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Dorian groaned, morning sunlight clawing its way past his eyelids. His head throbbed and he almost let out a whine. What did he even drink last night?
“Kaffas,” he muttered, shifting on the… couch, apparently, from the feel of it. His mouth felt cottony and dry.
As if on cue, he felt a plastic bottle against his mouth, and he opened to let cool, soothing water flow into his throat. The bottle was removed before he’d had his fill, but it was enough to get his mouth working again, and he worked his eyes open, blinking rapidly.
“There you are,” the elf above him said with a smile. Mahanon, he recalled. Bit of a strange person, always making odd sounds and movements, but they’d been friends a couple weeks now after meeting in some unique circumstances.
He grimaced. Had he gotten drunk and slept with the man? Why would he have done that? Sure, he used to do so, but he had specifically aimed to not do that this time. Shame he couldn’t even remember anything about last night.
It occurred to him that the couch he was on was made of leather, and as he glanced about the apartment, he also saw a rather large flatscreen and other expensive furniture. “This is your apartment?” he said. “I could’ve sworn it looked different last time. This is almost luxurious.”
Mahanon let out a soft laugh; he looked almost ethereal in the sunlight, making Dorian’s heart flutter. “This isn’t my apartment. No way I could afford this.” He helped move Dorian up into a sitting position, handing him the water and placing a hand on his forehead briefly to check for a fever. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a car, honestly.” Dorian was glad for the absence of mirrors in the living room—he didn’t want to see what sort of mess he looked like right now, in front of the guy he was trying to impress. “If we’re not at your place, where exactly are we? And how much did I have to drink last night?”
Mahanon’s mouth twitched, twisting his grin for a few moments. “Nothing, lethallin. You didn’t have anything to drink. But, ah—you were actually hit by a car.”
“My sincerest apologies,” came a new voice. A short, stocky man with ample chest hair peeking out from his bathrobe entered the room from a side door. “I sort of hit you with my car.”
“Dorian, this is Varric. He’s a local author.”
Dorian frowned. “So you hit me with a car and then brought me to your apartment? And now we’re being cheery and friendly and whatnot?”
“Yes, well… We were nearby, and your friend here said something about hospital bills, although he was freaking out and wanted to rush you to the hospital anyway.”
“So Varric and Mahanon brought you here!” A new, chirpy voice came from another side room-presumably a second bedroom—as a woman with short dark hair walked into the room. Unlike Varric, she was fully dressed. “My apartment, actually, not Varric’s. He was just crashing here.”
“Can’t you let a man dream, Hawke?” Varric put his hand on his chest in a gesture of mock hurt. “I’d kill to have a place with this view.” The apartment overlooked the city park, which was a rather nice improvement over the view of the docks that he had.
“Hold on a moment,” Dorian said, interrupting the conversation. His mind was still fuzzy, and sorting through thoughts took more effort than it should have done. “You hit me with your car hard enough to knock me out and didn’t take me to the hospital?”
“They called over a mage friend,” Mahanon said. “He healed you. You’ve still got a bit of bruising, but it’s all very minor.” He coughed into his shoulder. “Are you in pain?”
Experimentally rolling his shoulders, Dorian shook his head. “No. Bit of an ache, and my head is killing me, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“Good.” Mahanon stood up, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to Dorian’s forehead.
His world froze for a moment, surprise blanking his mind. He scrambled to make sense of it—did Mahanon like him? Was it common for Dalish to show affection like this?—but was distracted by Hawke’s words instead.
“—coffee?” she was asking, and he gave a stunned nod. Coffee was good.
“Again,” Varric said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry about that. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just say the word.”
He nodded again, eyes drawn to Mahanon’s back. “Wait. Are you leaving?”
The elf turned back to him. “I’ve got work,” he said apologetically, “but I’ll call to check in on you on my lunch break, alright?”
“Yes, that sounds good.” He couldn’t help but smile back at Mahanon’s grin and nod.
Varric shared a knowing glance with Hawke as she returned with a mug of coffee. They’d seen this before; they knew exactly where this was going to go.