[ Anders lets him, shivering at the barest brush of Hawke's fingers against his skin — though not with cold. How could he feel the cold when the promise of a thorough investigation makes him feel so warm?
He clears his throat, trying to find his voice. Maker, but this is nothing like he imagined. ]
I have a room. You could— come find me, when you're done enjoying the scenery.
[ That's a parting line. It is. But he doesn't want to let Hawke out of his sight, so he doesn't move, feet still rooted to the ground, eyes still searching Hawke's face for something, some sort of tell. Without the beard he looks younger, more open, even if Hawke's expressiveness has always been a cover, honesty kept in the hesitations and the moments he thinks noone's looking.
Maybe what he's looking for is recrimination. ]
How much have they told you? About how it all... works. About the Matrix.
no subject
He clears his throat, trying to find his voice. Maker, but this is nothing like he imagined. ]
I have a room. You could— come find me, when you're done enjoying the scenery.
[ That's a parting line. It is. But he doesn't want to let Hawke out of his sight, so he doesn't move, feet still rooted to the ground, eyes still searching Hawke's face for something, some sort of tell. Without the beard he looks younger, more open, even if Hawke's expressiveness has always been a cover, honesty kept in the hesitations and the moments he thinks noone's looking.
Maybe what he's looking for is recrimination. ]
How much have they told you? About how it all... works. About the Matrix.