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The faint traces of sunlight burn his skin so he turns over and presses a pillow over his eyes, growling.
There is always the all-too-familiar footsteps that follow with the coming sun, along with three successive knocks and the door creaking open.
“Good mornin’, Hawke!” Varric’s voice slices through his ears. He wants to throw the pillow because it is never, ever a good morning.
“Fuck off.”
He hears a chuckle and the dwarf shuffles around a bit. The sound of the shutters opening makes Hawke clench his jaw because the backs of his eyelids are now suddenly so red, raw, and bright.
More sunlight streaks through and Varric says something about going down for breakfast, but Hawke doesn’t reply.
The door closes.
Hawke shoots out a hand and the shutters slam closed with a gesture of his fingers. He squeezes his eyes shut.
The dawn is cruel, it is merciless, it never ceases to make him seethe. It means more bloody fights, more grime and dirt on his skin, and more fucking complaining.
He wants to wake in darkness. Moonlight, maybe.
But most of all, Hawke wants to wake to the sound of cards rustling and the clink of pitchers and the roar of the hearth. But there’s no such thing as eternal night. Maybe he’d start praying to the Maker to make it happen.
Hawke slides the pillow off of his face and tries to let the dark take him again.
But, to his luck, the door creaks open again.
“I said fuck off-”
The soft chuckle makes him pause. Then, the low, deep baritone that sends a shiver down his spine.
“Varric did say you were cranky.”
He doesn’t have to look at who’s approaching him. The sound of his footsteps are all too familiar.
Anders sits on his bed, and Hawke feels it dip with his weight.
“I’ll be down in 10 minutes,” he growls, trying in vain to sound as intimidating as his mind wants him to be. But his heart, oh but his heart. It wants something else entirely.
Hawke hears Anders’ tsk and feels another weight settle on the the bed, followed by the sweet, silky scent of vanilla.
“I already brought you breakfast.”
He cracks an eye open, and Anders is holding a mug of tea and a plate of scrambled eggs.
Hawke stares at the food, contemplating, before taking the mug with a grumble of thanks. Anders moves the plate on the rickety nightstand and he sits there, squinting at Hawke through the darkened room as Hawke drains the mug dry.
Anders sighs. “Last night, I was going to ask you if I could stay.”
“What?” Hawke sets the mug on the nightstand and rubs his eyes. His voice is still husky, tinged with sleep.
“If I could stay…” He says, trailing off as he tries to form words. Then he decides to fuck it all and place a warm hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Stay with you. In this room.”
The words settle between them and Ander’s shifts uncomfortably on the bed until Hawke’s dark brows knit together and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
Anders laugh sounds half-pleased, half-annoyed . “Because you drank too much and passed out before I could.”
Hawke makes a noise that is between a sigh and a groan and curses the morning once again.
“Fuck.” He lays back down on the pillow and drags a hand over his face before turning sideways to look at Anders. The man is already dressed in his robes, yet his hair isn’t tied up. It falls down in lose waves to his shoulders and it reminds Hawke of copper bird feathers.
“So is that a-”
Before Anders can finish, Hawke grabs hold of his wrist and tugs him down. He falls with an awkward oomf on his chest and his body is frozen for a moment before he chuckles. Wraps his arms around him and presses his nose to his throat. He can feel Anders' lips curve into a smile against his skin.
“Yes. Stay with me,” Hawke murmurs thickly into his hair. “Every night.”
“Alright.”
They lay there for more than ten minutes. Legs flung over each other, locked in an embrace as Hawke catches a little more darkness while Anders traces his fingers on the exposed skin of his forearms, his hands, his knuckles.
And when Hawke finally decides to accept the sunlight, he feels the press of Anders' lips against his cheek, but he angles his head to catch his mouth with his.
And he thinks, fuck dawn.
But at least there's now one thing he looks forward to when he wakes.