Work Text:
There is a man that comes to Hawke's bakery every morning.
His name is Anders. He is a nurse at Kirkwall’s central hospital and always looks incredibly exhausted – like he spent more time working than actually sleeping. Anders also has two cats: Wiggums and Ser-Pounce-A-Lot and he has a seemingly endless amount of pictures of them to show to Hawke every morning when he comes in.
(Not that Hawke particularly minds seeing them. He might be a dog person, but there is nothing wrong with cats. Cats are adorable. Anders's cats especially. They are both strays that adopted their owner instead of the other way around according to Anders.)
Those three things are the only information Hawke has about Anders. His name, his profession and his pets. Those, and that Anders has a refined sweet tooth and caffeine addiction. So, five things technically. That is not a lot of things. A lot less than Hawke would like.
Hawke desperately wants to know more about him. He wants to know Anders's surname, where he lives, his favourite colour, his favourite movie, his favourite sex position and whether he is single and into handsome male bakers.
It's not like Hawke to not to go for what he wants. He is fit, good-looking, confident and absolutely hilarious — both men and women swoon before him, or at least that is what Varric likes to say, but Varric also likes to lie a lot, so who knows.
But for some reason something about Anders makes Hawke increasingly nervous and it feels like his mouth has lost the ability to talk whenever they speak to each other. It has absolutely never been a problem before. Not until now.
So whenever Anders comes by, Anders just talks about his cats and complains about his job for a few minutes while Hawke continues trying not to swallow his own tongue in his presence or stare too obviously with an awed blushing look on his face.
And then he leaves to feed his cats after his night-shift with a tired wave, and Hawke realises he has barely gotten two sentences out of his mouth during their interaction, which is increasingly concerning at this point.
Today, though. Today is Hawke's day, he has decided. He practises a dazzling grin in front of the bathroom mirror and tries to tame his mess of hair with a comb — he even trims his beard and adds moisturizer on his face. His dog gives him a confused tilt of his head as Hawke whistles under his breath as he puts on clean underpants and so much cheap cologne that Waffles sneezes behind him.
By the time he parks his car outside the bakery, his new found confidence hasn't waned one bit. He has a little more than an hour before Anders drops by after his night shift for his breakfast. That is just enough time to prepare his funniest pick-up lines. Or should be as Wednesday mornings are usually pretty slow, so Hawke has plenty of time to prepare himself for Anders's arrival.
It's going to be perfect.
****
It's not perfect.
For some reason this Wednesday morning is the busiest Wednesday morning he has ever had in his bakery. There's screaming children, a lot of obnoxious muttered complaints from impatient customers, a raccoon in the dumpster, an elderly lady slipping on the squeaky clean floor, which causes a big commotion when the paramedics arrive to tend to her — it's a bloody big disaster of a Wednesday morning.
And the absolute worst thing about it all is that Anders doesn't even come. Hawke stares at the front door like a hawk, but he never comes. He always comes on Wednesdays, it's an unwritten note on Hawke's unbought calendar — Anders comes at 8 am, please man up and ask him out!!!!!! — but today he doesn't.
And Hawke is… disappointed. Of course he is. Today was supposed to be the Day. The Day Hawke was going to make his move, and now it's close to closing time and Anders hasn't dropped by all day and absolutely everything is ruined.
Hawke sighs heavily as he starts counting the money in the cash register, licking his thumb as he goes through the notes. He is sure he has an embarrassingly defeated expression on his face, but no one is at the bakery at the moment except for him, so no one will ever know.
He is in the backroom when the bell of the front door rings.
“We're closed!” he shouts over his shoulder.
“Oh,” someone says behind the till. “I guess I will come back tomorrow.”
Hawke's heart stops.
“Wait!” he yelps and almost crashes through the doorway as he rushes back to the store. He curses under his breath as his sleeve gets stuck on the doorknob and he stumbles in his haste, almost face planting on the floor.
When he looks up he sees Anders looking at him amusedly, a little startled by his overly enthusiastic entrance, but seemingly happy to see him. Something inside Hawke's chest lightens at the sight.
“Hi,” Hawke says with a bright smile. “Hi! Hello! Good morning!” he continues idiotically and internally winces at himself, but Anders looks nothing if a little enamored, which is… new.
“Good morning,” he answers back with a hesitant sort of smile, like he isn't certain if he should speak at all.
It's, of course, five in the afternoon and this morning is only a memory, but Hawke doesn't let it bother him. This is it.
Anders doesn't look nearly as exhausted as he usually does, which is something Hawke notices immediately. He looks relaxed in his soft looking green sweater and the shadows under his eyes aren't as prominent as they usually are. He looks happy at this moment, and Hawke laughs a little. His tense shoulders relax.
“Come here often?” he asks then like a total first-grade idiot, but Anders only chuckles, amused and soft, and Hawke can feel himself falling even harder in a way Varric will write in his biography he is, apparently, already working on.
“Guess I do,” Anders answers amusedly, and Hawke flushes all the way to his ears at the slight grin on Anders's extremely kissable looking mouth.
Aaaaaand Hawke is once again tongue-tied in front of this beautiful man, who is a brilliant human lives saving nurse and shows him pictures of his adorable cats and who always orders the same damn thing, and is only on Hawke's proximity five minutes a day but who Hawke can't stop thinking about in his freetime like a besotted fucking loon.
It's, frankly, embarrassing as hell, but what can he do about it? Bury himself alive and wallow in misery? No thank you — that doesn’t sound very fun.
“Are you out of cinnamon rolls?” Anders asks, and Hawke winces and rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“It's okay,” Anders replies with a sincere looking smile. “What would you recommend?”
Hawke straightens his back. “What are you in the mood for?” He tries posing sexily against the counter, but today he is not very good at his signature move, so his elbow slips and he almost face plants again. Damn.
And then suddenly Hawke has forgotten every single staple pastry and cake he has for sale. “The… uh…”
Anders raises one blond eyebrow.
Fucking focus, Garrett Hawke. You've got this. “Um…” He doesn't have it. “T-the cheese cake?” No, he is out of it, too. “No, the sour deep fried mango red velvet and chocolate and uh… latte fudge cupcake.” There is no such as a thing as a sour deep fried mango red velvet and chocolate latte fudge cupcake.
Anders continues to raise his eyebrow. It is rather attractive of him.
Hawke sighs. “There is no such a thing as a sour deep fried mango red velvet and chocolate latte fudge cupcake,” he admits defeatedly.
“What a shame,” Anders says. “I really want one.” He is still amused, and Hawke can still salvage this if he tries hard enough. He can.
“Wouldyouevergooutwithme?” he blurts out, and Anders's eyes widen in something Hawke guesses is total surprise.
“Would I ever… what?” There is a wicked glint in Anders's eyes. Hawke would hate him if he didn’t like him so much.
“Go. Out. With. Me,” he says very slowly, leaving no room for doubt. He tries posing against the counter again and actually succeeds this time. Kind of. At least he doesn't fall on his face, which was a real possibility.
Anders bites his lower lip. Hawke guesses he is trying to be seductive. It is rather awkward but very much working.
Hawke is sweating. Maker, he is sweating so hard. He kind of wants to escape. He kind of wants to die.
“I might,” Anders says finally, and Hawke takes a deep breath of relief.
“If,” Anders says, and Hawke is sweating even more. “You can make me that sour deep fried mango chocolate surprise,” he makes a wavy gesture with his hand, “or whatever the hell you just said. I want it.”
Hawke is pretty sure his answering grin is dazzling.
“I can make that happen,” he says immediately, though the promise makes him sweat even more.
For a moment they just stare at each other, smiling, and then Anders looks down at his hands.
“I quit at the hospital,” he says then. “Last week.”
“Oh,” Hawke says. He isn't sure if he should ask why, but he is too curious for his own good. “Why?”
“Oh, I don't know,” he says with a rueful smirk. “It wasn't for me anymore.” Anders pauses. “Going to open a private practice, I think.” Then his smile grows into a teasing one. “Or maybe I will freeload on handsome talented bakers. What do you think?”
Hawke laughs long and hard. “Could be arranged,” he answers cheerfully and Anders flushes bright red.
“Wiggums learned to meow on command,” Anders says after a moment. “You could watch the ten minute video I recorded this morning or…” He trails off.
Hawke swallows. “Or…?”
“You could come to my place and see it for yourself,” Anders offers tentatively, and Hawke nods so fast that he almost dislocates his jaw.
“Yes! Yeah. Definitely.”
Anders smiles, eye corners crinkling.
Hawke might be a little bit in love.
“Now?”
Anders nods. “If you're free.”
The viscount of Kirkwall could demand an audience right now and Hawke would tell him to fucking shove it.
“I'm always free for you,” he answers and it doesn't come out as teasing or flirty like he intended; instead it's an admission a million miles too honest, but Anders doesn't seem to mind — he only looks incredibly pleased, the flush on his face brightening.
Later Hawke learns that Anders has no surname, that he lives in a tiny apartment just outside of Darktown, that his favourite colour is blue, that his favourite movie is the one with a lot of shirtless men in it, that his favourite sex position is missionary and that he is indeed single and very, very into handsome male bakers.