commonly-nonsensical:

why would you do that
is this revenge for getting you into this mess in the first place because I’m still not sorry
—–
Fenris gets to the front door just before a hand closes around his wrist.

“Fenris,” Hawke whispers. His grip is loose, and his thumb strokes down the inside of Fenris’ wrist. “Don’t go. We can–I can help. We can figure this out.”

“This isn’t something you can help,” Fenris says between gritted teeth. Every muscle in his body is screaming for him to give in–turn around and fall back into Hawke’s embrace. “I’m sorry.”

“But why?” Hawke presses. “I know you said it was your memories, but I don’t understand.”

Fenris doesn’t respond. Hawke is silent for a moment before speaking again. “Fenris, please don’t go. I–I lo–”

“Don’t,” Fenris says, and Hawke, mercifully, stops. His grips falls slack and Fenris’ hand drops back to his side.

A few seconds crawl by before Fenris dares to glance back. Hawke threw on a dressing gown before he gave chase but it hangs open, a testament to his hurry. His hair is a tousled mess from their earlier activities. His normally sunny visage is twisted in an expression of agony, and Fenris’ resolve crumbles. Without warning, Fenris turns back, seizes Hawke’s face between his hands, and crashes their mouths together.

The kiss is desperate, almost violent, but the noise Hawke makes at the contact is equal parts pained and relieved. He wraps his arms tight about Fenris’ middle and bows his body towards Hawke’s own, kissing back with a fervor unlike anything else that night. Fenris gets his arms around Hawke’s neck and their teeth clack together, jarring and painful while the taste of copper blooms on their tongues.. Hawke digs his fingers into Fenris’ hips as though to keep him there forever.

God, he wants this so much. He wants to apologize for his foolishness, follow Hawke back upstairs and fall back into bed together. But even as the temptation starts to worm its way through the cracks in his mental armor, he remembers why he can’t, why he can’t let himself be happy, why he can’t let Hawke know.

Fenris turns his head away, afraid he’s let this go on too long, but Hawke curls a large, delicate hand over his jaw and guides him back. The next kiss is so gentle that he’s helpless to pull away again. Hawke’s lips are soft on his now, caressing and loving, as if to silently reassure him that everything is going to be alright, and Fenris lets himself fall into it for a few more long,blissful seconds.

When he pulls away again, hecloses his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the hurt on Hawke’s face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, then presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of Hawke’s mouth before abruptly pulling away. This time, Hawke lets him go without argument.

Fenris flees into the Kirkwall night, hating himself more than anyone else.