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Hawke wakes abruptly, blinking at the dim outline of the bed curtains. Was he having a nightmare? No, in fact he can almost recall something funny about a dragon before it slips away completely. And anyway Hawke’s dreams have become boring over the past few years. (It turns out there's truly a limit to the ways you can imagine the people you love dying horribly in front of you. Now when he wakes up drenched in sweat, it's just part of the routine.)
So if it wasn't his own dreams, then — Hawke turns over carefully and immediately feels the ache behind his sternum that only happens when he looks at Fenris. In the faint pre-dawn light that’s managing to slip past the edges of curtains, he looks younger. Less angry, less fierce without the little frown line that's forming in between his eyebrows. Hawke can't resist teasing him about it, saying at least he doesn't have to worry about gray hair.
(In truth, Hawke is afraid to express the relief he feels at seeing that little line. Given the alternative, it's a delight to see Fenris growing older.)
As Hawke starts to reach out and pull the blankets back up around Fenris' bare shoulder, Fenris makes a soft, unhappy sound. Is that what woke Hawke? It wouldn't be the first time, of course.
Still, Hawke doesn't want to wake Fenris unless he has to. It’s unusual for either of them to sleep through the night, no matter how exhausted from a fight (or sated from something else) they may be. After that first night, neither of them would take offense now at an empty side of the bed. Some sleep for one of them is better than none for either, they’ve both agreed.
Usually, Hawke will find Fenris dozing off in the library with Dog tucked under his feet, or in the kitchen silently keeping Orana company early in the morning as she prepares food for the day. (It’s possible no one in this house sleeps well anymore). But coaxing him back to bed is easy enough, especially if they have no pressing plans for the day.
Hawke waits a moment to make a decision and sighs quietly when Fenris’ tattoos flare for just an instant, then leave the bedroom in darkness again. That settles it.
“Fenris,” he says clearly, but he doesn’t reach out. Hawke may have a strict no weapons in the bed rule (Well, except for that one time, and the time after that, because Hawke will try anything twice), but Fenris can’t exactly lay his aside. And so even in sleep, Hawke respects his space.
Fenris’ eyes open instantly, but they’re unfocused, the green clouded by something Hawke can’t quite put a name to. Then his eyelashes flutter and something tugs on that ache in Hawke’s chest.
“Bad dream?” Hawke says, giving Fenris a moment to collect himself. “Was it the one with the nugs?”
He's rewarded when the corner of Fenris’ mouth quirks up slightly. (Hawke’s aware most people think Fenris doesn't have a sense of humor, but like any precious thing you just have to dig for it.)
“I regret telling you about that one,” Fenris says drily, voice muffled slightly by the pillow. But his eyes are still serious.
“You were glowing," Hawke adds. "Just for a moment." It doesn’t happen often, although one night several months ago a few pillows did end up as a pile of feathers.
There’s a pause where neither of them breathe, and then Fenris hastily throws back the blankets so he can sit up. Hawke does the same, trying and failing to catch Fenris’ gaze, to assess the situation.
“What was it?” Hawke presses. He can’t help but push on it, like a bad bruise, because they don't keep things from one another, with even the ugly nightmares laid bare.
“I — you died,” Fenris says flatly, still staring at the wall across from the bed. It's possible his hand is shaking slightly.
That familiar, instinctive urge to say something funny, anything at all to relieve the tension, makes Hawke open his mouth, but he closes it just as quickly. He won’t make light of this.
“I’m right here,” Hawke says instead, and now he does reach out to turn the curve of Fenris' cheek toward him, at the same time Fenris turns to scan Hawke’s face. It's like he's judging the flesh-and-blood version in front of him against the dead-and-dying one from his dreams.
"I'm here now," Hawke says again. It physically pains him that's the best he can say. He can't even really promise either of them won't be stabbed in the street sometime tomorrow. The Arishok may be dead, but everything else is only getting worse, never better. Too often now Hawke has the sense he's rolling an impossibly large boulder up a hill, with too many people waiting for the moment he stumbles.
Fenris sighs a little, and then looks right into Hawke’s eyes as if he knows all of this. (He likely does, he's a perceptive bastard, and there’s a reason he listens more than he speaks.)
Then, he leans in and kisses Hawke, hard and looking for reassurance. Hawke’s hand moves down the side of Fenris' lovely neck, eager to give it. The kiss deepens as they both come closer, and Hawke groans when Fenris' hands come up to tangle in his hair and tug, just so.
“Make —” he manages as he tilts his head back slightly, before Fenris finds him again. Hawke’s own hands drift down, down, and Fenris makes a pleased sound into the corner of Hawke’s mouth as he shifts forward.
In a fight or a game of Wicked Grace, Fenris is single-minded, which is terrifying. However, Hawke has come to appreciate that focus being directed at him.
It’s not always like this, (in fact, sometimes they even manage to take their time), but part of it is Hawke’s own anxiety. How many more times will they have this, he can’t help but think, the question mark of the future both too heavy and too quickly approaching. And then Fenris chases that thought away. He knows what he wants, and asks for too little, so that Hawke has no intention of denying him, even if that means enduring the rest of his companion’s knowing looks when they return flushed from an “errand.”
“I love you,” Fenris says afterward, his voice entirely serious as they lie half entangled but too comfortable to do anything about it. He doesn’t say it often, or says it in other ways instead. It's almost like it pains him to reveal what he feels so obviously. Understandable, Hawke thinks.
“I love you too,” he says. For today at least, the words are enough.