Work Text:
Anders couldn’t remember the last time he laughed this hard. He was certain it had been before he arrived in Kirkwall. He was also fairly certain, or at least hopeful, that it had been at something far wittier than his current amusement. Namely, a drunken Hawke, in the middle of Varric’s kitchen with a packet of instant noodles balanced atop her head, acting out what was, frankly, a rather poor impersonation of Kirkwall’s uptight Knight-Captain. It was petty and stupid, but they had been drinking, and the night had reached that point where everything was hazy and comfortable and much funnier than it should have been. In the moment, watching Hawke double over in laughter unable to finish her own joke, Anders wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything more hilarious or more beautiful.
As he wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes, it slipped out: “I think I’m in love.”
To the old Anders, cheeky jokes like that came as naturally as breathing. Now, he wasn’t sure where it had come from. He wasn’t even sure it had been a joke. A few seconds passed, feeling as though they stretched into hours, before the rest of the party descended on the kitchen in a welcome wave of noise. Varric rescued the package of noodles from the kitchen floor, lamenting the mistreatment of his lunch, while Isabela rounded up a group to pour shots. Anders slipped toward the edge of the chaos, thankful for the distraction.
Before he had time to wonder whether Hawke had even heard him, she appeared in front of him, balanced on her toes, warm fingers none-too-gently tilting his chin to look at her.
“Careful with those jokes, darling. You might end up believing them, and we all know how much you’d hate that.”
His mouth dropped open to respond, but nothing quite came to him. She considered him a moment longer, brushing her thumb across his bottom lip, and then she was gone. He could hear her across the room, begging Isabela for a shot. Anders might have convinced himself that he had imagined the encounter if it weren’t for the way his nerves kept buzzing where she touched him. He rubbed his chin, wondering, not for the first time, why he kept doing this to himself. He would have been better off holed up in his clinic in Darktown with only himself for company. Hawke was loud and shameless and made it far too tempting to be selfish, to act on feelings that would surely ruin both of their lives.
For the moment, at least, he still had self control. And, he thought, at least no one else had noticed. With this comforting notion, he glanced up from his drink only to notice Varric watching him with a mild, curious expression.
Shit.