsciously seeking out Hawke’s whenever the other man was near. Fenris practically radiated smugness when he took the seat next to Hawke on Wicked Grace night, taking Anders’s usual seat. Hawke made no complaints, and slung an arm around Fenris’s shoulder.
And if Fenris secretly reveled in the jealous glares Anders sent him every time he stroked a finger across Hawke’s bicep, no one had to know.