She woke to the sound of voices in the other room, the creak of the front door following suit. A drowsy sigh left her lips as she buried herself closer to Cullen's neck. Maker, he smelled so good. She always wondered what kind of cologne he used- something woody that seemed to seep into her own clothes these last few nights she stayed with him. She breathed it in, wondering if he could feel the slight smile playing on her lips or her fingers winding in his hair.

The other hand wrapped underneath him had been numb for hours, but she never tried to wriggle it free. She didn't want to quite yet. Where her fingers rested she could make out the outline of some healed scar near his hip bone, jagged and beautiful in its own way. She winced, wondering if Cullen saw her in the same light. Did he truly feel that way about the scar on her face? Would he feel that way about her when he saw the others?

Beautiful. The word caused her skin to prickle.

Cullen had called her beautiful, called her incredible. Her. The thought swallowed her up, weighing her down with question after question. Would he regret it? Or worse—what if he didn't mean it? Perhaps had only said it to alleviate her worries, quiet her fears? But, Maker, the way he spoke to her. This wasn't something he could easily take back.

And she wasn't sure she wanted him to.

Her fingers raked through the hair at the back of his neck. "Cullen?" she mumbled it into his shoulder, unsure if she really wanted him to wake. Part of her just wanted to stay a little longer, wanted to be held by him more.

When Gwyn's hand moved from the back of his neck to his shoulder, he didn't stir from his slumber, but a soft grunt from his lips filled the space between them. He shifted slightly, the arm draped over her waist instinctively pulling her even closer. As if being pressed against him wasn't enough, would never be enough. Looking up, she could see the curve of his jawline and the cleft in his chin. The early morning stubble he always seemed to have, regardless of his upkeep.

With every move she made, she held her breath just as he let one out, and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest underneath her. A dip of sorts that kept her heart pounding. Maker, Cullen had been the beautiful one. He slept with soft sighs and arms clinging to her. Another groan left him when Gwyn's fingers traveled over his chest, over the dips and plains of his skin. Scars painted his flesh in several places, some unable to be seen, but her fingers brushed over them, tracing each line until he shivered at her touch.

He rolled onto his stomach, loosening his grip momentarily, and Gwyn took the opportunity to wriggle her arm free. She should leave, hurry to help set up for the banquet and keep Josephine calm. Instead she stared, watching as Cullen nestled into his pillow, loose curls falling on his forehead. His arm searched for her, draping itself back over her once more until they were mere centimeters apart.

Gwyn didn't miss the way he leaned into her the night before in the gardens. He held her hand and she hadn't known how to react, suddenly couldn't breathe. He'd come so close, his nose brushed against her own. She caught the slight smile on his lips that disappeared at the sound of his phone. How his gaze had softened the more he lowered his head. It reminded her of the picture on her phone. A softness in his eyes the longer he looked at her, as if there was something she wasn't seeing.

Minutes passed as Gwyn continued studying him. She could see the edges of scarred skin on his right side, all mottled pink and pinched together. Looking up at his face, his brows knit together—his breathing still steady and soft. She reached behind her, fumbling slightly until her fingers found her phone.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the lack in notifications, swiping to pull up her camera and press the bright red record button. She smiled at the view in front of her. The few times in which she hadn't seen or felt him constantly tossing and turning. Letting out a deep breath, Gwyn took his chin in her hand. Her thumb briefly settling in the small cleft there just before following the curve of his jawline and resting on his cheek. Rough, stubbled skin scratched against her palm until Cullen's lips twitched at the sensation of her hand gently sliding into his hair. A drowsy smile formed on his face as her fingers tucked loose curls behind the shell of his ear.

"My friend is hiding somewhere behind there, I think," he mumbled in a gravelly voice, his eyes half-hooded. She blushed, quickly withdrawing her hand and lowering her phone with the other. "There you are," he whispered, his eyes opening just enough to see her staring back at him. The arm around her waist remained there, his fingers circling near the small of her back.

"Mornin'," she whispered, finding her voice buried deep.

"I think it's been morning for quite some time," he rasped back. The smile on his face disappeared and a low groan rumbled between them as he partially buried his face in his pillow. "Maker, please tell me you're not recording me."

"I'm not recording you," she replied innocently. Cullen raised a brow, smirking when Gwyn finally lowered her phone. "I made sure to only get the best angles."

"Of course," he chuckled, the sound echoing in Gwyn's ears. The hand on her waist loosened its grip, slowly withdrawing only for Gwyn to move closer, testing this bridge between them.

"I was…I've been meaning to ask you something," she stammered, falling onto her back and fumbling with her fingers. She looked over at him, watching his brows lift as he inched closer and propped his head up with one arm.

"You have? I…I'll do my best to provide an answer," he stammered.

"I…" Gwyn worried at her lip, fumbling with each question in her head. Did you mean it—the words you said last night? Am I fooling myself with the way you've been looking at me? If I kissed you, would you let me? And would you stay either way? She swallowed hard, looking back down at her fingers. "Last night, I just wondered—"

The phone in Gwyn's hand buzzed to life and she frowned at the notification.

Josephine [8:26 AM]: Rise and shine, my dear friend. We have a busy morning ahead of us! Question: has music been confirmed for the event? Also, can you please have Brennan check in with the caterers?
[8:26 AM] Oh! Before I forget, Leliana says you're more than welcome to get ready for the banquet at our apartment that way you're not running back and forth to your dorm. See you soon!

"Time to go?" Cullen asked.

Gwyn nodded, silently sending a message along to Brennan and a short reply back to Josie. "I don't want to go," she whispered.

"It won't be that bad," Cullen replied with a grin.

"I'm a shit director, Cullen. Leliana, Josephine, and you do all the real work for the Union. I just lead the meetings," she mumbled. "Not to mention I've no real desire to be called 'the Trevelyan girl' tonight on what should be a perfectly nice date."

"Do you realize how much attendance has spiked since you've become Director? We've never had as many students come to our events, and certainly never had this many people wanting to participate in the Union. You're a part of that, Gwyn." She chewed her lip in response, heart pounding when Cullen's hand covered her own. "And you can always text me if things go horribly," he said with a wink. She stared at his mouth, watching the half-smile appear on his lips. The one that made his scar lift and wrinkle in just the right way. "I mean—if you want, of course," he added quickly.

"Thank you." Her voice was small, blush rising to her cheeks. "You sure you don't want to keep me company?"

"I'd like…" he trailed off, shaking his head at the thought before he could finish it. His thumb swept over her knuckles, his voice tentative. "You said there was something you wanted to ask me?"

"Right." Her throat suddenly felt dry as her gaze fell to the place where their hands met. Ashamed, her words came out in a whisper. "What music do you think we should play at the banquet?"

"What music…" She didn't have to look over at him to know his face was falling, to know she'd disappointed him. His fingers remained covering hers. "I, well…I quite like Sinatra. Classics from Ferelden—you can't go wrong."

He forced a small smile just as Gwyn's phone went off once more. "I should…"

He let go of her hand, nodding slowly. "I know."

She slid off the bed, her fingers fidgeting with the door knob. "Can we…would you mind if we talked later? When I've more time?" Please?

"Of course." He caught the way her gaze lingered on him. "Remember you can text me later. Any time."

She opened his door, smiling. "If you find time, you should look out your window. The sky is supposed to be gorgeous tonight. Shame you won't see it in person." She shifted on her feet. "Good luck on your paper, Rutherford."

"Gwyn?" She paused, brows lifting.

"Hm?"

"You'll look great."

He missed her before she had even disappeared from his view.

Five pages was all he had written hours after she left. He stared at the blinking cursor, completely exhausted in more ways than one. Despite how long he'd been pouring over pages and pages of information for his paper, he found it difficult to concentrate on the historical background of counseling, especially after knowing that Gwyn had wanted to talk to him.

Had he gone too far?

The thought scattered around in his brain, and settled in the darkest corner. The forehead kiss, the handholding—it all had been matters of foolish impulse. Yet, he couldn't deny the bliss that existed in being able to hold her. The quiet that enveloped the both of them, the light touches that lingered on his skin even now. He vaguely remembered the sensation of her fingertips on his side this morning—raking, perhaps? No, tracing.

"Cullen?" He turned around to see Dorian standing in the doorway, Brennan at his side and straightening Dorian's tie with one hand. "We're about to leave for the banquet with Cassandra. Beg for support and all that."

Cullen thought of Gwyn—slipping on a dress and applying her makeup until Leliana insisted to help her with her hair. Fingers tightly gripping the material of her dress until she saw her date, a faceless man who led her around the gardens as she tried to convince person after person that the student union deserved their support. Part of him hoped he made her laugh—that she smiled so bright, she forgot where she was. The other half was chastising itself for glancing over at his phone like it might ring at any given moment.

"Are you certain you're not coming?" Dorian asked, frowning.

"I don't think so." He let out a sigh, fixing his glasses before raking a hand through his hair.

"Fair enough. I just thought I'd ask," Dorian replied. "Besides, Brennan tells me Mariana plans on making an appearance—says the Trevelyan family might donate," he snorted.

Cullen's heart sank at the idea of her sister being present. "Mariana? Does Gwyn know about this?"

"I reckon not. I'm not looking forward to getting yelled at, honestly," Brennan mumbled, glancing away. "Oh, before I forget…" He disappeared from view only to return seconds later. "You left this in my car."

"I didn't—"

He looked back at Brennan to see a small bag in his hand. The glow in the dark stars from the store. Dorian glanced inside the bag, a sly smile on his face. "What, pray tell, were you planning to do with these? Decorate your room?"

Within seconds, Cullen rose to his feet and snatched the plastic bag from his hands. "You're prying."

Dorian's brows lifted. "Vishante kaffas…those trinkets are for her. Who knew you were such a romantic?"

"Wait." Brennan's jaw dropped. "Fuck a nug…you're actually going to tell her."

"I wasn't...I mean, I was going to, but—" Cullen groaned, rubbing at his neck. Heat crept up the skin underneath his hand, a tinge of red flushing over his cheeks. "Maker's Breath. How many people know?"

"More than you'd like," Dorian admitted, his eyes practically twinkling. "Word travels fast and it's not hard when you look at her like there's nothing else in the room."

"I don't—"

"You both do, trust me. Gwyn's just too knotted up in her head to figure it out," Brennan corrected, crossing his arms with a sense of pride. He leaned against the door frame, nodding towards the bag in Cullen's hands. "So what's your plan?"

"I don't have a plan. You heard her, she's meeting someone at the banquet—"

"But that doesn't mean you just quit. You bought those for a reason, mate," Brennan sighed. "I'm not in the habit of seeing my sister talk herself down these days. I just…I think you care a great deal about one another, and you're both going to need to meet each other halfway."

"I don't mean to interrupt, but we've got to get going or Cassandra will never let us hear the end of it," Dorian sighed. "You know where we'll be, my friend. Groveling at the feet of others."

They said their goodbyes, Brennan rolling up his sleeves before helping Dorian with his jacket. As the couple made their way out, Cullen looked down at the bag of plastic stars in his hand, clutching them tightly. It wouldn't be terribly hard to do. It'd require research and a little time, but it was certainly doable. A small surprise of sorts he knew she'd appreciate. One he wouldn't necessarily have to take credit for if it didn't go well. But you never know.

"Brennan?" he croaked, his throat dry.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have a way into Gwyn's room?"

"Er, Cassandra might let you in. Why?"

Unsure and excited, Cullen grabbed his phone. "I might have an idea."

[6:33 PM] About to leave for the banquet!

Gwyn sent the message to him nearly two hours ago with a photo of her attached. She stood in front of Josephine's mirror wearing a knee-length navy blue dress with simple sleeves. Her hair was down- a rare sight- with soft curls that seemed to spill over her shoulders. The longer he looked at it, the more he noticed. She stood with one hand behind her back, one knee slightly bent—most likely out of nerves. But, Maker, her smile. It spread through the rest of her face. Dimples decorated both of her cheeks, her eyes practically squeezing shut. She looked lovely, and he knew he should've told her. If he didn't, her date certainly would. That is, if he had any decency he would.

Instead of thinking of her with her date, he focused at the task at hand. From time to time he'd scroll through his phone, carefully tracing the patterns he found only to end up holding it up to the almost completed ceiling. It was a meticulous idea—filled with mild frustration and overwhelming excitement the closer he became to finishing his work. With each star he affixed he could not stop the smile of satisfaction that spread across his face as he watched everything take shape. A point here, another there. He imagined this was as close as he would ever get to seeing what Gwyn saw—irregular patterns that made up something more.

The sound of his phone caused him to drop the piece of plastic in his hand. His thoughts switched to Gwyn, her name practically a prayer as he fumbled for the phone in his pocket. He swiped his thumb across the screen, not bothering to check who it was.

"Everything alright?"

"Well! I should hope so!" He recognized the deep sigh immediately. "So your phone does, in fact, work?"

He picked up the fallen star with his free hand, reapplying the putty to the inside of it. "Mia."

"I'm only teasing!" she replied, her voice muffled. Cullen could envision her at her kitchen table, her hand reaching inside the latest batch of cookies she undoubtedly baked in stress.

"Chocolate chip or sugar?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

"I hate you."

He shook his head, grinning. "Oh, do you really?"

"I wouldn't be up half the night worrying about you—"

"Mia." He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, I'm—"

"You're fine, I know. Doesn't mean I don't want to hear from you," she grumbled.

"I know." He glanced down at his notes before applying the star back to the ceiling, guilt seeping in at Gwyn's words the night before. "Once every week sound alright? To call?" Cullen could hear the smile breaking across Mia's face.

"I suppose it'll do," she said calmly.

"Did Brennan tell you I'm coming home?" Cullen asked, grabbing two more stars out of the bag.

"He might have…"

"Well, you'll be needing to clear out that guest room. Or I can sleep on the couch—"

"Who's coming? Dorian?"

He glanced at the paper once more, carefully placing each star. "Mia, you're prying."

"You haven't called me in weeks, I think I deserve to know who—wait." Cullen could hear the excitement growing in her voice. "The girl with the stars?"

"Her name's Gwyn."

"And?"

"What about her?" he grunted, bending down to get the last bunch of stars in the bag. Almost done, he told himself.

"What's she like?"

He paused, thinking it over. Like a light of some kind—absolute warmth. "She's good," he admitted in a soft whisper, fumbling a little with the star in his hand. "More than I deserve."

"Cullen…"

Two short beeps sounded, causing him to look down at his screen and briefly catch Gwyn's name flash across the top. He sucked in a quick breath, his heart beating as her name disappeared.

"Speaking of…I've got to go," Cullen winced.

"You promise to call me next week?"

"Cross my heart."

"Love you, brother. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"You too, Mia."

He scrambled to find Gwyn's messages, adjusting the frames of glasses until he got to her name. There they were. Two messages from her.

[8:42 PM] Am I allowed to beg you to come to the banquet yet?
[8:42 PM] I know you're busy with your paper, but I will find a way to make it up to you somehow.
[8:43 PM] What about your date?
[8:43 PM] Is everything alright?
[8:44 PM] Please?

He carefully considered his options, knowing full well where he'd rather be. With her. Worst case scenario—the date would turn up and Gwyn would leave with him, thereby freeing him to drink himself into a stupor if necessary. On the other hand, being with her would be vastly preferable to finishing his paper any day of the week.

[8:46 PM] Be there in ten.

Cullen rubbed his face, turning off the lights in Gwyn's room and hoping that he didn't look too terribly tired. He went across the hall, tugging off the shirt he was wearing to exchange it for a white button up. He fumbled with the buttons, almost mismatching each one of them before having to redo his work. He grabbed at a tie in his closet, casting a quick glance in his mirror that the product in his hair was still working before he was out the door.

The banquets for the university were typically all the same, but it was clear Josephine and Gwyn had outdone themselves. He was only a block away from the gardens when he began to notice the music. Soft trumpets, and then…he heard it. I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight.

The closer he got, the more Cullen found his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. He eyed the small groups gathered together, combing the area for her. She wasn't near the dance floor—though he could see Mariana dancing with someone Cullen hoped wasn't Gwyn's date. Otherwise, there was no sign of her. Not even near Josephine or Leliana, both of whom were chattering away in a large group of prospective benefactors.

"Well, well! Look who managed to show after all," a boisterous voice called out over the chorus as someone slapped him on the back. Dorian. He stood next to Brennan, his arm wrapped around his waist. Dorian took a sip of the glass in his hand.

"Yeah, I just couldn't stay away," he mumbled. Cullen scratched the back of his neck as he glanced around behind them. She had to be around there somewhere. "Have you two seen Gwyn?"

"Last I saw she was with Josephine rubbing elbows with the Dean," said Dorian with a shrug. "After that, I can't say."

"If I see her, I'll tell her you were looking for her," Brennan replied. He leaned close, a frown on his lips. "Just so you know, I haven't seen her with anyone new since we got here. Well, not anyone she wasn't trying to chat up for money anyway."

Cullen's heart fell at Brennan's words, guilt and shame washing over him. Regardless of his plans, he wanted Gwyn happy, even if it wasn't with him. He thanked Brennan softly and, as if on cue, Cullen felt his pocket vibrate.

[9:07 PM] Are you here yet?

He surveyed the crowd once more before responding.

[9:08 PM] Where are you?

Minutes passed as he walked the crowd before he finally received a response.

[9:11 PM] Help yourself to food and drinks before you come searching for me. (Be sure to try the cupcakes with the strawberries on them!) I'll be the one looking up.

Sure enough, away from the crowd, he could make out her figure leaning against the railing of the gazebo, her head tilted upwards.

As requested, he gathered two cupcakes from the tables before approaching to get a better look. Her hair pooled over her shoulders, an intricate braid creating a sort of half-crown near the back. Still wearing the navy dress she'd photographed herself in earlier and her heels discarded at her side, she stood barefoot looking up at the night's sky.

"There you are," he grinned, holding out a cupcake. When she turned to face him, he felt breathless. She met him at the steps of the gazebo, her gaze enough to send him reeling. The picture she'd sent him hadn't done her justice. "You look…lovely," he rasped. Lovely—never, never change.

Gwyn's eyes widened slightly before they fell to her feet, and Cullen silently chastised himself for not using a better word. She was radiant, gorgeous—much, much more than lovely. Somehow, she managed to flash him a bright smile, brown wisps of hair framing her cheeks, as she caught sight of the cupcakes in his hands.

"There you are." She nibbled at the cupcake earnestly as he carefully unwrapped his own. A simple vanilla with a strawberry icing covering it. She was right about the fresh strawberries; they were wonderfully sweet.

"From the Marches?" he asked curiously.

She grinned in the midst of swallowing a mouthful of her cupcake. "Mm. One of the few good things about home," she sighed.

Not wanting to pry, Cullen waited patiently for her to bring up her date and pushed away the pile of questions building up in his head. What happened? She seemed to be alright, but it didn't stop him from wondering. He moved to the edge of the gazebo, looking up at the various swirls that lit the night's sky instead.

"So…" he murmured, glancing back at her. He flexed his fingers, stuffing them in his pockets. "It's a nice night. You weren't joking about the stars."

"It's beautiful," she said breathlessly, taking a step beside him. She stared up in silence, her hands gripping the edge of the railing. "You can see Equinor right there." She began to point out the different stars, but Cullen found himself squinting slightly. Especially after doing a bit of research, he should be used to this by now. He thought he could make out the shape of it, could practically see the tail of it before he leaned closer.

"Where?" he asked, wondering just how genuine it sounded. She moved behind him, peering over his shoulder before grabbing one of his hands.

"See that star there? That's the point of its tail," she grinned over at him as she guided him through the constellation. She was so close to him, her arms lined up against his own and her fingers curled around his hand. His heart pounded as she rested her head in the crux of his neck. "And—oh! I have to show you this. Over there is another one of my personal favorites—Fervenial. They call it the oak. Beautiful, isn't it?"

His lips quirked into a knowing smile, remembering the fondness with which she'd spoken about it. This collective group of lights that she was so incredibly taken with. "You weren't wrong—it's stunning."

He turned his head, his eyes meeting hers as she relinquished the grip on his hand and stepped in front of him. Her eyes fell to the ground and Cullen's hand reached out only to fly to his neck. On the corner of her mouth was a small smearing of icing.

"You've got…you've got a bit just there," he started, resisting the urge to smile. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red, her hand instinctively flying to her face to wipe it up. She only smeared it more. Chuckling, his voice lowered. "Let me."

He carefully wiped the residual icing off with the pad of his thumb, her eyes meeting his. She continued staring, eyes too wide, as if she were waiting for some kind of instruction. His gaze fell to her lips, his fingers lingering for a moment before he was sucked back into reality. Halfway, he reminded himself. They need to meet each other halfway.

He walked across gazebo, gripping the railing before his hand flew to his neck once more.

"Where's your date?" The words spilled out of him, flopping out so quickly that he instantly regretted asking. The words hung in the air between them and Cullen couldn't keep from looking at her. He waited for her to do something, to say anything, but the wait was almost suffocating.

Maybe it was the fact that she was still standing so close to him, or the fact he just wanted to hold her gaze. Maybe it was how he wanted to look at her longer. More. He was close enough to her that he could see the freckles splayed across her shoulders, disappearing under the blue of her dress.

She turned her gaze to the side, the scar along her jawline visible. The scar she didn't talk about, the scar he'd imagined pressing light kisses against. He wanted to reach out and touch her, wanted to cup her face in his hands and kiss her. Instead, he focused on the space between them. She was leaning against the railing of the gazebo, but it had to be only a few steps. Mere feet.

"Kiss me." Her voice was a whisper, somewhat shaky. He almost didn't hear it. Maybe he didn't.

"Excuse me?" he stammered, swallowing hard. She took a step towards him and he felt like he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

He wanted to. Maker, there was nothing he wanted more, but every fiber of his being was screaming at him. Feelings like this only made a mess of things and he was already doing a bang up job. "Gwyn, I don't want-" he faltered. To ruin our friendship, to lose you.

"Kiss me," she repeated louder. Her voice was steady, so sure. Suddenly she was rocking on her bare feet, her fingers fidgeting. "I mean, if you want. Not that I don't want you to, because I do. Want to. Maker's Breath, I'm fucking this up aren't I?"

A smile broke out on Cullen's face as he studied hers—how her eyes fell to her feet and her teeth dug into her bottom lip, her hands kneaded together nervously until she was wiping them on the skirt of her dress. She glanced up at him, and he was certain this couldn't possibly be real. Any moment he would wake up in a cold sweat within his empty dorm room.

He crossed the gazebo in long strides, holding his breath until she had backed against the railing once more. His hands cupped her face, his fingers becoming familiar with the groove of her scar all over again, the pad of his thumb brushing over the corner of her lip. Cullen's eyes searched hers– waiting for some kind of sign to tell him she had changed her mind.

She smiled against his palm as he stared at her mouth.

"Andraste's flaming sword, are you—"

He kissed her in the middle of the sentence—soft and warm, the sweetest collision he would ever know. Her eyes slowly shut as she melted into him, her fingers winding themselves in the material of his shirt. One of his hands slowly moved to the base of her neck, entangling his fingers in loose curls of her hair. The other hand molded itself against the small of her back as he smiled against her mouth, attempting to process the moment.

Previously, Cullen had seen his life as a straight line with a small series of bullet points that made up pivotal moments. One led up to the next, connecting each dot like the very constellations Gwyn was always pointing out. Yet, kissing Gwyn felt like a sweet explosion.

Feeling bold, his teeth scraped against her bottom lip and it wasn't long before his tongue met hers. Suddenly the lines connecting each point were crackling, fizzling there as she pushed herself up on the tips of her toes so her lips could find the same urgency as his. Maker, she even tasted of strawberries, the juice still staining her lips. One of her hands moved from his arm to the back of his neck where her fingertips traced the veins there just before burying themselves in his hair.

Breathless, Cullen pulled away just enough for his eyes to glance down to meet hers, his hand still in her hair and his heart still in complete disbelief. Shocked, blue eyes peered up at him. The pad of his thumb brushed against her cheeks, lightly moving to her jawline as he studied her expression.

"I'm sorry. That was…um…really nice." he murmured breathlessly. He tried to gauge the look on her face, but his heart pounded wildly when he couldn't quite read her thoughts. "Is this….was that what you wanted?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, her nose brushed against his, their breath mingling in the air between them. Cullen shut his eyes, part of him afraid she'd no longer be there if he opened them.

"Andraste's fucking Blessing." Her voice was soft—lulling him back to reality. He opened his eyes, relief flooding over him as he stared at her, the span of freckles that wrinkled when she grinned, the way her wide eyes studied him. Looking at her, holding her like this felt like he was standing in the sun—an array of warmth he still hadn't quite become adjusted to. But, oh, it was good.

"I'm not quite sure if Andraste would appreciate it being worded like that," he replied, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face.

Cullen ran the pad of his thumb across her scar, trailing the grooves of it until she was smiling against his palm once more. He lowered his mouth to hers, rediscovering the familiarity of her lips. It was as simple as that to him—his worries fading away as she rose to the tips of her toes to meet him all over again. He grinned against her lips, tiny explosions prickling wherever her touch lingered.

It was something that might have scared him in the past. That it might be too much to ask for, that there was too much hope under the weight of this kiss. But, for the moment, it was as welcome as warmth from a fire.

And, Maker, he wanted more.