Attack of the Fenpaca
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because of this abububububu
Al had never seen Fenris mope before. He’d seen him brood plenty, but brooding meant that everything was normal; moping implied that something was wrong, and honestly, a lot of things were wrong. Crisis was basically the default state of affairs in Kirkwall, not that it ever seemed to faze Fenris. That something was bothering him now was worrisome, and it twisted Al’s stomach into knots as he tried to figure out it was.
Asking was out of the question. Fenris spoke deliberately and briefly, he was not one for idle chatter or sentiment. He spoke volumes with wide green eyes, furrowed eyebrows and slight twitches of the corners of his mouth. Asking would never work—talking would never work.
For a few days, Al tried to pretend that nothing was different, that he didn’t realize the sighs or the slight droop in Fenris’ ears. But he hugged him more, he slept curled up next to him, bought him new books, bottles of wine, anything he thought would put a little smile on that stern, still face.
That didn’t work either. Fenris was appreciative, he said thank you and took the books, tried to read them, drank the wine and snuggled close when Al grabbed onto him, but it wasn’t the same. He was still moping.
“What’s the matter with you?” Al asked finally, one night, while they were sitting together in front of the fire at Hawke’s manor, the wine long gone, and high color on his cheeks. Fenris started, dark brows rising, and the look on his face made Al shake his head. “Never mind.”
Later that night, when Fenris was draped over Al’s bed like some big jungle cat, taut body stretched out, resting, but still on alert, Al came up and threw himself onto him, sighing.
“What’s the matter with you?” Fenris asked, low and steady.
“You’ve been upset.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’ve been moping!”
“…I haven’t.”
“Something’s been bothering you. I can tell, and don’t say it hasn’t.”
Fenris sighed through his nose, shifting his legs as Al draped himself over his arm, pressing his back to his chest. “I’d been thinking…that it would have been nice if I had met you a long time ago.” Fenris shook his head. “It’s nothing. Foolishness. But…it’s been on my mind.”
“Is that all? Really?” Al squeezed his forearm. “You’ve been upset over that? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
Al didn’t answer, because, as always, Fenris had a good point. He just wrapped himself up in the blanket, and pressed closer to him, feeling like maybe it was a little foolish, but in the end it was fine. It was part of life, part of Fenris’ life, and Al wanted it all, brooding, moping, or snoring lightly at his back—all of it.
