stitchcasual

Fenris only lets Hawke co-occupy the kitchen at specific times, post-dinner cleanup being one. They stand side-by-side at the sink, washing and drying the few dishes they used, Fenris’s phone playing soft music from the cut-out window ledge that separates the kitchen from the living room. Hawke can almost fool himself into thinking this peace will last. The shades are drawn against the glare of the setting sun, and the end of the street where Fenris’s house sits is devoid of noises from the neighbors. It nearly feels like this place has become a world unto itself, insulated, protected, safe.

It hasn’t and they both know it, are still too keenly aware of the day they came back to find mercenaries waiting in the main room to take them out. But it’s nice to pretend sometimes, Hawke thinks, as he stacks a plate in the cabinet. To kiss Fenris’s temple as another dish is handed over to be dried, to act out the domesticity they haven’t yet had a real chance at. In a way, it’s nice to have the time together to try it out even if it makes it hurt more and more each time he has to leave.

He returns his towel to its hook on the cabinet side by the sink when he’s done, leans his hip against the counter and watches Fenris drain and clean the sink. Waits until he’s done to lean over and take Fenris’s waist, pull him close, and kiss him. Fenris smiles into the kiss and steps half around Hawke to press him back into the counter, and they stay there as the current song fades from the speakers and a new one starts.

At the first notes of the piano, Fenris pulls away, his face hard to read. He backs up another step, Hawke’s arms stretching between them, and bows, offering one hand to Hawke.

“Dance with me,” he says, looking up at Hawke, his wide green eyes sad and...something else Hawke can’t quite name.

“Do what now?”

“Dance.”

Fenris nods at Hawke, encouraging him with a slight wiggle of his fingers, and Hawke shakes his head but places his hand in Fenris’s anyway. Tattooed fingers wrap around his, warm as they squeeze gently and pull him from the counter.

“I never learned to dance,” Hawke warns, though he doesn’t otherwise try to dissuade Fenris from his idea, and Fenris arches an eyebrow, walking backward through the doorway to the main room.

“Your mother never taught you?” When Hawke shakes his head, Fenris frowns. “I’d assumed… She seemed the type.”

“You’d think,” Hawke snorts, and Fenris hums, pausing his journey when he reaches the middle of the room. He steps in close to Hawke, holding their joined hands close to his shoulder and resting his other arm at the small of Hawke’s back. Hawke hesitates before settling his arm across Fenris’s shoulders, but Fenris hums again, the sound resonating through his shoulder where Fenris has pressed his cheek, and Hawke somehow loses the air in his lungs.

He clears his throat as Fenris begins to sway, not moving his feet, just guiding Hawke back and forth in time to the strains of the piano as they drift out from the kitchen. He relaxes by degrees, into Fenris’s arms there between the staircases, and closes his eyes, dropping his head to rest it against Fenris’s. The lyrics to the song are muffled for him, but he wonders if Fenris doesn’t hear them still, as the grip on his hand tightens for a moment before it shifts and loosens.

Fenris shuffles his feet then, moving the two of them around in a circle with short steps, mere inches each time. Hawke nearly trips them with the first step but catches on quickly to the fact that Fenris won’t be trying to get him to actually dance and sinks into the even rhythm of Fenris’s movements.

They spin slowly, holding on to each other, holding on to this moment of tranquility, this quiet they’ve carved out of the noise of their lives. It’s the unspoken truce between them that neither says what’s on both of their minds: they know that Hawke has to leave, that he only stays in fractured pieces and stolen hours, paying in paranoia and glances over his shoulder. They treasure the moments they have, and Hawke prizes the pain he feels when they are not together because it means he has something to fight for, someone to live for. He would rather ache than be numb.

He runs his thumb along Fenris’s and when Fenris stops them, the song’s notes faded to nothing, he lifts their hands to his lips and kisses Fenris’s fingers. The arm at his back tightens as he takes a step back, and Fenris moves with him, unwilling to let go. Hawke bites his lip but doesn’t say anything. Fenris knows.

“One more dance?” Fenris asks, turning his head to hide his face in Hawke’s shoulder.

“One more,” Hawke agrees, lowering their hands and letting Fenris lead again. He would go soon enough.