After they're finished eating, mostly Hawke, Fenris didn't really eat besides ask for more wine. They leave and head back to Hawke's estate. The sun reminds Fenris of his headache, but the wine he consumed helped stave it off. He's a bit more happier without the intrusive thoughts and memories clambering to torment him, and he tries to enjoy himself more freely.
They arrive at his estate and they enter. It's quiet, a bit more cleaner that his own, but he doesn't stare too long, nor care at all. He follows Hawke to the bedroom, and his heart races with anticipation. The emptiness inside of him throbs with need to fill it up with something, and pleasure usually helped.
He sits on the bed, smoothing his hand on the fabric of the blanket and looks to Hawke who is taking off his armour. He admires him for a moment, tall with broad shoulders, fine muscles, with dark hair, and a smile that wins over the worst of people, and the eyes that see through lies.
At least that's how Fenris views Hawke. A man who could do anything, suave and charismatic all on his own, using a blade to take what he needs, and usually the answers come frolicking to his feet to kiss them. The thought makes Fenris smile, and he might've had too much wine with the strange images he's conjuring in his mind.
"Why are you smiling?" Hawke asked, walking over to him.
"I'm thinking of bandits kissing your feet," Fenris says truthfully, this gets a smile from Hawke which he admires.
"Maybe the sixth wine you had was enough to leave you imagining wonderful things," Hawke says, sitting beside him on the bed.
Fenris shrugs. "It was actually my seventh."
He was a little more content with himself than he thought and with the free thought and emotions, he leans towards Hawke to plant a kiss on his lips, but Hawke leans back, hand grasping his wrist.
Fenris blinks. "Isn't this what we came here for?"
"Not exactly," Hawke says uneasily. He still holds Fenris's wrist, and the touch sends a jolt through his body, a warmth settles over him, and he wants Hawke to keep on touching him, even if it has to do with stopping him.
And while that feeling might warm his insides, the rising anger replaces it. He rips his hand from Hawke's and stands.
"What are we doing exactly?" he asked, trying his best to ignore how selfish he sounds.
Hawke stares at him, there's pity in his eyes and it doesn't help but annoy Fenris more. "I spoke with Isabela, and she says you've been drinking a lot lately, and she sees you more than she usually does, and the food—"
"What about it?" he asked.
"You couldn't eat it."
"So it was all a test?" Fenris asked in disbelief.
"I'm worried, Fenris, you can't tell me that what's going on is harming you. Even how much you want something that could heal the pain you are feeling, you'll always feel empty anyway. Alcohol, sex, and even the lack of food can drain you of who you are."
Fenris shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about." And it all comes back to him, whatever feeling he felt had faded to anger, to resentment, and to fear. That same fear that clawed itself in his chest, that ached every night under the stars, he wouldn't have stayed any longer than he had too, and when he did, the sounds remained inside his head. A forever echo.
"Fenris," Hawke called.
He grit his teeth, breathing hard through his nose. "I can't. Okay. I can't." He backed away, hoping Hawke wouldn't see the pain on his face, in his eyes where truth lingered, where all the experience laid bare. He hoped he wouldn't see it, he wanted to keep his friends safe from the horrors he saw, instead of taking it out on others. This was his own burden, and he shall live with it.
Hawke stood and walked over to him, but Fenris moved back. "I can't...I'm sorry, Hawke, I can't deal with this, with myself, I'm sorry. This has been a waste of our time." He turned and left Hawke in his bedroom, breathing heavily, he stumbled from the estate and made his way back to his mansion.
Closing the door, the walls seem to close in on him and his head throbbed. He went to his bedroom, tearing off his clothes, letting his sword fall to the floor, and he laid down on his bed. Grasping the blankets, he wrapped himself up and stayed in the silence, trying his hardest to calm his beating heart.
Oh, how he wanted to forget the screaming, the helplessness, the pain that stained his skin. He could feel the bruises that once marred his skin, the involuntary touches that left him shaking, and even the pain itself. Rising inside of him, it surrounded his mind, his heart, and he did nothing but succumb to it.
He feels terrible. That's an understatement, the regret suffocates him. He knows he should've listened more to Hawke instead of running away, that maybe he was right in what he was saying. How could he make things better? Was he worthy enough to do so?
With that on mind, he rises and looks for a bottle, finding a few that were weren't completely empty. He drinks, letting it soothe him into nothing, mixing all the pain and pleasure until he falls asleep. Hoping that in itself would help him.
He wakes later on in the evening, the sun is barely set, and he feels something. A weight on the bed, he turns, hand clenched, but he calms down at the sight of Isabela. She smiles at him, expecting the attack, but not flinching away.
She was always like that. Always ready for the worst, she could deal with it, walk hand-in-hand with it until she got what she wanted. The cruelty bit into the smile on red lips, the glint in her eyes as she looks upon his naked chest and down to the blanket that covers everything else.
"Shame," she said, patting his thigh, "you've always been fun when you don't expect it."
"Watching me sleep?" he asked, sitting upright in the bed, he rubbed his eyes and tried to will the headache from his mind, but the alcohol was still in his body and the nausea lingered.
"I spoke with Hawke," she began, watching him as he dropped his hand in his lap, he tried to make his face empty of emotion, but she could always see it, "he told me somethings and I wholeheartedly agree with him."
"You do?" he wondered, sniffling.
"I do. Hawke knows what he's talking about, and he has good reason to be worried about you."
"I was hoping this wasn't going to be a lecture."
Isabela kept her smile, sly as ever. "I'm not always going to be your bed mate, Fenris, we take what we want and that is that. This will not make you happy, and you know it."
Fenris breathed in deeply, he let it out, but all he could see was the blood shed that made his fingers knot into the blanket. He wanted to forget, and he looked for the bottles, but they were all gone.
"You cleaned up," he noted, "unlike you."
She shrugged and stood from the bed. "Do us both a favor, pick the right choice." She turned and left the room, and he stayed sitting, contemplating her words.
He wouldn't fall for the images in his mind, but for once since it all began, he succumbed to it anyway. He wanted too, at least try and rid them, but their claws dug deep, drawing blood. He sucked in a breath, lying back down on his side, body stiffening up as the memories flooded his mind.
Flickers of memory holding him down. The laughter of the magisters, the empty streets, the cries of slaves who were used and killed, the knife that embedded in many, the spat slurs that tightened the air. He wanted to save them, he wanted to do something that could somehow make things right. Except he didn't. He knew he couldn't, so he ran until he found himself in Kirkwall. Drowning in his sorrows and rage, how it fitted him well, but he soon found other escapes, and that didn't help.
Deep down, he knew that, and tried his hardest to ignore it.
His freedom was tangled with the memories, with the thoughts that lashed out at him. The words, the hate, it breathed on his throat, along his ears, clasping his wrists and holding him down, he wanted to fight, but there was no way out.
He hated himself. That was truth of it, and he tried not too, but it was there like a seared wound. Always reminding him of that fact, and so he drowned inside of it. Tears sprang from his eyes, trailing down his face, his breath choking as he cried in the emptiness of his mansion.
He didn't know how long, but soon his ear twitched at the sound of someone coming into the room, but he didn't look. He was too exhausted by the pain and the self-loathing that burned in his throat.
He felt the touches on his skin, the whispers that lingered in the air, and he was brought into the arms of a man who he owed his life too. He wanted to make things right, and he didn't know how. When will it be enough?
The night descended and they laid on the bed, Fenris in his arms, his cries slowed down and his exhaustion held him until his eyes closed shut and he slept.
When he woke up again, it was early morning. He didn't expect to sleep so long, but his eyes were heavy from crying, and his chest hurt, but there was a sort of calmness there that he didn't fully expect.
He looked up at Hawke who laid beside him. He had stayed with him, soothing him, and Fenris wondered if he was worthy to look upon his sleeping face. He stared for sometime, staying in his arms. And he decided that he wanted something, it was small, and he didn't have to tell anyone, it could be his secret.
He leaned forward and kissed Hawke on the mouth, lingering, he reluctantly moved back, and tensed at the sight of Hawke blinking his eyes open.
"Couldn't wait until I woke up?" he wondered, his hand still draped over Fenris' waist.
"Sorry," Fenris tried to look away, "I shouldn't have done that." He was about to move back, but Hawke pulled him closer. He was confused, his self hate had risen with the guilt, but it soothed in Hawke's arms.
They stayed this way for awhile before Hawke leaned down and kissed Fenris. Slow and sensual that made Fenris forget about his pain, even for awhile, it was gone, but he knew it would grow back. Like a weed.
Hawke broke the kiss, his eyes still closed as he held Fenris close. "Are you okay?"
"You're asking me now?" Fenris asked, his voice raspy.
He opened his eyes and moved back, and Fenris clenched his teeth at the loss. "I should've asked before kissing you."
"I should've too," Fenris said, smiling.
Hawke touched the side of Fenris's face, and he had moved into it. "I've noticed it for sometime...you enjoy physical touch."
"How did you guess?" Fenris asked, lying on his back.
Hawke rolls his eyes. "Fine. I guess Isabela's visits make sense, but just…" he trails his fingers along Fenris's arms, and he possibly watches as Fenris shivers and tilts his head up. The feeling is strange, he wants more of it, not the forgotten touch he always experiences after a night of meaningless sex. "You're responsive."
Fenris murmurs, "Don't leave me."
"I'm not," Hawke says, moving closer and placed a kiss on the side of Fenris' cheek. "Not if you want me too."
Fenris shakes his head. "I don't think I want you too."
He hadn't forgotten the pain, the memory and thoughts, he'll always have that and it will be a part of him always. For now, he could spend his day with Hawke, talking and kissing, letting the pain wane without destroying himself. He will hope for a better future, not as much, but he will hope.