[ Feeling and familiarity had colored his perceptions over the years, true, but while he saw Fenris in just about very good light he could, he'd never forgotten his standing or how easily the elf could destroy him if he so desired. Fenris exuded danger. Violence. He was worn and jaded and bitter from far too many wasted years, and at times, Hawke could admit he was a threat not to be trifled with. Still, for all this time, Fenris had only resorted to insult and dry observation to administer his brutality, never outright force. Funny that the moment the elf inevitably broke, it wasn't against the abomination or the blood mage; instead, it was against the one that forgave and accepted more than any other member of their ragtag group. Entirely unfitting, wasn't it? Holding tight to that shred of humor, Hawke focused on it to soften the slam of his shoulders and the twist of fingers at his collar; mutely, he took what Fenris felt justified to give and didn't fight the push or even the second, instead watching every sneer and snarl with all the courage he could muster.
Maybe he should have fought, actually. He was mad, wasn't he? Just as worn and jaded and bitter as Fenris was on a daily basis; wasn't it his turn to be selfish and make someone else hurt in his stead? Maybe he would have, if Fenris had clutched a little tighter, a little longer, but the anger he'd been shouldering throughout this entire endeavor, stilled as the other released him; even then, even as he watched Fenris card through his emotions and try to find a reason for all this rubbish, Hawke might have found his resentment all over again if Fenris hadn't relented with that final statement. Not an apology, no, of course not, but it was regretful nonetheless, and while it was completely backwards and wrong and not what he wanted at all, it left Hawke drained, slumped there against the wall with his breath catching on an exhale that was twinged with something close to a laugh. Maker, had he truly butchered six, seven, however many years enough so that Fenris couldn't see what was so obvious to the rest?
Dipping his chin and staring down the length of his body to find his boots, Hawke shook his head, as exasperated with his rotten luck as he was amused by it. No wonder Varric seemed exceptionally happy about writing their warped love triangle; the misunderstandings and broken prides were amusing even to him, and he was the one suffering from them. ] You almost had it. [ The right idea, but the wrong person, and he settled on a wry smile, indulging in how pathetic all of this was for the beat that followed, only to lose that humor as quickly as it had come. He could leave it. He couldn't play along entirely, but he could try ending it; say he didn't fancy her, but make up some lame excuse to perpetuate this idea that he wanted some piece of Isabela and Fenris was a hindrance to that. Would that salvage much, if any, of his pride though? Well, actually, yes, it probably would, at least more so than coming clean would, but... – he pinched the bridge of his nose and then slid higher, squeezing at the tension point between his brows. Exhale, inhale, and sigh – if he didn't say it now, he would undoubtedly regret it for the rest of his life... even though he'd regret saying it too. ] She isn't the one I want.
that little, violent ho :c roughing hawke up like that. he better pamper him later.
Maybe he should have fought, actually. He was mad, wasn't he? Just as worn and jaded and bitter as Fenris was on a daily basis; wasn't it his turn to be selfish and make someone else hurt in his stead? Maybe he would have, if Fenris had clutched a little tighter, a little longer, but the anger he'd been shouldering throughout this entire endeavor, stilled as the other released him; even then, even as he watched Fenris card through his emotions and try to find a reason for all this rubbish, Hawke might have found his resentment all over again if Fenris hadn't relented with that final statement. Not an apology, no, of course not, but it was regretful nonetheless, and while it was completely backwards and wrong and not what he wanted at all, it left Hawke drained, slumped there against the wall with his breath catching on an exhale that was twinged with something close to a laugh. Maker, had he truly butchered six, seven, however many years enough so that Fenris couldn't see what was so obvious to the rest?
Dipping his chin and staring down the length of his body to find his boots, Hawke shook his head, as exasperated with his rotten luck as he was amused by it. No wonder Varric seemed exceptionally happy about writing their warped love triangle; the misunderstandings and broken prides were amusing even to him, and he was the one suffering from them. ] You almost had it. [ The right idea, but the wrong person, and he settled on a wry smile, indulging in how pathetic all of this was for the beat that followed, only to lose that humor as quickly as it had come. He could leave it. He couldn't play along entirely, but he could try ending it; say he didn't fancy her, but make up some lame excuse to perpetuate this idea that he wanted some piece of Isabela and Fenris was a hindrance to that. Would that salvage much, if any, of his pride though? Well, actually, yes, it probably would, at least more so than coming clean would, but... – he pinched the bridge of his nose and then slid higher, squeezing at the tension point between his brows. Exhale, inhale, and sigh – if he didn't say it now, he would undoubtedly regret it for the rest of his life... even though he'd regret saying it too. ] She isn't the one I want.