Work Text:
If he was having a bad day, the city of Kirkwall had the ultimate solution: make it worse.
Hawke wasn't even sure how long he stood there, shirt and hoodie dripping with the spilled coffee and the shock filtering through his mind. It can't have been too long, because when he came to, he was shouting obscenities at the biker coasting away in such a way that would have made his dear mother blush had she not lived at least one body of water away from him. The biker didn't hear him, or more likely, didn't care, and so the I heard you have a dog in your apartment, first notice on the electricity, and apple streusel muffins no longer in stock at the shop was now accompanied with you no longer have coffee, Hawke, because it is spilled down your front.
He swore again, to himself, fumbling for some of the flimsy paper napkins that they had given him even though he knew it was a vain hope to soak the coffee out. That would probably stain... what a great way to end a week. He needed a drink, Maker.
Giving up the futile hope of salvaging the sopping wet stain, he started down the street. He needed to shop, which was certain to be absolute joy, given the time of day and his increasingly low bank account. He'd get by. He always did.
Movement from the corner of his eye made him turn, and eyebrows knitted together as he stared into the building with the all glass windows - one of those places for dancing, where you went to learn to dance or something. Usually the blinds were drawn across the glass windows, and Hawke passed by on his way around Kirkwall without casting a second glance. But today the interior of the wide room was visible, as was the lone occupant of the room.
The man was dark-skinned and white-haired, each a contrast to each other so strong that it would have drawn attention if the dancing had not. And the dancing was not something that would be ignored, lithe limbs darting across the floor, fast and fluid as though the man were floating with no regard for gravity. He was on his own plane, in his own world, hearing music that Hawke could not hear but could feel, anyway, just through watching the twirling on tiptoes, the graceful lunges that twisted into spins and jumps that seemed to defy gravity.
Hawke was awestruck, and he fell still outside the great glass window, unable to stop himself from staring.
The dancer in the studio spun around the room, bare feet barely seeming to touch the floor. And then just as fluidly, he came to a standstill. Stock still, feet together, bending at the waist in what Hawke only imagined was an obligatory bow as though he were giving a performance, and Hawke was suddenly taken with the urge to clap.
Almost in the same moment, the dancer's head snapped up, spinning around to look at Hawke.
Whoops, he was caught. Hawke blinked as the dancer glared at him, expression severe as if to say how dare you.
And then the white-haired male turned on his heel and marched from the room, grabbing the water bottle from the bench before he vanished through a doorway.
"Huh." Hawke shook his head a little and unstuck himself from the pavement, carrying on down the street. He had thought about dance approximately zero percent since he had arrived in Kirkwall; to be fair, he had thought about dance approximately zero percent in his whole life.
If everybody was as good as that guy, though, maybe it was something he ought to pay more attention to.
Something cold and wet landed on his nose. Hawke went cross-eyed to look at it. Was that... Another. Rain? He looked up just as the clouds seemed to burst, and the rain started to come down on the streets. They hadn't even called for rain until later! He had planned to be home, he hadn't brought an umbrella, or the car-
"Shit!" He jerked his hood up and took off running.
Kirkwall just had a way of raining on his parade.
Thank the Maker for fast food. He could only take so many microwave dinners in one week. At least he could get a cheeseburger and some fries and pretend it was real hamburger and enjoy it hot, instead of half frozen or half burnt from his shoddy microwave.
Somehow, and he wasn't sure how, he had ended up outside that dance studio again. He took a bite of the sandwich and swept his gaze expectantly to the wide open windows, and, yes, there he was. That dancer from before, dressed in all black like before, those form fitting kind of clothes that hugged every curve and showed off every definition the man had. As Hawke watched, the man was combing long fingers through his white hair, tying it back in a clumsy little ponytail, and was that- oh, he was an elf. He was an elf. How had he missed that before?
Hawke frowned around his sandwich. His mother would kill him if she knew he was ogling an elf. Actually, she still didn't know he wasn't exclusively into girls, so she'd probably have a few things to say about him ogling a guy in the first place.
There were mirrors in the studio, and Hawke watched from the sidewalk as the elf looked into the mirror and met Hawke's gaze through it. Hawke was going to wave or something, but he wondered if that seemed a little stalkerish. He just smiled instead, which probably had about the same effect as looking like a stalker had because he had conveniently forgot about the cheeseburger he had stuffed in his mouth so he had to look pretty stupid, anyway. Well, at least he hadn't slopped mustard- oh, shit!
He glanced up from dabbing at the mustard, watching the elf again. He had begun to actively ignore him, not storming away this time as Hawke watched. Instead, he just began to do what Hawke assumed were stretches, stretching one arm against the other, propping a bare ankle on the bar to stretch a leg, and then the other, sinking to the floor, into splayed-leg splits, head tucking to the floor, fingers on his toes.
Maker. Hawke's cheeks felt warm. How could one person be so limber?
The dancer continued on, settling into a varying degree of stretches and even rolls, forward somersaults Hawke recognized when they had done tumbling back in phys ed in school. (He'd been horrible; he'd always gotten tangled in his own limbs.) Eventually he went to fumble with the stereo sitting in the corner, crouching down in front of it and Hawke wouldn't lie if he said he wasn't paying a little more attention than he ought to have been to the backside of the elf. He wasn't staring, he wasn't being lewd, but... elf had a nice ass. He couldn't wear those leggings and not expect people to notice.
Either that, or Hawke was just a creeper at a window. Hell, he was a creeper at a window. He couldn't stand here all day, what a weirdo. He sucked at the straw on his drink, wincing as his soda had lost its carbonation thanks to the ice melting. How long had he been standing here already? He had work to finish at home.
He cast another glance towards the elven dancer, but he hadn't yet risen. He hadn't gotten to see him dance today, but... maybe next time.
Next time?
The third time, just a few days after the second, Hawke decided to lurk near the mailbox as if he was trying to maintain some semblance of being casual. And he couldn't pretend he wasn't simultaneously thrilled and terrified each time the elf did a kick, or a flip, or a jump. He was so fragile looking that if he landed wrong, he'd surely break an ankle, and Hawke didn't even know his name, but if he broke an ankle while he was watching, Hawke would probably full scale panic.
He was also trying not to panic each time the dancer caught his gaze on a spin or pacing back and forth between rooms Hawke couldn't see and the dance floor.
When the dancer pulled off one of the most spectacular endings yet, when he was left knelt, fingers splayed against the hard wood floor, and Hawke could see his chest heaving with his labored breath, see the sheen of sweat on his skin even from his perch outside, Hawke couldn't help but clap a little when the elf looked up and caught his eye again.
The man did not look angry this time, only, perhaps, a bit curious. As though he was the one to be intrigued. Surely he had people watching him all the time, with these windows like they were. If he didn't want to be watched, wouldn't he close the blinds? Hawke may as well give him some appreciation for the show he was putting on, if no one else would.
Much to his surprise, the elf rose and padded towards the door. The front door. As in, coming outside. As in, coming outside where Hawke was. Hawke's elbow slipped off the mailbox. And then he panicked. And then he ran.
Well, okay, he didn't run, he speed-walked. Speed-walked right out of there.
He wasn't normally so flustered. But something about that elf and those pants and that dancing. It was all sort of sensual in a way that wasn't overtly sexual, but it still made him hot and flustered, anyway.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and Hawke fished it out, frowning as Carver's name flashed across the ID. His brother never called for a friendly chat. They always fought when he did call.
Wonderful.
He felt like eating his own phone by the time he got home, if only he didn't have to hear his brother nitpick over everything. Carver did him a favor, and hung up on him first.
Good day, what a good day. Hawke fell onto the bed, and his dog nearly crushed the air out of his lungs as it greeted him for being home. "As least someone is happy to know me," he grumbled, and ran his fingers through its fur.
The blinds were closed.
Hawke may have stared. In disappointment. Because. Why now? He'd gotten an apple streusel muffin today! It was all good today! And no gorgeous dancer?
"If you're so interested, you could come in and try it yourself."
Hawke jumped at the gravelly voice, turning around to find himself face-to-face with the elf in question. He was dressed a little different, still in those yoga sort of pants, but with a charcoal v-neck and a black beanie, and holding two cups of coffee. He held one out to Hawke. "I figured I should pay you back for all the time you've had to have wasted standing out here the past few weeks," the elf continued, watching him curiously. Gauging his reaction, almost.
Hawke snapped out of his shock and stepped forward, taking the familiar paper to-go cup. "I've only been here, like, three times."
The elf shrugged. "That's two more times than most people."
"You have to have people watching you all the time, if you dance like that. Hawke, by the way," he said, gesturing to himself. "Garrett Hawke, but Hawke is fine."
The elf seemed to contemplate his presence for another moment before continuing to speak. "My name is Fenris. Most people do not linger to watch in this part of town. And the blinds are usually drawn during normal business hours. The owner's gone away for the month, but is allowing me to use the place until they return. I was trying to save on electric for them, so I opened the blinds for light instead."
"Do you dance here all the time? Even when they're open? I've never seen you around here."
"Yes, and no." Fenris raised his coffee to his lips. "I'm either here very early or very late."
"You don't dance with the rest of them?"
Fenris shook his head. "No."
"Why not?"
Fenris seemed to think about that for a moment, and then said "I do better under my own guidance than with someone hounding me with orders". He sipped at his coffee.
Hawke's mouth fell open. "Wait, don't tell me you're self-taught."
Fenris shrugged. "I have a large home, and nothing to fill it with. It started out as yoga and became choreography, eventually, with music and study."
"Are you serious?" Flabbergasted wasn't even the right word. "You're incredible!"
Fenris seemed to take the compliment to heart, shuffling with a little laugh that quickly turned into a cough. "You're welcome to come in and join me. There are no professionals on board, but if you're interested in dance..."
"Oh, Maker." Hawke didn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't interested in the dance so much as he was just watching Fenris do the dance, the way that the elf could move with such fluidity and grace, or that Hawke had about as much fluidity and grace as a tree limb in the wind. "I couldn't dance to save my life."
Fenris's eyes swept down Hawke's body and up again, an arch of an eyebrow challenging the statement. "You'd have to prove it by me."
"I'm too, I don't know, burly."
"Not a problem. I know many people far larger than you that are more talented than I." His fingers brushed at the keys hanging from his belt. "Or, if you'd like, you could just watch indoors."
"What, now?" Hawke glanced at the drawn up dance studio. "Are you on your way in?"
Fenris shrugged. "I always can be." He stopped, then, seeming to backtrack, abruptly unsure of himself. "Unless you have somewhere to be...?"
Hawke didn't know if Fenris was asking him out on a date or if it was a friendly invitation. He'd gotten him coffee, sure, but that didn't automatically assume that he liked him- men! Not him! Or, well, him, too, but- why was he getting so flustered? His heart was going a mile a minute.
He shook his head before he could talk himself out of it. "No, I've got nowhere to be. It's my day off, actually."
Fenris gave him a half smile, the first time Hawke had seen him smile since he had begun watching him dance through the windows. "As opposed to every other day you've been here?" He led the way to the front of the studio, unlocking the door with practiced ease.
"I'm usually here after work," Hawke admitted, "so it's worked out pretty well."
"I see." Fenris held the door open, and Hawke trotted in after him. "I'm going to change."
"Alright." Hawke looked around and then plopped himself down near the wall. He watched his hands shake as he held the cup. Honestly, pull yourself together, Garrett. "Have you been in Kirkwall long?" Great. Great question. He gulped down a mouthful of the coffee, ignoring as it burned the roof his mouth.
"A few years."
"Oh. It's almost two years for me. Great place, Kirkwall," he muttered.
"The other part of town is better," Fenris said, stepping back out in his usual dance outfit. "Although the character of the city is probably best found here."
"In the slums?"
"Yes." Fenris started to stretch.
Maybe he had a point. "Do you have family here?"
"No. I lost touch with my sister years ago."
"Oh." Hawke leaned back against the wall. "I've still got family, sort of. There's my brother, but he doesn't live around these parts. He's kind of a tit."
"At least he is still there."
"More or less," Hawke muttered. "I think he'd be there if I needed someone to stand with me, but otherwise, we don't get along well. My mom lives across the ocean. Lothering? Not sure if you've ever heard of it."
Fenris nodded. "It had an outbreak of illness years ago, did it not?"
"Yeah... lost a sister that way." The less he thought about Bethany, the better. Between the twins, she and he had always gotten on better. And when she had died, Hawke had taken a downward spiral that he had only snapped out of to take care of his mother. So, no, he hadn't coped when Bethany had died and he still wasn't coping and he didn't want to think about it. He missed her, though.
Fenris looked at him sharply. "I am sorry."
"Me, too," Hawke murmured.
Silence overtook the studio for a moment where they both seemed to be avoiding pushing the conversation. Hawke didn't know what was going through Fenris's head, but he couldn't find anything to change the subject from the sudden gloominess himself, which was funny, since he always had words.
"I'll start with something simple as a warm-up," Fenris said, then, turning to the stereo. "Although I fear it will not be exciting for you."
"I'm sure it'll be plenty exciting," Hawke said, offering up a smile again. Fenris gave off the air of being more socially awkward than Hawke was, and yet the elf was carrying the conversation. Hawke was glad... all this talk of his sister was a great way to put him right down. Hence not thinking about it.
Thirty minutes later, Hawke was beginning to think it wasn't that he'd been talking about Bethany at all, and his heart wasn't pounding in his chest because he was nervous about this guy. The strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck, spreading throughout his body...
He waited until after Fenris finished his latest routine to interrupt. They hadn't been talking as much, not after the second routine, where Fenris had seemed to forget he had company at all and instead focused on the twist and turns and steps of the dance, but Hawke cleared his throat now, muttering a tiny "Fenris?" into the lull.
Fenris looked at him, breath whisking in and out of flared nostrils from the work-out, cocking his head in question. "Yes?" And then he frowned, taking in the moment. "Are you well?"
Hawke tugged at the neck of his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric for a moment. "You didn't get me decaf, did you?" Of course he hadn't; how would he know?
It might have been comical, any other time, the way that the elf's green eyes widened in that moment. "Venhedis. Are you allergic to caffeine?" He fell effortlessly into a crouch next to Hawke, fear etched into his face. "I noticed you had something from that place before, I didn't think. I just assumed you had coffee."
Hawke was already shaking his head. "Nah, I'm not allergic, no." Calm down before you make me panic more. Maker, he's cute when he's looking at me like that, though. "I've just... kind of got an intolerance to it."
"Intolerance?"
"Sensitivity." What would didn't make it sound so bad? "I just get shaky and... kind of feel like I'm gonna die, actually." He laughed until he saw Fenris's face. That really wasn't the thing to say so it didn't sound bad. "I'm fine, I'll be fine. I just... wow." He didn't say that he hadn't had non-decaf coffee in ages, which probably explained such a strong reaction. It wasn't that he couldn't take caffeine in small doses, but coffee was something else entirely.
"Garrett?"
"Water, maybe? Fuck. Sorry."
"Water," Fenris repeated, nodding and darting from the room.
It was probably half anxiety at this point, but the pounding in his chest made him feel all the more worse, like he was going to collapse and that his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. Breathe, he reminded himself sternly, like when he'd gone through this in high school when he'd tried to stay up late to work and had an adverse reaction, then, too. Water, and maybe some food, right? Did he remember right? He suddenly wanted to be back home, even if it meant ruining meeting this amazing guy, but he wanted to be back home and tucked in bed and not trying to not lose his shit.
"You're fine, you're fine," he muttered to himself, taking deep breaths. "Stay calm, Hawke."
"Here." Fenris crashed to his knees next to him, screwing the lid off of a bottle of water. "Do I need to call a hospital?"
"No, no, I'll wait it out." He shakily took a gulp of the water, chasing away the leftover bitter taste of the coffee. He had never been able to tell the difference much. You would think he would know by now, drinking decaf all the time. "My fault, should have noticed." He blew out a breath and swallowed another mouthful of water, holding out his hand for the cap.
Fenris sat back on his legs, watching him with a critical look. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." Hawke breathed in deeply, and then out slowly. "I just need to... deal." He waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture.
"Maybe you should lie down?" Fenris asked slowly.
"Laying down doesn't help." He leaned his head back against the wall. Or in the long run, maybe it did, but laying down meant potentially falling asleep and potentially falling asleep when he felt the way he did made him feel like he was going to sleep and not be able to wake up. Maybe it did help, but it didn't make him feel better, and he wasn't sure which Fenris was aiming for. "But I don't feel like doing anything else. I need to get the bus." No way he could drive home like this.
"I'll drive you," Fenris said immediately.
Hawke gulped at some more of the water, eyeing the elf. "You drive?"
Fenris nodded. "I'll get the car. Drink your water." He was already out of the studio before Hawke could say anything.
This... was great. Definitely the way he wanted to meet this guy. Overdosing on caffeine. His hands shook as he took another drink and screwed the lid on the bottle.
"I'm sorry I threw up in your car," Hawke mumbled, fumbling for his keys. His hands were still shaking. Didn't want to work. He wanted to curl over on the front stairs and maybe hyperventilate. The faster he drank the water, the faster the caffeine would get out of his system, right? The overdose coupled with drinking the water too fast and he'd choked and coughed and retched, throwing up all over the passenger floor. If he hadn't wanted to gasp himself into oblivion before, he certainly did now. He was only just a hair's breadth away from a panic attack. "I'll pay for cleaning..."
"I'm sorry I bought you caffeine. Where are your keys?"
"Umm..." Fuck again. He patted his pockets down. "Where... oh." He pulled them free of his front pocket, shaking his head a little. Maker, he needed to sleep. Or sit down. Or puke again.
"Let me." Fenris took the keys and opened the door effortlessly, one of his thin hands falling into the small of his back. "Careful."
"Sorry. This is a horrible first meeting. I just wanted to watch you danc- holy fuck-"
"Garrett!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't- she said you were out-"
Hawke threw his hand up over his face, trying to mentally bleach out the image that had just been seared into his mind: namely his naked sister riding her naked boyfriend on his couch, holy balls!
"Fenris, meet my other sister, Marian," Hawke said dryly. "And her boyfriend, Anders."
"I'm so sorry," Anders apologized, wiggling back into his skinny jeans. "She said no one was going to be home!"
"You weren't supposed to be home yet, Garrett- wait, why do you look like shit?" Marian looked between him and Fenris. "And who's the elf?"
"My name is Fenris," Fenris said. "I mistakenly gave him coffee with caffeine." He looked uncertainly at Hawke. "I should go?"
"I think I should go," Anders interrupted. "I'm sorry, again, really."
"Wait, you're overdosing on caffeine?" Marian asked in concern, gripping at his shoulder.
Oh Maker, his heart- He scrabbled for a grip on Fenris's arm because he was that half step closer to him than he was his sister. He was going to go down, or throw up on their feet. He couldn't-
"Sit down," Marian said, and Hawke allowed himself to be guided onto the couch by Fenris and Marian (his couch... his couch). "Did you only have the one cup?"
Hawke nodded, tugging at his clothes. Everything was too tight. His skin was tingling. "Marian... take him home, take Anders home." He waved his hand towards the door.
"But-"
Oh, he couldn't take all this activity just now.
Fenris's hand left his arm, and the next thing Hawke knew, their trash bin was shoved into his hands, head directed gently over it before he could throw up on the floor. "I need quiet," he moaned when he resurfaced, thunking his head against the rim of the bin. "Please, take him home, Fenris'll be here with me, I need quiet, I'm going to freak." He was going to ask if Fenris was okay with it, but it didn't matter, either way; he just wanted Marian (and Anders) to stop staring. "Caffeine fucks up my anxiety, you know that."
"... Fine," Marian said, straightening up. Sweet Andraste, she hadn't even put her clothes back on. At least she'd pulled up her... frilly underwear. His little sister... (He was older only by minutes, but that was beside the point.) It wasn't that he hadn't known she was fucking the blonde, but his sister. He couldn't think about this right now. "But I'm coming back once I get him home, Garrett," Marian promised, swiping her clothes off the floor. "You'd better make sure he's okay while I'm gone," she demanded of Fenris.
The elf, for his part, seemed to be taking it all in stride. He nodded. "Yes. I will remain with him."
"Good. I'll be back in a bit. Go to bed, Garrett." She leaned over to kiss the top of his, and Hawke smiled wearily. "Back soon."
The silence that fell through the house rang in his ears. Finally. And the gravity of the situation fell on him that the cute guy he'd been crushing on while watching him dance had more or less poisoned him, brought him home, and was still standing next to his side, looking wary and worried and unsure. "Maker's breath," Hawke swore, sitting up. "I'm sorry, you can go. I'm okay."
"I told your sister I would stay," Fenris said. "You should go rest, if it will help."
"Yeah. Bathroom first... brush my teeth," he muttered. "But, no, you don't have to stay, Anders lives an hour out." He pushed himself to his feet and suddenly he was hyperaware of Fenris's hands fluttering to help him.
This cute guy that he barely knew, had bought him coffee and brought him home and now they were there, alone, and Fenris was standing close enough to him for Hawke to smell his cologne or deodorant or aftershave or shampoo or something-
"I would prefer to stay, Garrett," Fenris said quietly.
Hawke blinked rapidly and dragged his eyes away from those contemplative green eyes, taking a few steps towards the hall. "Okay, er. Thanks. You can watch TV, or stay in Marian's room, well, the guest room, she doesn't really live with me any more..." Which was why he still had no idea why his sister and her boyfriend were here, not at Anders's place, but, later.
"Very well. Can you walk?"
"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine, really, I just feel like... shit."
"I'm sorry."
Hawke shook his head. "Not your fault, Fenris, seriously. Don't apologize." He cracked a crooked smile. "Besides, you're taking good care of me."
Fenris did not smile in return. Dang, he really was cute when he was worried.
Over the next few hours, Hawke deviated from being passed out to having small panic attacks, and he couldn't remember for sure but he thought he remembered Fenris hovering next to the bed, rubbing circles onto his back, and Marian coming and going sans Anders now, and when he woke up once, Fenris was slumped in the corner of his room, head propped against the wall, fast asleep. Come morning, or the semblance of his morning, the elf was gone and Marian was passed out in her room and Hawke still felt like shit and had that all been a dream? No, it couldn't have been... he had that weird kind of hangover thing going on.
What a... strange day.
The next day, he was back at the dance studio. He still didn't feel up to his best, but he had to thank Fenris, and he'd had to go back into work after the sick day, so all of the action was moot.
Fenris saw him immediately. Mid-dance. And he stopped mid-dance, or attempted to, and seemed like he tripped over his own feet in his haste, barely stopping himself from crashing into the wall.
Hawke raised an eyebrow. So, the graceful could trip and look a fool. It was... incredibly endearing.
Fenris swung the door open. "Hawke."
Hawke waved a little. "Hi."
"How are you feeling?" Fenris stepped out of the way, gesturing him in.
"Better. I called in yesterday, had a day to myself once I talked Marian out of my hair. But yeah, better, thanks for taking me home and, hanging out and everything."
The elf frowned, eyebrows knitting together in concern. "I'm sorry again."
Hawke shrugged. "I should have noticed, I didn't, you're fine." Fenris looked unconvinced, and Hawke pushed on. "Maybe next time I'll bring coffee for you, instead. Or we could just go together."
Fenris regarded him - and Hawke definitely did not hold his breath because he'd just asked him out - and then nodded slowly. "Yes... I would like that."
"Oh, fantastic!"
Fenris laughed slightly, turning to mess with the stereo.
"Don't stop on my account," Hawke said quickly, dropping onto the bench. "You were in the middle of the dance, right? I saw you kind of... flailing."
Fenris's shoulders stiffened.
"It was cute."
"It was not!" Fenris protested, spinning a halfhearted glare on him. "Besides, it was your fault. I didn't expect to see you."
Hawke raised his eyebrows. "Oh? I can go?" Fenris's glare intensified, and Hawke laughed out loud, holding up his hands. "Okay, okay, I'll stop teasing. Please, though," he gestured to the floor. "Make me feel better."
Fenris stood with his hands clenched at his sides for a moment before relenting. "Fine."
Victory! "Thank you," he beamed.
Fenris swallowed and turned away from him, padding back into the middle of the floor.
They went for coffee. They went for dinner. They went out enough that Marian started asking him personal questions that he had no answer to. (Not that he let her know that; he and Fenris may not have kissed yet, but Marian could think all she wanted.)
They went dancing.
Or, Fenris asked him if he would like to try dancing.
Hawke looked uncertainly at Fenris, who was holding an arabesque position at the barre. He wasn't looking at him, even in the mirror. Making a suggestion, but unsure if Hawke would accept. And honestly? This kind of dancing? This ballet kind of dancing? It was beautiful. Hawke loved to watch Fenris dance, even if, after the studio had reopened, Fenris didn't get the chance to dance there as often anyway. But... him? Himself, doing these delicate little things?
But this was important to Fenris, dance. And Hawke couldn't bring himself to say no, even when those puppy eyes weren't turned on him.
"I can try," Hawke said shortly, and Fenris's eyes snapped up in the mirror to meet his. "That's why you told me to be casual today, isn't it?" He glanced down at his own sweatpants and sweatshirt.
"I had hoped." Fenris lowered his leg, bouncing onto the balls of his feet. "If you do not wish to, I understand."
Hawke was shaking his head before he even thought about it. "No, let me! I mean, I only really know the names, I don't know how to... do them or anything."
"That's okay." Fenris doubled around to him. "You'll need to take off your shoes. I don't have slippers for you... although if it becomes a usual thing, I may need to ask the dance instructors."
Was he... he was looking excited. It wasn't that Fenris didn't get excited about things. He did. It was adorable. But this... this was something different. There was a certain amount of passion suddenly in his eyes, excitement vibrating through his body as he shifted effortlessly to demi-pointe from flat. Hawke was certain it had a name. He didn't know it.
What was he doing? Oh, it didn't matter. He was already kicking his shoes off. If Fenris was going to look at him like that, he'd make a ballet dancer out of himself yet. Somehow.
"You need to stretch, too."
"Of course." These, Hawke was a little more familiar with. He had unabashedly watched Fenris doing them enough since they had first met. And about half of them? Hawke couldn't do at all. He was pretty sure he'd get, he didn't know, stuck or something. But the ones he could do, he immediately started on.
When he had finished, and Fenris had put on something soft and slow and quiet that would normally put Hawke to sleep, Hawke instead grabbed ahold of the barre and tried to mimic the way that he knew the elf stood (without the barre). And still Fenris lurked around him, almost circling him, hands nudging at his hips, shoulders, pushing him up straight.
"Your posture is integral," Fenris said quietly. "And your knees are locked up." Fenris's knee nudged at Hawke's, not to move, just to point out. "Breathe, and relax."
"I'm not even in first, though."
"First is hard."
"Isn't fifth hard?" Hawke retorted smartly. "First has to be easy, it's just making a straight line, right?"
"Yes, but-"
First was hard.
"Are you sure your feet are normal?" Hawke groused, eyeing Fenris's perfect first. The closest he could manage was making a ‘v’ with his feet, which was nowhere near first.
"I said it was difficult. It takes time. Not on the first class." Fenris took Hawke's arm. "Your position for your arms for first should be curved. If you weren't using the barre, both arms would be brought to the front, fingertips together, in line with the navel." He held Hawke's arm aloft in the correct position. "A mirror image on the other."
"Yeah, I can't let go." He had tried, but found it so much more unsteady than he expected. Fenris made it look so easy. Hawke had struggled to try and get a decent looking first with his feet for only a minute and his legs were still shaking.
"No," Fenris agreed, fingers brushing down Hawke's arm. He pulled away a second later. "Your flexibility would help you to be a dancer, however."
"Oh, I'm flexible," he snarked, and beamed at Fenris's eyeroll. "But I lack the gentle... fluid sort of..." He didn't have the words. "You."
"Me," Fenris deadpanned.
"What you do."
"I see." The corner of the elf's mouth was twitching up. "Are you referencing first, or second?" His feet slid apart, putting a solid shoulders-width between his heels. Arms extended from his sides, palms exposed, fingers pointed down. "Or fifth?" The complicated thing where it looked like the toes of his front foot were pointing to the heel of his back foot, like that was a natural position a person's feet should be in, and yet Fenris made it look natural. And then he shifted so that one knee was bended, toes tucked against the opposite knee, and spun. Spun on his tiptoes kept going by nothing but momentum, evidently, before effortlessly falling back into the primary posture, hair flipping around his face. He hadn't tied it up.
Hawke's knuckles had gone white around the barre, and he only noticed after Fenris had stopped spinning.
"Or a pirouette en dehor?" Fenris was being positively sly with him now.
Hawke stuck out his tongue as his legs wobbled, and he struggled to fix his posture so that he wouldn't drop. "Okay, show-off."
Fenris smiled in earnest then, and his smile was honestly like the sun. He didn't smile often. But when he did...
"I thought you were supposed to be teaching me to dance," Hawke said.
"I was teasing you." Fenris nudged Hawke's shoulder. "Step out of form. Maybe a different type of dance?"
Hawke gratefully fell away from the barre, wincing as he rolled his ankles and stretched his legs. "What kind of dance? I can't do contemporary, either."
Fenris had already gone to the stereo, poking at buttons. He said nothing.
"If you're about to put on a waltz, I will probably collapse," Hawke added. "Fenris?"
The music that came on just then was soft, and slow, but nowhere as soporific as the other music and, unlike the other music, it had words. It wasn't a song that Hawke knew, but he looked curiously at the elf.
"Slow dancing?" Fenris asked.
Oh. Hawke held out his hands. "That I can do. That I know how to do."
Fenris smiled gently, hesitating only for a moment before taking Hawke's hands.
Hawke took them and put them around his neck. "Do you know how to do this?" he joked, settling his arms around Fenris's waist. So impossibly skinny and fragile, Maker. Hawke didn't know how he didn't snap a bone doing all of these dances. Or how he didn't blow away in the wind in a thunderstorm. Or how he hadn't kissed him yet, he thought, as they swayed without much rhythm. Really, how hadn't he kissed him yet?
"I do," Fenris said. "I just generally don't."
"And why not? Great dancer as you are."
"I have no one to dance with."
"Ah. Well, I'm here, Fenris."
"Indeed you are."
Did Fenris not want him to kiss him, he wondered? Hawke didn't want to press it. He didn't want to rush him. He didn't know if Fenris had had past relationships, they had never talked about it, but he didn't want to make a move if the elf wasn't ready for it. But what if Fenris was waiting for the same thing? Waiting because of the same reason, unsure, and one of them needed to take that first step, right?
Hawke had never been particularly good at relationships.
The past few months had been great, regardless. The hand-holding, the dating, the dancing. Having somewhere to look forward to going after work and on his days off, and listening to Fenris talk about his own life, piece by piece. That was good. It was something that Hawke hadn't had in a long time. And he didn't want it to change, he wanted Fenris and him to-
"Hawke."
How could such a small elf have such a growly voice? Hawke looked down at him. "Huh?"
"I want to kiss you, Hawke."
That... effectively put their relationship on solid ground. The kissing bit of it. Hawke might have been staring at the sudden declaration, but he had just been thinking about it, he couldn't help it.
"Tell me you don't want me to and we'll forget I ever said it," Fenris continued, although his arms constricted a little around Hawke's neck like he didn't want to let him go either way.
Good thing Hawke didn't mind. "No need," he said, and was certain he was going to burst out laughing from happiness as Fenris dragged him down to kiss him. He managed to keep it in, though, and it was only later, when they were both sprawled out on the studio floor after the make-out session that he permitted himself the moment to chuckle.
Fenris laid next to him, head half on his shoulder, and his green eyes darted to Hawke's brown ones. "What?"
Hawke shrugged slightly, careful not to dislodge him, and ran his fingers through the white hair. "It's just... I think I've wanted to do that since I met you."
"You think?"
"I know," Hawke affirmed. "Love at first sight."
Fenris rolled his eyes. "That is not necessary, Hawke." He turned his head away, but not before Hawke noticed the blush.
For once, he didn't say anything. Instead, he just pressed his lips against Fenris's temple and pulled him closer, smiling as the fluorescent lights of the dance studio beamed down around them.