A/N: Written for SinsofMidnight's Writing Challenge: Prompt 35 "Friendship." Takes place the morning after Hawke's performance and unintentional Twitter confession.

The laptop was balanced precariously on the far corner of the coffee table, and the cable running from it to the television hung about an inch off the avocado green carpet. Anders knew it was a dangerous set-up, but it was the best he could come up with. He popped the video on his laptop to full screen, hit play, and settled back on the couch. Ser Pounce-a-Lot wasted no time in making himself comfortable in his lap.

"Damnit, Pounce. My tea is over there. I can't reach it now."

The pudgy tabby blinked at him once before completely ignoring the complaint and closing his eyes. Anders just sighed and turned his attention to the television. Despite not being able to get to his tea, it was a perfect Sunday morning.

So comfortable in his little corner of the couch, Anders almost missed the thud from the other side of the room. Ser Pounce, however, jumped at the noise, ears twitching forward, eyes wide and focused intently at the front door. Anders frowned for a moment. His apartment was really just a converted attic space of an old house. Any noise at his door meant someone had climbed three stories worth of old and not-so-safe stairs to get there. It had to be on purpose.

He dumped Pounce from his lap and went to see who it was.

The last thing he expected when he opened the door was to have Hannah Hawke literally fall into his arms.

He grinned down at her.

"I always knew you'd end up back in my arms one day."

Hawke blinked, blushed, and spluttered as she tried to push away from him.

"Fucking—what the—Anders."

He laughed and helped her back to her feet properly before folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

"Were you leaning against my door?"

"Maybe," she mumbled.

He grinned and waited patiently while she straightened her shirt and adjusted the ratty old cardigan over it.

When she finished, she let out a huff of air and looked up at him.

"I…I need your help, Anders."

He frowned. Neither the statement nor the slight waver in her voice were expected. "What's wrong?"

"I need a wingman," Hawke sighed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the sweater.

"A…wingman?" Anders blinked at her. "I thought things went really well with that guy last night."

"Well, they did, but…I kind of…" Hawke shook her head and the rest of her explanation came out in a rush. "I tweeted about him. I tweeted about him thinking he wasn't on Twitter, but he is and he saw and he knows now, Anders. He knows. And I can't face him alone. I need you."

Anders stared at her for a moment, waiting for the "just kidding," waiting for the punchline. But she just looked at him, eyebrows tilted down. And when he realized she was actually serious, he sighed.

"I can't. I'm working this morning. I'm sure it's fine, Hawke. You're just overthinking things."

"You're watching cartoons," she countered.

He rolled his eyes.

She mirrored his reaction and waved a hand dismissively. "Anime," she said. "Whatever."

"Why can't Isabela and Varric do this for you? They're usually your wingmen."

"Do you realize what those two would do with this kind of information? What they would do to me? No. Anders, no. Please. It has to be you."

The combination of the look on her face, the pleading tone, and the swell of pride that she trusted him more than Isabela and Varric was cracking his resolve. He was always a sucker for Hawke. He had been since they day they met, but he was going to keep his mouth shut this time. He really was. She could call it "watching cartoons" all she wanted, but he was working. He had a deadline to meet.

When he didn't respond, she said, "Zevran will be there."

And Anders's brain went into panic mode. He was momentarily torn between rolling his eyes and arching an eyebrow, between dismissing the statement and pretending he didn't care. What he ended up doing was something more of a spastic eye twitch. He kicked himself mentally but kept his mouth shut. He didn't need to make it worse.

And Hawke just folded her arms across her chest, adding, "If I go by myself, I'll tell him what you told me."

Anders's stomach dropped to his feet. "You wouldn't," he whispered.

Hawke blinked once before her own eyes went wide, as if she just realized what she's said.

"Maker's balls. I didn't mean that." She reached across and put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "I'm sorry, Anders. Shit. I'm sorry."

He inhaled slowly and studied her for a moment. There was a crease between her brows and a frown on her face. Her hair had been haphazardly pulled back, twisted into a knot and held in place with a pencil. And she was wearing that old cardigan that was once his.

"You're really stressing out about this, aren't you?"

She dropped her hand from his arm and sighed. "I know it' stupid. I know it. I just…"

"You just let yourself over-analyze the situation?" He tilted his head. "To the point where you can no longer think about it clearly?" He smiled. "Like you always do?"

She let out a huff of air. Bit her lip. And nodded.

Anders chuckled and reached for her shoulder, dragging her into a hug.

"Hannah Hawke, I love you to pieces. But, sweetheart, you are a disaster sometimes."

"I know," Hawke sighed, sagging into him. "That's why I'm here. You're supposed to help, not insult me."

Anders chuckled again. "And how exactly do you think bringing your best friend-slash-ex-boyfriend along is going to help?"

She pulled away and frowned up at him. "What would you do?"

Well," he said slowly, considering the situation. "I see three options: Avoid. Confront. Or hold your head high and pretend nothing happened." He shrugged. "You know which one I do best when it comes to relationships. I run like there's an Archdemon after me. I don't necessarily recommend that though."

Hawke snorted. And shook her head. Anders's habit of avoiding anyone who got too close is exactly what ended their relationship freshmen year. And it had taken months to settle into a friendship and nearly a year to be able to crack jokes about their past without any real bitterness. Avoidance was also what was keeping him from talking to Zevran now. He knew avoiding wasn't a good idea. But he also knew Hawke.

And Hawke would inevitably sabotage herself if she approached Fenris in the state she was currently in.

"How about a compromise," he said. "Snuggle with Ser Pounce and I on the couch for an hour, and then we'll go to Lirene's. You can decide when we get there if you want to bring up whatever you put on Twitter or not."

Hawke nodded slowly, and Anders stepped aside to let her into his apartment.

"I wouldn't have told Zev anything, you know," she said quietly.

"Thank you," he smiled and pulled the pencil from her hair as she walked by.

…oOo…

Fenris frowned at his History of Thedas textbook. Not because of the misrepresentation of slavery in Tevinter, although that bothered him, too, but because he had read and re-read the same paragraph four times. The lack of concentration frustrated him. He didn't have time for being distracted. But he was. And it wasn't even a distraction he could simply shut out with headphones or move to another study spot to escape. Because the distraction was caused entirely by an absence.

Hawke hadn't come to Lirene's.

It had only been a couple of weeks since they first spoke, but he had become accustomed to seeing her there. He had gotten used to her presence. She was a distraction when she was there, yes. But a welcome one. An enjoyable one. One that, even if it meant staying up an extra hour each night to finish his reading, felt worthwhile.

At first, he had assumed she was simply late. In short time he had known her, he had found her to be inconsistent. No, that wasn't it. Unpredictable was more accurate. Her arrival time ranged anywhere from ten minutes early to ten minutes late. At least, in relation to his own arrival time, which was always 8:45. But she had never been more than 15 minutes late before. And by 9:30, he had lost all ability to focus on his reading.

It had only been 8 hours since he last saw her. He shouldn't be so concerned with her not being there.

And Fenris couldn't decide what was bothering him more: that she hadn't come or that her absence was so distracting.

Scowling, he snapped the textbook closed and began shoving his notes into his bag. Clearly, his morning at the café was a waste of time. It was early enough that he could still catch Sigrun before she left for her mid-morning run.

He made it back to his complex just as she was stepping out of the door across from his own. She nodded enthusiastically when he asked if he could join her and waited for him to change quickly and get halfway across the park before asking why he was breaking his routine.

"Wow, Fen. She really has gotten under your skin, hasn't she?"

"Apparently," he grumbled. "And I don't like it."

"You liked it just fine last night." He could hear the smirk in her voice.

Fenris rolled his eyes. But he couldn't deny the truth in that statement. He had gone to see her perform with the university jazz ensemble out of curiosity. And once the band started, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. At the café, when she spoke about something she was passionate about, there was a spark in her eyes, a certain brightness to her. And when she was performing, fingers sliding along the neck of a bass guitar, that same brightness seemed to bloom. It intensified. And it was intoxicating.

He hadn't planned on staying for the entire show but ended up waiting for the band to break down their gear so he could compliment her individually and thank her for inviting him. Falling into conversation after that had felt entirely natural. As had ordering that bottle of wine and letting the conversation linger past midnight.

"Wait. Fen, do you…" Sigrun startled him out of his memories. She turned to look up at him before letting out a snort of laughter. "You do. You like her."

Fenris rolled his eyes again. "If I didn't like her, I wouldn't waste time talking to her."

He didn't move quick enough to dodge the elbow she jabbed into his side.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

He did know. But the thought didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made it worse.

He pushed back a memory of Hawke blushing, the thrill he felt of being the one to make her blush, the sudden desire to touch his fingertips to her cheek and feel the warmth of that blush.

"I don't have time for romantic entanglements," he said, his voice flat.

Signrun didn't respond, but she didn't need to. He could feel her watching him. He could hear her thoughts, as clear as if she was shouting them right in his face. That was probably because she had done just that once or twice before.

It was an old argument. For all he and Sigrun had in common—raised half on the streets, fighting for scraps, and half in the foster system, trying to prove their worth—they couldn't be more fundamentally opposite. Fenris couldn't even remember when they had first become friends, but they had somehow crossed paths and shared temporary homes a handful of times over the years. And Sigrun stepped out of the system, took one look at the life that had shaped her, and laughed, more than ready to move on and take advantage of the opportunities now in front of her. For Fenris though, the future was a fragile thing, something he wasn't even sure how to face.

"I need to stay focused on my studies," he responded to her unspoken argument. "If my grades slip, I won't get into law school, and I won't get that scholarship."

What he didn't say was how he just wasn't as brave as her. Even five years out of the system, he never could shake the feeling that he was still running from something, something that might catch him and drag him back.

As they turned the last corner of the running path, Sigrun said, "Some of us keep our grades up and have lives, you know, Fen."

…oOo…

"How did I just watch three hours of a show about a wallop team?" Hawke rolled her eyes and nudged Anders with her shoulder. "I can't believe watching animated boys in gym shorts counts as research for you."

"Thank the Maker for a senior thesis on narrative theory," Anders nudged her back. "And you were only supposed to watch two episodes with me."

"I needed to know if the tall one was going to quit the team or not."

"That was four episodes ago, Hawke," Anders chuckled.

"It's still your fault that I'm going to be late for my rehearsal with Ali and Lyna."

"I know," he gave an exaggerated sigh. "That's why I'm going with you."

He really hadn't meant to keep her for so long, but he didn't complain when she said she wanted to see "just one more episode." When she did realize what time it was, he agreed to walk her to the music building and—even though she was unlikely to actually be late—apologize to Alistair and Lyna for keeping her distracted.

In truth, he didn't care in the slightest. The most important thing was that Hawke was back to herself, even admitting between episodes 7 and 8 that the Twitter thing probably wasn't that big of a deal.

They had just crossed the small park that separated Anders's neighborhood from campus when he spotted Sigrun and a taller friend stretching at the benches on the edge of the park. He hadn't seen Sigrun in months.

He called out to her and waved before steering Hawke in that direction. Sigrun waved back enthusiastically, and her friend looked up from his stretch.

He heard Hawke swear under her breath and realized too late that Sigrun's running partner was Fenris.

"Chin up like it's no big deal, Hawke," he whispered to her, slinging his arm over her shoulder as they approached.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in," Sigrun grinned. "Or out, I suppose."

"Nice to see you, too," Anders rolled his eyes.

There was an awkward moment of introductions, which only accentuated the point that Sigrun clearly knew who Hawke was and Anders already knew who Fenris was and both Fenris and Hawke were noticeably uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Hawke quickly excused herself, reminding Anders of her rehearsal and giving him a glare that would have caused a shiver if he wasn't so amused at her hasty escape. From the corner of his eye, he watched Fenris watching her walk away with a slight frown.

Anders looked at Sigrun, who looked from Hawke to Fenris and then arched an eyebrow at Anders. He saw the question in his old friend's eyes, the sparkle of mischief she so often had, and he smirked as an idea started to take shape.

Hawke had said she came to him because Isabela and Varric would definitely have embarrassed her in this situation. He wouldn't. But that didn't mean he was going to let an opportunity like this pass by. And Hawke had asked for his help after all. She said wanted a wingman.

"I'm having a party tonight," he announced. Fenris's eyes snapped to him, and Sigrun grinned. "Nothing big," Anders shrugged casually. "Just, you know, some board games and beers. But you should both come."

Fenris looked ready to decline, but, as expected, Sigrun elbowed him before he could.

"We'll be there," she said with a wink.