[ Anders' breath catches in his throat. Hawke flirting back shouldn't be a surprise, not with the years they lived together, but everything else so far has felt like starting over and this is no different. He's been tossed back to uncertainty and wanting, to effusive bubbles below his ribcage when Hawke is. Himself, basically.

Anders' hand is still palm up, Hawke's is still near, and he touches their fingers lightly together. No reason, this time, just hoping to impart some comfort in the face of a confusion he remembers well. ]

It's a lot to take in, I know.

[ He wouldn't know where to start. His job is to fix the IV, not talk people through understanding "virtual reality". The closest comparison he can think of is a Harrowing, and as far as he knows Hawke's only set foot in the Fade once, for Feynriel. Still, worth a shot, right? ]

It's like the Fade. Everyone had their own different dream they were stuck in. And there are other Anders still in there, dreaming other dreams.

[ Different, being the operative word there. It's all getting increasingly stuck in his throat, and this is both a terrible time and place to have this conversation, but his fingers are slowly sliding into a tangle with Hawke's, and he breathes through the vice around his chest to persevere. ]

And you know my luck. I thought if I went back for you — woke you up — I'd pick the wrong Hawke.