Hawke stumbled out of the Hanged Man a few hours later, with her coat slung over her shoulder, and leaned her back against the closed door. The world was spinning, her head was pounding to the beat of her heart, and the Hightown street doubled up in front of her eyes, but she felt okay. Better than okay. She'd almost forgotten how his breath felt against the back of her neck.
She pushed off the wall, craving her bed and her silky sheets against her legs. She could see the sun peeking out over the horizon, already spilling a gentle pink light over the still sleeping town. It hurt her head. She giggled to herself, sweeping her sweaty hair off of her forehead. She walked home, trailing her hand along the walls to steady herself, with closed eyes against the growing light and her building headache.
Varric, Isabela, and Merrill had filled her up with alcohol and good jokes, and she gladly let them. Varric made sure her cup was never empty while Bela told dirty joke after dirty joke. Merrill had fallen asleep with her head on the table early in the night after Bela finally showed her what belly shots were. The alcohol soaked up her tears and replaced them with red nosed laughter.
She arrived at her house as the day broke and people began filling out of their houses. She crawled up the staircase, scuffing her feet on the final step, and almost fell to her knees. She slunk past her mom's room quietly, knowing she wouldn't approve of her getting mixed up with an ex-slave. Their family was already under enough scrutiny as it was. The door to her room creaked open and she hid herself under the blanket. Hawke drifted off almost immediately. Her blankets still smelled like Fenris.
Fenris sat on the edge of his bed and stared out the open window. He had just returned home from Hawke's and his legs were still shaky. Had they really kissed? Had she really moaned his name? Had she really pressed her lips against his chest? It seemed so long ago already. Did it happen at all? His head hurt.
His memories had flooded back as Hawke arched hers, and it hit him like a train. He could remember everything. His mother's gentle smile as she hung laundry on the line. Their old house where he and his sister would play while his mother worked. The smell of wheat and charcoal which dominated his childhood. He also remembered Danarius, and how he had snatched his life away. He tainted his skin, his hair, and his memories with his filthy lyrium.
Hawke fell asleep in his arms as his memories faded away again, leaving an aching pain in his chest. He felt dirty, he felt scared, and most of all, he felt alone. He needed to leave. Leave before they came back, and he needed to cut things off with Hawke before he lost her too.
He dressed clumsily in the dark, trying his best not to wake her. She wouldn't admit it to him, or anyone, but she was tired. She looked so young as she slept, her face free of worry for once. He stood, fully clothed now and less sure than ever, and watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. How could he leave her when he had finally found her at last? He snapped back to reality, his hand subconsciously reaching out to wake her. He couldn't pull her into his mess. It wasn't fair to her and he couldn't face the possibility of hurting her. He turned to leave, stopping to examine her mantel over the fireplace. There was an old letter, yellow and cracked with age, with her name written sloppily on the front. He touched it tentatively with the tips of his fingers, wondering who the letter was from...
He laid his head on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He had to stop torturing himself by replaying the look on her face as he left. It was for the best, he reminded himself. Wasn't it? He wondered what she was doing now.
He put his arm over his eyes and slept. And dreamed.