Update - 12/27/2011

I did some light editing on the first chapter...had a few grammatical errors and whenever I upload a document, it obliterates my spaces. :P

Adding a third one-shot soon!

Anders dropped the quill in his hand, getting the strange feeling that someone was staring at him.

Of course, that feeling was always there, with Justice whispering insistently in his mind, with his voice. Sometimes, he couldn't tell the difference between Justice and himself, it was quite unsettling. But then again, everything about Anders would be unsettling to a perfectly normal human being.

Anders scanned the room with his peripherals. He was sitting in Hawke's library, a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace, the smell of dog and parchment heavy in the air. Hawke's mabari, Dashell, slept by the fire, his foot twitching. The silence was incredibly thick, and it made Anders' nose twitch.

Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of the front door opening echoed through the library. Dashell woke, and ran through the cracked door into the foyer, where Hawke was undoubtedly waiting to shower him with praise and affection.

Anders took the opportunity to look all around him. Tonight, the Amell portraits hanging on the walls seemed imposing, and the shadows the shelves threw on the ground were ominous. He had spent many a night in this library, brushing aside Hawke's moans and groans so he could translate. The translations were taxing, and something Hawke didn't fully understand. He had come in terms with this. But for some reason, tonight he was annoyed. Tonight, he almost hoped Hawke would complain, so he could start a fight.

Why do I feel like this? Anders chewed his nail, thoroughly disturbed. Perhaps it had been too many nights spent alone, sleeping at this very desk. Though, the times when he did manage to stumble upstairs and peel off his clothing for a proper lie-in, it was met with disregard. Something in Hawke's eyes went cold during these occasions. A part of Anders wanted the warmth to return, and would do anything for it. The other, more rebellious part, perhaps the Justice-y part, didn't really care. Didn't really have time to care. Anders rose from the desk, and went into the foyer. Hawke was peeling off his armor, handing the pieces to Bodahn to be cleaned. He looked every bit the warrior, blood staining his hands and face. The tattoos on his cheeks seemed flushed, and his eyes were still bright from whatever stupid battle he had gotten himself into this time. Oh great noble Luke Hawke, defender of the innocent. Anders scoffed. Such a funny thought, now that he truly knew the man. He was actually nothing of the sort. He was a bumbling idiot, too weak to fight for what he did believe in, too strong to admit it.

Anders clenched his eyes shut. Is it Justice saying these things, or me? It is so painful, not knowing.

He could smell him before he felt him, the stench of blood and sweat. Then the mage felt the familiar muscled embrace of his lover, trying to comfort him the only way he knew how. It's so funny, how this man doesn't even know what goes through my mind every day, what turmoil I face. How I switch from mood to mood faster than a whip. How I doubt my love one second, and claim it the next. How can I be with someone this way? I don't even like myself.

"Are you hungry, love?" The presence of such a simple question in Anders' mind was completely laughable, and he would've laughed, if he had the right frame of mind to do so. If he had felt Hawke would understand. "No. I've eaten." I haven't, but he doesn't really need to know that.

Hawke gave him a doubtful look, reading him correctly as usual, and a small spike of annoyance grew in Anders' belly. Is nothing a secret from this man? "I promise, I don't need to eat right now. I'm translating."

Hawke let out a heavy sigh at the admission, and walked away, letting his arms slip from Anders' waist. His posture was slumped and defeated, not proud and defiant as it usually was, and suddenly Anders felt a cold grip of guilt crush his gut. I should apologize. But what for? What did I do? "What's wrong, Luke?" Hawke turned, and shot him a look so venomous that Anders felt the gooseflesh rise on his arms. "Nothing. Enjoy your translations. I shall eat and perhaps get some sleep tonight. Alone. As usual."

The feeling Anders had had earlier returned tenfold, and he glared right back. "You have a good time with that. Some of us actually do things with our time. You know, besides hacking people up." He regretted it as soon as he said it. Luke's eyes went frosty, but there was pain in his gaze. Without answering, he strode to the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. Dashell whimpered, and Anders felt the shame start to creep up from the recesses of his mind. That was wrong, that was so wrong. He loves me and I love him, yet we treat each other like absolute trash. Why do we do this?

With a quiet sigh, Anders retreated back to the library. I always do this. This is why I cannot love someone.

This is why I should be alone.