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He walked out.
He hadn’t wanted to, but he did, and he felt the consequences of that action might just be more than he could take.
Hawke was a charismatic person, the type who could land anyone if they tried hard enough; the type who probably didn’t even need to try, going by some of their friends.
And Fenris left them in bed, rain coming down as he left the estate, heart heavy with regret. Hawke had trusted him with this, with a moment like that, with their affection, only to be spurned in the end.
And for what? he mused bitterly as he entered the stolen mansion. He didn’t bother lighting any of the candles as he grabbed a bottle from the basement, not caring what it was as long as it had alcohol, and a quick sniff confirmed that it did. All that time, all that trust, thrown into the wind.
He felt like a coward. He should have told Hawke not to trust him from the beginning; maybe that would have spared this hurt, spared both of them from wanting something Fenris couldn’t give.
But he knew Hawke. He knew he would go next time they called upon him to join whatever party they’d scrounged up, and he knew he’d go. Hawke would smile at him, ask if he’s alright, and give him the toothy grin he usually got from them.
He hoped he wouldn’t have to see that broken look again next time he saw Hawke. Anything, anything, even hate, would be better than that.
But the memories that he’d seen - a glimpse of fading red hair, a girl’s laughter - only to be snatched from him just after? That he could handle even less than facing Hawke.
He was losing everything all over again, and he only wished he’d told Hawke not to trust him.