Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

About ten years later, Fenris was living in the outskirts of LA. Not exactly rich, not exactly famous. But doing okay. And Danarius finally keeled over.

Fenris sat cross-legged on a worn leather couch. Something his PA had called “retro”. A half-empty cup of coffee on one side of his laptop, emptier wine bottle on the other.

He was hunching over the coffee table, checking his emails, and talking to Isabela on the phone. “Yeah, I'm going back. For some reason the lawyer didn't want to do it over the phone.”

“I have no idea why,” he muttered, the cursor stopping over a browser tab. A new notification on Facebook.

He stared at the message, and took a sip of coffee, lips slowly curling into a smile. “You’ll never guess who just sent me a friend request.”

Isabela muttered something on the other end, missing the mark by a mile.

“Garret Hawke,” Fenris said, letting the words sink in.

Isabela chuckled. “We’ve been friends on Facebook for ages.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Of course you have.”

He no longer was surprised by anything Isabela did. Befriending Fenris’s ex…roommate on Facebook was a normal Monday. Most likely that’s how Hawke spotted his name and sent the request. Just out of curiosity.

“Sorry hun, I really gotta go. Wifey’s screaming something in the kitchen. Most likely burnt down the stove again,” Isabela muttered, indistinct noises coming through from the background

“Sure. Talk to you later, I should get back to work anyway.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, Fenris clicked “accept” and opened Hawke’s profile. He looked almost the same. Beard a bit longer, maybe gained a few pounds after college. But the same brown eyes, messy hair and a wide grin. Still wearing flannel.

He leaned back against his chair, hands crossed behind his head. A whole decade.

The memories came flooding back. The cramped dorm room. Kisses and fights. Awkwardness. Leaving with nothing but the guitar on his back and a few cardboard boxes.

A message chimed into his inbox.

Just a simple “Hi”.

Three dots. Hawke was writing more.

“Saw your name in the tabloids today.”

Fenris stared at the words. Guess a prolific doctor and a long-time city council member dying was a big deal in a small county. Especially if he could be tied to someone even remotely famous.

But for him Danarius’s death was only a painful reminder. He’d left and not looked back, not even once. He hadn’t even seen his mother’s tombstone. After all, it wasn’t really her buried under there. Just a meatsuit in a coffin. Slowly rotting away.

Fenris’s eyes lingered on the message a while longer, a grim smile rising to his lips. “Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead.”

He pressed ‘enter’ before he could regret it.

Sure, a weird way to start a conversation with someone from your past. But Fenris was four glasses in and that dulled down his sensibility a bit.

Another message chimed in. “You? Quoting ‘The Wizard of Oz’? The world has really moved on.”

Fenris chuckled at the words. Hawke had no idea.

“One ex really loved her musicals.” He typed, then quickly erased the words. Hawke didn’t need to know that. She was long gone. Two—almost three years. Called it “disagreement on monogamy”. Fenris called it fucking the personal trainer behind his back.

“You still live nearby?” He wrote, hitting ‘enter’ before he could use the backspace again.

Another set of three dots, slowly moving on the screen.

Finally Hawke’s answer chimed in.

“Yeah. Still working in the garage. Mini Mite league. Wife and a kid.”

Fenris stared at the message, raising the bottle to his lips. He had no idea what a ‘mini mite league’ was. But he recognized the last two words all too well.

Everyone was settling down. Getting married. Except for him and Zevran. And even that fucker had a legit business now.

He started the message three times. Deleted it. Rewrote. Finally he hit ‘enter’ before his better judgement kicked in. “I’m actually coming down there next weekend. Wanna meet?”

“Sure! The Hanged Man’s still standing. The chips haven’t changed.”

Fenris smiled again. Another thing that hadn’t changed. Hawke still thought with his stomach.

And this time, it would be easy. Hawke was a married man. And Fenris respected that. Just two people who used to know each other. A long time ago.

_______________________

Fenris sat in the airplane, legs stretched, Scotch in hand, eyes on the blank white sky outside the window.

The rental would be waiting for him at the airport. But it was only one glass. He wished he’d gotten the whole bottle. No way he’d meet his stepfather's lawyer completely sober.

Scratch that.

Lawyer of a dead shithead.

At least he could afford flying in first class. Some kid was throwing a tantrum back in economy and the shrieks were giving him a headache. Or maybe it was just the hangover.

He’d forgotten the difference years back.

The hostess would come back soon to collect the glass. She was a cute redhead, with freckles on her nose. Gave him the eyes—and a napkin with a lipstick stain and a phone number—when she handed the complimentary drink.

On another occasion Fenris might take up the offer. But not today. Today was all about business and finally burying Danarius for good.

The tie already felt too tight around his throat. He still hated wearing suits. No matter how tailored to him. But somehow, worn jeans and a band tee hadn’t felt right when he was packing this morning.

He tried loosening the knot, but he still felt like choking.

He had no idea what this meeting was about. Most likely some skeletons. All he cared about was how much it would cost to bury them again.

The warning lights blinked on and the captain alerted the plane would begin its descent.

The hostess came back and Fenris shot his glass back, handing it to her with the napkin, and a polite smile. She just leaned in closer and winked. “Next time, then.”

Maybe they'd fucked before. Or maybe she just reminded him of someone. After a certain number, they all blurred together. Young, lonely and looking for company for the night.

Fenris rushed through the airport, pulling his carryon behind him. A quick stop at the counter for keys, then the garage. His rental stood amongst the others like a red flag. Sporty, fast and slightly dangerous. Just the way he liked them.

The whiskey was still pleasantly burning against his throat, the headache already forgotten. The roof slid down with ease, engine's low rumble echoing against the concrete walls and pillars.

The car revved under him like a wild beast, just waiting to be unleashed. Wind tousled his hair, music blasted from the stereos. But every mile brought him closer to where he started.

Home.

Well, not really. Danarius’s place never deserved the word.

There were days when Fenris felt his only home was the stage. Living through the audience and the music. Could anyone ask for more?

____________________

Fenris pulled beside a black premium European and stepped out. The gravel crunched under his boots as he approached the house he once lived in. Big, white and excessive. Still looked like a mausoleum.

The door opened and an older man stepped out, rubbing his hands. Combover, narrow lips and too many teeth in a smile. Typical lawyer. “You must be Mr. Wolfe? Thank you so much for coming down here. We know you have a busy schedule.”

Fenris shook the offered hand and wiped his palm on his pants the moment they let go. A bile rose to his mouth, but he followed the man anyway. “I still have no idea why we couldn’t do this over the phone.”

The place smelled like bleach and every step on the white marble seemed to cinch the tie tighter. He didn’t even realize the nails pressing against his palm. Old habits die hard.

Why didn’t he take a second glass on the plane?

The lawyer offered him a seat and dug out some papers from his briefcase. “I do apologize for that. Again. But you see… There are certain matters you ought to consider before refusing the inheritance.”

Fenris snorted. “I already have his inheritance. Lifelong traumas and scars that never disappear.”

The lawyer ignored the words, the fake smile didn’t even flinch. He just pulled more papers out and stacked them on the table. “Your mother—Mrs Danarius—made certain changes to the will. And Mr Danarius never bothered to undo them.”

He let out a dry cough and turned one of the papers over, handing it to Fenris. “Which makes you—Mr Wolfe—the sole heir.”

“You’re shitting me,” Fenris scoffed. He stared at the paper in his hand, not believing a word it said. He came here to bury the ghosts. Not to inherit the whole graveyard.

“I assure you, Mr Wolfe, I am being serious,” the lawyer said, clearly offended by Fenris’s choice of words.

“Sorry, I need a smoke.” Fenris stood up and let the paper fall back on the table. He walked out the room with stiff legs, leaving the scowling lawyer with his papers.

Fenris lit up his smoke before even stepping outside, phone already held against his ear. “Wanna hear something hilarious?”

“I thought you were meeting a lawyer. No way they cracked a joke,” Isabela replied on the other end.

“Trust me, he did.”

Fenris took a long drag, letting the tension grow for a moment. He couldn’t see Isabela, but knew her brow was furrowing with frustration.

“Come on! Tell me!”

“He said I’m the heir,” Fenris said, voice quiet. He flicked ash off the cigarette and it fell to the gravel like an insult.

Isabela burst out in loud laughter. “Shit.”

“Guess mom finally got her revenge,” Fenris continued, letting the butt drop to the ground. It stayed there, crumbled, smoke still rising from one end.

He hadn't even looked at the number, just noticed there were quite a few zeros before the comma. “I don’t want to take it,” he sighed. “I don’t need money. I just want to bury the asshole for good.”

“Fenris…” Isabela’s voice rose slightly. This was when she would give him a smack on the head—if he was within reach.

“I flew here in first class. Rented a fucking Ferrari. I don’t need the money,” Fenris insisted.

“You idiot, that’s not the point. Take the money and give it to charity, or whatever.” Isabela scoffed.

She took a pause, before continuing with a softer tone, “Otherwise your mom’s sacrifice was for nothing.”

Fenris didn’t answer, just bit the inside of his cheek, the familiar taste of rust coating his mouth. He knew Isabela meant well. But that didn’t mean the truth didn’t hurt.

He rubbed his neck. Maybe the liquor cabinet was still untouched. “Guess I should go back inside.”

“Please tell me you’ll take it all,” Isabela said. “I should’ve come down there with you.”

“Just feels like I’m selling my soul or something,” Fenris sighed. The headache was making a return with revenge.

“You can do it, hun. I love you!”

Isabela ended the call with a kiss and Fenris turned slowly on his heels, lighting up another cigarette. His eyes traced the house and the yard. His house.

Still ugly.

Maybe Isabela had a point. Take the money and do something good with it. Something that would make Danarius roll in his grave like a wheel on a tour bus. Neverending turning.

Fenris snorted at the thought and flicked his cigarette to a perfectly sculpted bush. Hopefully it would burn.

He walked back to the lawyer, feeling a lot more relaxed. He’d found Danarius’s good stuff and opened his tie and top buttons of his shirt. He set a bottle of 24-year-old Scotch right on top of the papers. Uncapped. “Where do I sign?”

The lawyer lifted his eyes, quickly glancing at Fenris’s appearance. Instantly disapproving. “If we could go through the details first.”

Fenris slung himself on the armchair, taking another sip of the Scotch. “Frankly? I don’t care. I know I got the house. Stupid amount of money added to my own humble stash.”

“If you could just—” the lawyer tried again, pointing at the beginning.

“How about… I sign, you drive that ugly Mercedes off my front lawn, and I’ll have my lawyer wire you a fat bonus for skipping the speeches?”

The lawyer batted his eyes, a pale tongue licking his lips. He dug out a pen, offering it to Fenris. “I think that sounds perfectly reasonable, Mr. Wolfe.”

Suddenly he looked like he couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. He pointed at the lines, muttering words and details. Fenris just kept signing. Draining the bottle. Too fast.

“It’ll take a few weeks to process the full transfer,” the lawyer, snapping the folder shut. He gathered some papers into an envelope, followed by a set of keys. “But the house is yours, effective immediately.”

Fenris just grabbed the envelope, brushing him off. “Fine. Just send the details to my lawyer.”

In the end, he was left alone. An empty bottle on the table, the house around him quieter than a grave. He didn’t want to stay there a moment longer.

Too many ghosts haunted these rooms.

Fortunately he had a room in the hotel right next to the Hanged Man.

He got up, slightly wavering on his feet as he walked back to the car.

The Ferrari looked like a bloodstain against the white gravel and the house. He pressed his foot hard against the pedal, the engine screaming like a banshee, sending stones flying in the air. Too fast for the middle of town, but he could afford it.

And in the movies the police never arrested the rich and famous.

_____________

The car screamed to a halt beside the curb. Once again, no consequences. Just a few honks and angry shouts as he tore through the town. Mostly people just stared at the red flag that dared to destroy the peace and the man behind the wheel. Some kids even showed thumbs up and wide grins.

He stepped out of the car, staring at the building in front of him. It was the same hotel Bryan had stayed at. Back then he'd thought that night as his personal bottom. How naive can you be?

Because of course, it had to be the same room.

Must be the only one with enough “rock ‘n’ roll” rot in it.

For a moment Fenris thought of leaving or asking for another. But, why bother? All the rest of the wounds were being opened, why not this one too.

The room hadn’t changed. Still white and gold, still faded and cracked. He hoped they'd changed the sheets since the last time.

He still had a few hours to spend before meeting with Hawke. A smarter man might have grabbed some food, maybe rested a bit. But guess he wasn't that smart.

He ditched the suit for torn jeans and a tee, threw a black button-up on top. No tie. Casual, but a bit more adult version of his usual look.

He caught his reflection in the mirror before heading outside. Dark circles beneath eyes that wouldn't fully focus. Eyes of his mother. Eyes of Bryan. His own.

He only hoped life had treated Hawke better than him.

Before even realizing, his feet carried him to another place from his past. But this wasn't a ghost. It was one of his havens. The Black Emporium. The door let out a familiar creak and a chime as he stepped in. The smell of records, music magazines, dust motes hanging in the air.

The man behind the counter greeted Fenris with a quick nod and a glance, then averted his eyes back to his magazine. Fenris just stood in place, eyes sweeping the shop. Time had really stopped here.

The man's eyes shot back up as the realization hit him.

“Goddamn! Color me purple and call me Prince. If it isn't the only celebrity this shithole's ever produced!”

He walked to Fenris with a wide smile, offering out his hand. A bit more gray streaked his hair and beard, the crow's feet a bit deeper in the corners of his eyes. But it was unmistakenly his old boss.

Fenris shook his hand, a genuine smile finally forming on his lips. “Nice to see you too, old man.”

“I've been following your success, you know. Got a stock of all your records here. Not sure I've sold any, but I do what I can to support my former employees,” he said, finally letting go of Fenris's hand.

“I should've sent you a stock for free…” Fenris muttered.

When he'd left town, he'd tried to bury all his memories. Guess some good ones had gone down the hole too.

“Rubbish. I was happy to pay for them.” His boss said, waving his hand. ”You have time to stay for a cup of Joe?”

“Or two,” Fenris replied with a smile, already heading for the back room. “How’ve things been here?”

“Well… you know. Slow,“ the man muttered as he dug out two relatively clean cups from the cupboard. “It’s all about streaming these days.”

“Soulless sounding shit,” Fenris snorted, taking a seat at the dusty, magazine covered table.

“I know! But doesn’t take up space and it’s much cheaper. What can you do...” the man said, taking a sip of the dark and bitter. “Might have to finally sell. The city wants to build housing here. The college’s growing at least and they need more room for the students.”

“If you ever decide to sell, I’ll be happy to buy it all. The least I can do for you,” Fenris said, tracing the edge of the mug with his finger. “I never…” he started, the words getting caught in his throat.

The buzz was dying down and the demons came a-knocking.

He couldn’t stay here much longer. He still had to keep up the appearance for a few more hours today.

“I never thanked you. For everything,” he said, eyes only briefly glancing at his boss.

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for. Or apologize. Us outcasts need to look after each other. I’m just happy you got out,” the boss replied with a smile, scratching his braided beard.

“I think I forgot that somewhere along the line,” Fenris sighed, finishing up his coffee. He dug out his wallet and placed his business card on the table. “This number comes straight to me. Not the agency. Call me if you ever decide to retire.”

He got on his feet and started washing up the mug. He needed to focus on something. The drop was unusually hard this time. Must be all the memories weighing down on him. “I should go. Thanks for the coffee.”

He could feel the older man staring at him. Not judging. Seeing through the hardness.

Fenris turned and headed back to the shop. He needed something to chase away the darkness.

But before he could flee, a hand landed on his shoulder, warm yet firm. “I really feared you wouldn’t make it past 27. Don’t drown now.”

Fenris turned, his boss was still staring at him, his hand on Fenris’s shoulder as he pulled him into a hug.

Fenris pushed him away, harder than he should’ve. “I wasn’t worthy to join the club.”

He walked out the door, not looking back.

_________________________

The Hanged Man hadn’t changed either.

Decorum stuck somewhere between disco and grunge. The smell of decades of spilled drinks, cheap perfume and regrets hung in the air. The floorboards sticky beneath Fenris’s soles as he walked to the counter.

It was still early in the evening, only a few regulars sitting down, staring at their pints with blank eyes. No one gave him a second glance when he ordered a bottle of wine. The ones needing oblivion always recognized each other.

Fenris took a seat in the darkest booth, the one where he could see the door without being seen. He wasn’t here looking for company. Unless you counted Hawke.

He’d never replied to that one letter. But sometimes, when the darkness fell and he lay alone in bed, or next to another stranger, he kept wondering. Where would he be if he’d replied?

No use thinking that now. Hawke was married.

The wine tasted bitter and cheap on his tongue, but it was alcohol. Something to make the loneliness sting a little less while he waited.

Fenris’s eyes drifted to the stage. It looked so small now. And still, he’d been so proud to get up there. To sing and play songs made by people more talented than him.

The door creaked open, the last rays of the setting sun shooting through the opening. More unfamiliar faces stepped in.

He glanced at his watch, still early.

A waitress brushed by and Fenris asked her to bring a jug of water and nuts to the table.

Something to do besides down the whole wine bottle while he waited. The hands crawled forward, more people walked in. But still no Hawke. Maybe he never intended to come.

Music played on the stereos, his foot tapping with the melody. Popular pop song he’d heard on the radio too many times. But somehow the lyrics hit his mood too well. Maybe he should go for a smoke. Then he’d spot Hawke right away. But there’d be no hiding from him either and Fenris preferred the shadows.

The door creaked open and finally a face he recognized. Red flannel, worn jeans and sneakers. Beard even thicker than it used to be, messy dark hair. And a grin that made something tighten in Fenris’s chest. Like he was still between the first hello and goodbye.

Over the rim of his glass, Fenris watched Hawke walk in and greet a few of the other patrons with smiles and pats on the shoulder. Friends and neighbours. His people.

Fenris took a small sip of his wine, to wet his tongue and for encouragement, then slowly placed the glass back down. Hawke’s eyes were scanning through the bar, not seeing him.

Fenris stood up, legs feeling weak. He didn’t want to call out, not even wave. He only hoped Hawke would see him and recognize the man he’d become.

Hawke remained in place, head slowly turning. Then their eyes met. An even bigger smile spread on his face, sneakers squeaking against the wood as he strode towards Fenris.

And with each step the years seemed to melt away.

Fenris offered out his hand, but Hawke just pulled him into a tight bear hug.

Fenris didn’t hug him back. Couldn’t. Hands hung by his sides like a dead weight as Hawke’s scent enveloped him, unleashing all the memories he’d locked away.

Same deodorant. The sweet, sugary smell of cola bubblegum. He could still remember how it tasted on his lips. And Hawke’s beard brushing against his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

“It’s good to see you!” Hawke said, finally releasing his grip. His hands still lingered on Fenris’s shoulders, eyes scanning his face. Seemingly oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside.

The bar was suddenly too loud, too bright. Like the spots had been turned on and everyone was staring. Or maybe it was just him, Hawke’s scent still in his nose, his arms still ghosting against his skin.

Fenris took a step back, Hawke’s hands finally dropping down, but leaving their warmth behind. He looked into the brown eyes, a tiny smile tugging on his lips. “You too.”

“You look good! Homey and content. That’s good,” Fenris muttered, eyes briefly glancing at the golden band on Hawke’s ring finger.

“And you haven’t aged a day!” Hawke said, taking a seat in the booth.

Fenris had looked in the mirror enough times to know it was a lie. But he wasn’t here to argue. Instead he just took a seat across from Hawke, sliding the wine bottle against the wall. He regretted he’d only asked for one glass.

Under the table where Hawke couldn’t see them, his fingers curled into fists, nails digging into the palms.

“I didn’t know what you drink, so didn’t get you a glass.” Another lie. This was a great start.

“Still prefer beer. Though I’ve learnt to drink wine with food. Blame the wife, she’s Italian,” Hawke grinned as he pulled out the menus, handing one for Fenris. The gold band caught light again.

“How long have you two been…?” Fenris asked, quickly glancing over the paper. The words were swimming on the page. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe not.

“Six, almost seven years now,” Hawke replied, eyes scanning the menu. Like he didn’t know it by heart. “Kid’s almost seven too. Popped the question before her dad could do the math.”

Fenris’s throat tightened and he reached for his glass.

“You have anyone special?” Hawke asked, placing the menu on the table.

Fenris snorted, hand dropping back under the table. “Just music. My lover and my child. Too busy for anything else.”

Hawke opened his mouth to say something, but the waitress had arrived to get their orders. And just in time. Fenris didn’t want to discuss his lineup of failures, regrets and too many faces.

“I’m guessing the red Ferrari is yours?” Hawke asked, grabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl.

“Just a rental. I’m currently in-between-cars.” Fenris muttered, finally taking a sip of his wine. Hawke didn’t need to know he’d crashed his previous car while speeding through the hills. Maybe he’d taken some alcohol too.

“You still have that old Chevy?”

Fenris could still remember the smell of fast food that lingered in the seats, the black smoke and weird squeaks and groans on every turn.

“Of course! Drive it every day to work. I’ll give it to my son when he’s old enough.”

They chatted like that for a while, waiting for their food. Just casual topics. Cars, Hawke’s work at the garage. Mostly Fenris just listened and asked questions. Barely revealing anything of his life since he’d left. He’d lived through it and didn’t want to look back.

Finally their food arrived.

The girl placed a gigantic plate on the table, fries still sweating out oil and glazed ribs gleaming under the lights. Fenris stared at it, saliva coating his tongue as the waitress placed his chicken salad in front of him. Wilted greens and overcooked meat for him. Great.

“I don’t get why you ordered something like that in here,” Hawke grinned as he slid his knife into the meat.

“According to label’s PR-people rockers are supposed to be ageless and skinny,” Fenris muttered dryly, skewering a slice of cucumber with his fork. She’d also implied a little nip and tuck on his face wouldn’t hurt.

“If you get any skinner, your stomach and spine change places,” Hawke laughed. He stabbed a few fries into his fork and offered it towards Fenris. “A few fries won’t kill you. Or make you any less of a rockstar.”

Fenris stared at the fries, then slowly leaned closer. They smelled too good. And his PA wasn’t here.

He chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the table. The fries tasted like salt and grease. And youth.

Hawke’s eyes were full of warmth when he pushed the plate to the middle of the table.

And once more they shared food. Like back in the dorm. And it was always Hawke taking care of Fenris.

Slowly Fenris started opening up. Sharing stories from the tours. About the sleepless nights as they drove across the country. Showed a scar on his ringfinger from when the string snapped in the middle of a song. His wedding band.

Hawke laughed at that a lot, tracing it with his finger when Fenris shared the story, palm against the table.

The touch sent jolts across Fenris’s body.

And it was gone too soon.

“How long’ll you stay?” Hawke asked, finishing up his coffee, leaning back against the sofa.

“Not sure yet. Danarius’s death left me some… problems I need to sort out.” Problems being a significant inheritance and the house. And he still had no idea what to do with either. He didn’t want to talk about money with Hawke.

But when the waitress came to ask if they needed anything, he paid the bill in full. Despite Hawke’s protests. “Finally paid you back for the hotel. Never forget my debts,” he said with a wink.

Even under the dim lights Fenris noticed the blush rising to Hawke’s face at the mention of the hotel. Guess Hawke hadn’t forgotten how they shared the bed. And the pathetic attempt of seduction Fenris had made.

Hawke wiped his mouth, fingers fumbling the napkin into a ball. “Would you like to come for dinner? Meet my wife and kid.”

The words rang loud in Fenris’s ears. Family life. Something he’d never known. Most likely never would.

Still, he forced a smile on his lips. “I’d love to.”

“Tomorrow too soon?”

They agreed on a time. Hawke sent the address, then left with a wave and a smile.

Fenris was alone in the booth once more. Only the half-empty bottle of wine remained. As soon as the door closed behind Hawke’s back, he emptied it with a quick swig. Hawke’s touch still lingered on his finger, the image of him blushing clear on his mind.

Chapter Text

Next morning Fenris woke up slowly, head throbbing with the familiar dullness. The taste of alcohol and too many smoked cigarettes lingered on his tongue. He opened his eyes to the sunlight streaming through pale blue curtains.

Not the hotel room. Flowery wallpaper was peeling from the seams, the air stale with the smell of cheap perfume and baby wipes. An unfamiliar woman lay beside him, still asleep. Dirty blonde hair, makeup spread across her cheeks and the pillowcase.

Careful not to wake her, Fenris sat up and placed his feet on the floor. Something slimy touched his toes, making him look down.

A used condom.

He wiped his foot on the carpet, stomach turning. Memories of last night started flashing back.

Hawke leaving. Wine, followed by some shots. More wine. Meeting a stranger on the counter, shared flirts and laughs. Followed by a short taxi drive and—. He didn’t need to remember the rest.

Fenris slowly pushed himself on his feet and gathered his clothes from the floor. Dressed with stiff fingers and slipped out of the bedroom without a word. They didn’t have to speak. Just another forgettable fuck. The kind you don’t make eye contact with if you pass on the street.

He walked down the hall. The place reeked of middle-class. IKEA furniture. Toys scattered on the floor. Photos on the wall of her, standing next to a man in an army-uniform. Fenris didn’t recall seeing a ring. Or maybe he’d chosen to ignore it.

Another photo caught his eyes. A group of girls, hands on each other’s shoulders, grinning like they owned the world. He knew those people. And remembered the names they used to shout at him in the schoolyard. One of them had grown into the woman in the bed. Guess she wouldn’t call him a faggot now.

A dark smile rose on Fenris’s lips as he walked towards the front door. At least he’d become something besides a sad mess. He was a rich and famous sad mess with shaky hands.

Something moved in the corner of his eye, making him stop once more.

A young girl, dressed in dirty clothes, was sitting in front of the TV, head turned towards him.

They stared at each other for a moment, not moving or speaking. Clearly Fenris wasn’t the first one she’d seen scampering out of her mother’s bedroom.

Finally—thankfully—she turned and focused back on the cartoons.

Fenris rushed through the door, barely making it outside as the nausea boiled over.

A group of older women walked past. Shaking their heads and muttering under their breaths, eyes scanning Fenris's disheveled appearance.

His grip on the picket fence tightened and despite the bad taste in his mouth, he gave them his flashiest smile. “Sorry, could you tell me the address? I could use a taxi.”

Their pace only increased, refusing to look back.

Fenris let out a dry chuckle, the emotion never reaching his eyes. He'd finally become everything he hated, someone who left without a word and didn’t care who he left behind.

But at least he hadn’t passed the traumas through blood.

He returned to the hotel at the backseat of a taxi, the Ferrari waiting for him beside the curb. Yesterday it felt like the right way to show everyone the middle finger. Today it just looked sad and obnoxious. Childish.

He took a long shower, scrubbing his skin under the hot water until it was red and raw. But the filth was buried too deep, unreachable.

The young girl's eyes kept returning to his mind.

Not accusing. Not curious. Hollow at such a young age.

He got dressed again, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Still hungover. But no longer drunk. Maybe he shouldn’t start this day with alcohol. Do something nice instead. Try to do something good with the blood money Danarius left him.

Maybe he still could have a retribution.

But that meant visiting one more place from his past.

He got behind the wheel of the Ferrari once more. Not with cockiness. Just because he had no other choice. The top stayed down, the stereos quiet. And when he drove off, he didn’t test the limits but obeyed the law.

________________________________

Fenris stepped out of the car and looked up at the music department. Another building that shaped his life. One of the few places where he’d felt safe.

The students rushed by in pairs and groups, occasionally glancing at him or pointing at the red monstrosity next to him. No one seemed to recognize him. Good.

He headed inside, wanting to see his old safe place first; the small music room in the very back of the first floor. Where he used to drink cheap coffee and train with his old band.

The halls were mostly empty, it was late spring and students were busy reading for exams.

Fenris stopped behind the door, hand already on the handle. Muffled sounds of guitar playing coming through the wood. There was someone in the music room.

Suddenly, Fenris was filled with horror. His hand dropped down and he recoiled a few steps back. The sound of his bootheels echoed through the hallway. Maybe it was the younger version of him. And if he opened the door, he’d be pulled back.

He didn’t know which would be worse: the past he barely survived or the present he was barely surviving.

In his heart he knew it was just the paranoia from the hangover. But that didn’t mean the fear was any less terrifying.

He turned on his heels and walked away. He wasn’t here to wake up any more ghosts, but to see if anything could grow in their shadow.

He knocked softly on the teacher’s lounge door.

Maybe he should’ve made an appointment with someone, instead of just rushing here with an idea. Or called his own lawyer, ask them if his idea was even possible.

But planning ahead had never been his style.

The door opened, a man about his age was standing in front of him, eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?”

Fenris knew how he must look. Eyes bloodshot yet dressed like a teenager. He gave the man an apologetic smile. “Yeah, sorry. I was hoping to speak to—.” He stopped and let out a small chuckle. “Actually, I have no idea who I should speak to.”

“Okay…” the man said, looking even more confused. His hand was still holding the handle, blocking the doorway the best he could. Maybe he thought Fenris had come to beg for a better grade or something.

“I… I used to go here. Ten years ago. And I want to help out the department,” Fenris blurted out.

This was one of those moments he really hated how impulsive he could be.

“How about you come inside for a coffee? The head of the department is in a meeting. But she should be out soon,” the man said as he stepped aside.

The large table was littered with papers, walls covered with diplomas, framed news articles and photographs.

The man grabbed a cup and poured coffee while Fenris scanned the walls. His eyes caught a familiar headline, one of their first reviews. He looked so young. Flipping the finger, like the rage and leather, could protect him from the world.

The man took a seat at the table, pushing his papers aside. “Actually, I know who you are. We had music theory together. You used to sit in the back, scribbling notes and staring out the window. Before you dropped out to live the dream.”

Fenris gave him another, awkward smile. “Sorry, I don’t…”

He’d been pushing down his past for so long he no longer remembered faces. Or people.

“S’okay,” the man muttered and returned to his papers and coffee.

The room fell silent.

Fenris hated when that happened.

Fenris dug out his phone, just to get something to do while he was waiting. Nothing major in his emails. A meeting with the band next week; Bryan was finally out of rehab and they should start working on new material. A sponsorship offer from some new guitar company. Spam.

The clock ticked steadily on the wall, the only reminder time was still moving on.

His foot started tapping down, to the beat of the clock. The man shot him a quick glance, making him stop.

He wasn’t good at staying put. It made the shadows close in.

The door opened. A woman stepped inside, flipping through papers, bright red cat glasses perched halfway down her nose.

Fenris stood up—too fast—almost knocking down his chair.

“I was wondering who was stupid enough to park that obnoxious thing in a teacher’s spot,” she huffed, softening the words with a smile. “I’m assuming you’re not here to reroll.”

“Good morning, professor,” Fenris said, offering out his hand. “I came to make an offer. That’s all.”

She shook the hand, eyes glancing at the clock. “I have an hour before my next meeting. Can you be brief?”

A little later, they were sitting in her office. The last time Fenris had been there, he’d dropped his resignation papers. Walked out thinking he didn’t belong here.

Fenris’s mouth was dry, his fingers fumbling the pick he found in his pocket. “You see, I… came into some money recently. And a house. I’m trying to make it mean something.”

“I’m aware of your stepfather’s passing. Made the brave assumption you’d get the lot. Despite your differences,” she said, fingers tapping on the table. “Still don’t know why you’re here. You were a law major, not music.”

“Exactly,” Fenris started and took a sip of his coffee. He wished it was laced with whiskey. “Danarius paid for law. Music was never an option. That’s what I want to change.”

“I was serious about you not rerolling. Please, don’t.”

The pick finally stopped and Fenris lifted his eyes from the table. His old professor was smiling. “Always overthinking, Fenris. Just breathe. Tell me what you came here to say.”

Fenris sighed, gathering up his thoughts. When he resumed talking, his voice was steadier. “A scholarship with a dorm. Practice rooms. Maybe a small studio. Just for the music department. Give kids like me a chance.”

The professor’s eyes narrowed and she pushed her glasses up. “That needs a lot of money.”

“Being a corrupt politician and a doctor paid a lot. Who knew?” Fenris said dryly, finally digging out the papers from his bag. He laid them on the table. “And if this isn’t enough, the rest will come out of my pocket.”

“Your stepfather would hate this,” she noted, eyes scanning the papers. Her eyes paused at the bottom line. One brow arched, surprised. Maybe even impressed.

“I know,” Fenris said, a wide grin spreading across his face.

She gathered the papers back into a neat pile and handed them back. “What do you want from me? A gold plated sign on the wall?”

“I was hoping for a yes,” Fenris muttered. He pushed the papers back into his bag, roughly, making them crumble up. Maybe this had been a mistake.

“I’ll give you one better,” she said, standing up. She held out her hand, a wide smile on her lips. “Yes and a thank you. I love the idea.”

“No. Thank you. For letting me do this.” Fenris grabbed the hand, the grin returning to his lips. This time, it reached his eyes. “I’ll have my lawyer reach out. She’ll handle the details—assuming she doesn’t kill me first.”

Walking back to the car, Fenris felt lighter than he’d felt in years. Not just another rockstar, head swimming with piss, fucking and drinking their pain away. Maybe he could be something more after all.

_______________________________

Sometime later, Fenris was driving on the highway, the road stretching before him dark and endless. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other hanging loosely outside the window, enjoying the warmth of the spring and the smell of the woods. The GPS kept telling him to go straight, again and again. He was starting to think it was busted. Or maybe he’d gotten the address wrong.

At least he was talking to Isabela on his handsfree. “I just hope she doesn’t name the scholarship after me. Or the dorm. Way too tacky and not what I wanted.”

“I agree on the tackiness. But I still prefer her picking up the name. You’d call it the ‘shadow house’ or even ‘the hell’.” Isabela replied on the other end.

Even though she was over a thousand miles away, Fenris could feel how proud she was. Through her words and her tone. He felt a bit proud too. Or more correctly, he didn’t hate himself at the moment.

“Now I'm going to Hawke’s. He asked me for dinner,” Fenris said, briefly glancing at the gift basket he’d prepared. Wines, overpriced cheese claimed to be parmigiano. Bouquet of flowers. Seemed like an adult thing to do when visiting someone for the first time.

“Wow! Second date right after the first. You’re moving fast,” Isabela chimed.

“Not a date,” Fenris muttered, more to himself than her. “He’s still married and I’m…” his voice trailed off, trying to listen to the directions.

“Marriage never stopped me,” Isabela’s chuckle was quickly followed by a thud and an ‘ouch’. Guess Merrill was somewhere nearby.

Finally the GPS told him to turn on a side road, telling him there were only ten more miles to go. Fenris felt his anxiety let down a bit, or shift at least. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Hawke’s wife. His child. His family.

“I should go, need a quick smoke-break before meeting the wife,” Fenris muttered, pulling down at a truck stop.

“You never change. Don’t want to get caught by the adults,” Isabela chuckled.

“Shut up, I’m an adult,” Fenris grunted. “Say hi to wifey!.”

He shut down the call and lit up a cigarette. Still sober and it was way past noon. For once.

He had no idea what to expect from the dinner. He really wasn’t the type to be asked to come to home-cooked meals. Even with Isabela and Zevran he’d only shared take-aways and barhopping. The last time someone had invited him over ended in tears. Wearing sunglasses for a week. Another messy breakup.

He took a long drag of his smoke, eyeing the tall trees around him. So peaceful. Not the neverending bustle of LA. He almost wished he had roots down here. Somewhere quiet. Where no one knew him.

Maybe he could turn the shed behind Danarius’s house into a small getaway. Just until the remodelling was done. He could come down here on weekends and see how it was shaping up.

Maybe they’d let him use a sledgehammer.

He snorted at the thought and flicked his cigarette into the trashcan. He should get going, wouldn’t want to be late.

_______________________

Fenris stood before Hawke’s house, the gift basket hanging from his arm, the bouquet in the other. Slanted roof, red tiles. White picket fence and perfectly mowed lawn. The only thing that reminded him of Hawke, was the rusty pickup in the driveway. The same red Chevy he had back then.

The doorbell rang, soon followed by the echo of footsteps. A dark haired, slender woman opened the door. A young kid was clinging to the hem of her dress, staring at the stranger with wide eyes. At him.

“Um. Hi,” Fenris muttered, shoving her the gifts. He was already cursing himself. He’d forgotten to bring the kid anything.

“Hello. You must be Fenris,” she said, smiling politely. “Please, do come in.”

She stepped aside, holding the basket between them. The kid let go of his grip and ran off. Not saying anything. She placed the flowers on a side table and held out her hand. “I’m Francesca. Hawke.”

Of course she’d taken his name. That’s what people did when they joined their lives together.

Fenris gave her a quick shake, eyes scanning the house. White walls and warm wood. Photos on the walls, flowers in vases. Not too different from the house he’d woken in just that morning. Hangover and next to one more stranger.

He quickly banished the memory, hoping this house was happier inside, and followed her further in.

“Garrett’s in the back, warming up the grill. And Malcolm’s somewhere. He’s a bit shy around strangers,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. She was already unpacking the basket on her spotless countertop. “Thank you, I’ve heard this prosecco is excellent.”

“Hawke—Garrett mentioned you’re from Italy,” Fenris said. It felt weird using his first name.

His eyes were still looking over the pictures. The two of them at prom. Her in a white wedding dress, surrounded by family and friends. Hawke cradling a newborn, beaming with pride.

Images of a happy home.

She let out a chuckle as she put the wine in the fridge. “My gran-pappy was from Italy. I’ve never even been there.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Fenris muttered. He already felt like having a smoke.

“Not your fault. Garrett loves telling everyone he’s got an Italian wife. Supposedly it means I can cook.” She leaned closer to Fenris, a smile on her lips, like she was sharing a secret. “I can’t.”

Finally the weight on Fenris’s shoulders eased up, a tiny bit. He gave her a slanted smile. “I can’t either.”

“You want a beer? Or wine?” She asked, already holding out a beer bottle in her hands.

Fenris declined it with a quick shake of his head. He’d decided he had to live through this sober. Maybe later. When he was back alone.

She put the bottle back in the fridge and started tossing out greens on the table. “Just head out to the back, I’m sure Garrett’s already waiting for you. Wants to show off his grilling skills.”

Fenris lingered long enough to watch her prepping food with practiced ease. The perfect wife.

He walked through the house, seeing more and more reminders of Hawke’s current life. Photos and toys. Domesticated bliss he’d settled in while Fenris bounced from city to city, never truly settling.

And finally he saw Hawke through the glass door. A spatula in one hand, a beer bottle in the other. Wearing a corny ‘kiss the cook’ apron that wrapped a bit too tight over his rounding stomach. Head bobbing with the music from the radio. Still off-beat, as always.

He stepped outside, the scent of grilling meat and pines hitting him hard. He still had no idea why he’d come. What possible place could he have in Hawke’s life? They’d never really been friends. Just a hopeless crush that ended before it started.

“Hello Hawke,” he muttered, voice strained.

Hawke turned at the sound and their eyes met.

A warm grin spread across Hawke’s face, and he freed his hands to pull Fenris into another bone-crushing hug.

He still smelled too good.

“Perfect timing! I was just about to glaze the pork, but could you taste this marinade first? Still not sure if it needs more lemon,” Hawke said, taking a step back. He quickly grabbed a spoon and shoved it between Fenris’s lips.

Fenris blinked. Twice. The spoon still dangling from his mouth.

He’d never get used to how… real Hawke was.

“Tastes good to me,” he muttered and placed the spoon back on the counter.

“Have a seat! There’s beer and cola in the mini-fridge,” Hawke grinned and returned dual wielding his spatula and a marinade brush.

Fenris reached for the fridge, hand lingering on the beer bottle for a moment, until he settled for the cola. Sober. Alcohol would make things even weirder. Make him do something stupid.

He cracked open the can, the soda fizzing against his fingers as he sat down. His heart was thumping in his ears, too loud.

“You have a nice home and Francesca seems lovely,” he said. It felt like something you’re supposed to say.

“Thanks,” Hawke said with a grin, flipping the burgers over.

But Fenris noticed the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Like maybe there was a crack in the bliss. Instead of asking about it, he just sipped his drink.

The door clicked open and a set of brown eyes stared through the opening, hand barely reaching the handle.

“Malcolm, come say hi to daddy’s old friend!” Hawke said and kneeled, arms wide.

The boy ran across the terrace, and placed his hands behind Hawke’s neck. Hawke lifted him up with ease, turning towards Fenris. “This is Fenris. We went to college together.”

Fenris shook the offered small hand, forcing a smile on his face. “Hello Malcolm.”

Somehow seeing Hawke holding Malcolm like that hurt worse than the rest.

He’d never even known his father. The one he’d grown up with had been an abusive asshole. He wasn’t going to move that trauma forward by having kids of his own.

But now Hawke was here, with his son. Beaming with pride as he held him up.

They looked so much alike.

Fenris squeezed the can in his hand, jaw clenched. “Mind if I smoke?”

Hawke must have noticed something.

He put Malcolm back on the ground, smile slightly dimmed. “You go inside and tell mommy food’s almost done.”

As soon as the door closed behind the kid’s back, Fenris dug out his smokes and lit one up, the familiar taste immediately calming him down.

“Everything okay?” Hawke asked, leaning against the counter.

“Why’d you reach out to me? After ten years,” Fenris asked with a sigh, staring at the tall pines that grew beyond the lawn. Behind the swing and the kiddie pool.

Hawke shifted his weight, the sound of sizzling fat and flies buzzing the only sounds. His arms were crossed on his chest, holding on to the spatula like a weapon. Like he didn’t know what to say.

“Let me guess. You saw the headlines,” Fenris spat, glancing at Hawke. He crushed the can between his fingers, the soda pouring over his fingers onto the table. “You need money or something?”

Hawke flinched.

Closed his eyes.

Then sighed.

“You’re the one who left. Didn’t reply to my letter,” he finally muttered, hands lowering down, eyes downcast. “Started touring with your new band. Gaining name and fame.”

Fenris stared at the cola puddle spreading on the table, slowly reaching the edge and dripping down. The can still clutched between his fingers. “In ten years you got yourself a loving wife and a son.”

He slowly turned his eyes back to Hawke. Still standing in place, holding on to that stupid spatula. Wearing that stupid apron that read like a mock.

“I only got older and more bitter.”

Hawke turned back towards the grill, his shoulders dropping. Flipping pieces of meat between the words.

“A cheating wife.”
Flip.
“A kid.”
Flip.

“And I never…”

Flip.

“…stopped thinking about you.”

Fenris blinked, eyes not fully focusing on Hawke’s back.

The soda continued dripping to the decking.

The door opened again and smiling Francesca stepped out, carrying a tray stacked with plates, glasses and a jug full of home made lemonade.

Hawke straightened up and turned, flashing her a wide grin. “Could you bring some more paper, we had a soda accident.”

She stopped, glancing at the crushed can, the cigarette hanging between Fenris’s lips. Her eyes narrowed, just a tiny bit. But the smile on her lips never faltered.

She just placed the tray on the side table, gave a small kiss on Hawke’s cheek and left with a “Sure, hun”. The door stayed wide open behind her.

Leaving a little room for more confessions.

Fenris finally forced his fist open and shook his hand, droplets of cola flying in the air, catching the rays of sun. His skin felt sticky, yet smelled exactly like Hawke's bubblegum.

“You can't just drop something like that,” Fenris whispered. Loud enough for Hawke to hear, but so quiet it would not carry inside.

“You're the one who started asking questions,” Hawke replied with a hushed voice. He reached over, plucked the burnt cigarette from Fenris’s lips without asking, and flicked it into the trash.

Fenris just blinked at him, not saying anything.

And then Francesca was back again, Malcolm clinging to her hem once more. She was all smiles, chatting away as she started cleaning the table.

Fenris pushed himself on his feet, not meeting their eyes. “Sorry, I need to wash up.” He waved his cola-soaked hand in the air, like it gave him an excuse to leave. She hadn’t stopped giving directions when the door clicked shut behind his back.

He walked through the livingroom, still uncertain if he’d keep walking out of the front door or just try to find the toilet.

Leaving now would be easier. Just drive off and block Hawke.

But his words had awoken something he hadn’t felt for a long time.

Hope.

Longing.

So he found himself staring at another mirror. Sober this time. Scrubbing his hands with too hot water, hoping the burn would stop his heart from beating too loud.

It didn’t.

But still he returned to the livingroom, stopping on his tracks to watch the scene unfolding behind the glass and the closed door.

Francesca flailing her hands, pushing and punching Hawke’s chest.

Hawke standing still, trying to speak.

And in the middle of them, Malcolm sitting beside the table, eyes barely above the tabletop. Not crying. Just staring and seeing his whole world crumble.

Chapter Text

Fenris was back at the hotel, packing up his few things into his luggage. The phone kept buzzing on the bed. Over and over. The vibrations carrying it closer to the edge of the bed.

He didn’t need to turn it over to know who was calling.

He had to get away from here.

He kept telling himself Hawke’s fight with his wife wasn’t entirely his fault. But it was hard to believe, when all he could see was Hawke’s child sitting in the middle of the mess, gripping the table with tiny hands.

The phone buzzed again.

He wanted to call the airport, buy a ticket to the next leaving flight. Get drunk on the plane and eventually end back in LA. That was the chaos he knew.

But he was too afraid to touch the phone. Maybe he’d answer by accident.

Instead, he grabbed a pillow and used it to scrape the buzzing menace into his bag.

He tossed the keycard to the receptionist without a word. She yelled something after him, but he couldn’t stop to listen.

A group of teens were snapping pictures of the Ferrari, but Fenris rushed through them, slipping inside.

The metal frame blocked out the curses, but not the middle fingers.

He turned the radio louder. The bass hit hard against his ears. At least it stopped him from hearing his own heartbeat for a moment.

An elderly couple gave him narrow eyes and a disapproving shake when the car started with a low rumble.

But there was a rusty pickup parked right in front of him.

Blocking the path.

Fenris gripped the wheel, his throat tightening as he watched Hawke jump out.

Walk to his car.

Saying words he didn’t want to hear.

A brief thought passed his mind.

How much would it cost to get cigarette smoke out of a Ferrari interior.

Another day he might have snorted at the thought.

But not today. Not when Hawke was banging the car door. And people were stopping to look. Whispering.

He rolled the window open. Not completely, just enough to let Hawke say what he wanted.

“I’m not letting you leave again. Not like this,” Hawke whispered, leaning against the roof. Lips almost touching the glass that separated them.

“Go away, Hawke. To your wife. To your child. Your life,” Fenris muttered, knuckles white and eyes ahead. Like he could will the pickup away and flee.

“Please,” Hawke said, testing the handle again. “Open the door.”

“Let me go, Hawke,” Fenris said, the words getting caught in his throat.

“No.”

A single word, whispered through the slit.

Fenris let out a sigh, eyes flicking between the looming pickup and Hawke. Nowhere to run.

He forced his hands away from the wheel, then cut off the engine. He felt he was choking when he finally slid out of the safety of the car.

Hawke’s arms were around him before he could stop to think. Pulling Fenris against his chest, lips crashing together.

Fenris melted against the touch, fingers gripping flannel, all willpower drained.

And for a second it felt like only a single breath lay between the first kiss and this one.

But there was. A decade of breaths, regrets and silence.

Fenris broke the kiss and pushed Hawke away. Staggered back until he hit the car, like it was the only thing holding him upright.

Maybe it was.

People were still staring, whispering behind cupped hands, hands forming fists.

Hawke’s life. Hawke’s people.

And still he stood in place, chest heaving, eyes desperate. But not running away. “Do you want to… do this here? Or—or should we go somewhere to talk?”

Fenris’s trembling hand found his front pocket, fumbled out a cigarette and flicked the lighter. He inhaled the smoke with ragged breaths.

He still wanted to flee. To disappear.

But it was hard to vanish when you’ve just kissed a guy in the middle of a hick-town and leaned against a blood red Ferrari.

Fenris was sitting in the back of the café, staring at the opposite wall. His every instinct was still screaming at him to leave. The door chimed. Hawke walked back in, his truck parked neatly just outside the window.

Fenris watched him walk to the counter and leave an order.

They never got to the eating part of the dinner. Guess Hawke was hungry.

Fenris’s mood sank even lower. Hawke had looked so happy flipping those burgers. And then he never got to eat them.

His fingers curled around the coffee cup and he took a sip. His hands needed something to do.

The clock was ticking loudly on the wall.

Finally Hawke walked to the table and sat across from him. Smiling.

Fenris lifted up his eyes, tired and wary. “Why am I here?”

“Grabbing coffee was your choice,” Hawke said with a grin. But his hands were fumbling with his cup, turning it from side to side.

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Fenris sighed.

“To deal with your stepfather’s stuff?” Hawke tried, his smile finally fading.

Fenris reached across the table and stopped the cup from turning. “Talk, or I’m walking.”

“I meant what I said,” Hawke yanked his coffee cup free. Took a sip. “About never forgetting.”

“You’re married. I’m not desperate enough to become a third wheel,” Fenris snorted. Eyes not quite meeting with Hawke’s.

“She brought in the third wheel two years ago.”

Fenris stared at his cup. Wished he’d ordered something stronger. Something that made thinking easier. “So I’m supposed to be a revenge fuck?”

Hawke flinched. Tried to reach for Fenris’s hand, but he pulled it away.

“The marriage is over. The only reason I stayed for this long is because of Malcolm. Mothers always win custody.”

Hawke looked like he was about to cry.

“You’re supposed to go to a friend. Call your sister or talk to a therapist,” Fenris said, jaw tight. “Don't contact the guy you barely knew in college.”

Hawke flinched again.

The waitress walked to them, carrying two bagels on a tray. She set the plates down and asked if they needed a refill. Left with a smile and “Enjoy the food!”

Fenris stared at the plates, nails digging into his palm. “Tuna for me and ham for you?” His voice was barely above a whisper. After all this time, Hawke did remember.

Hawke just nodded and pushed the plate closer to Fenris.

Fenris couldn’t believe this was the same man he’d seen getting punched in the chest by his wife just an hour ago. But something was slowly unraveling inside him. Maybe it was the look on Hawke’s face or the paper-wrapped bagels.

“Maybe we should start over,” he said and finally looked up. He offered his hand to Hawke. “Fenris Wolfe. College dropout and a cynical asshole.”

Hawke chuckled and grabbed the hand. “Garrett Hawke. Soon-to-be divorced dad and a hopeless romantic.”

Fenris finally pulled his hand away, letting it drop to that table. “So, what now?”

Hawke just grinned and started unwrapping his bagel. “Food. Maybe some talking. Otherwise—I have no idea.”

He suddenly looked years younger, like life hadn’t gotten to him yet.

Fenris grabbed his tuna with a snort. “Be careful not to take too many influences from me. Planning ahead is a good skill to have.”

They stepped out of the cafe, side by side, hours later. Too much caffeine buzzing in their veins, smiles on faces.

“It's getting late and I still should call mom. Ask if I can stay there tonight,” Hawke said, smile dimming. “I don't think Fran has thrown enough plates for one evening.”

“You sure you wanna have that conversation on the phone?” Fenris asked.

He'd never talked about dating with his mother, but marriage ending seemed more like ‘talk it over a cup of coffee’ rather than ‘sorry mom, can I bunk in my childhood bed tonight’-phonecall.

“Well.. Not exactly. But sleeping in your car in your thirties is a bit sad. And painful in the morning.” Hawke said, glancing at the worn bench seat in his truck. “And for some reason getting a room in the hotel feels even worse. Sadder. And expensive. ”

A slanted smile rose on Fenris's lips. Despite them talking about their lives for the past hours, he hadn't mentioned how his meeting with the lawyer had gone.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, glancing at the red car nearby. “I recently became a house owner here.”

“I thought we're taking it slow this time. Sharing a bed seems a bit… Fast.” Hawke muttered.

Fenris chuckled, Hawke was in for a surprise. “Let me get the Ferrari and you can follow me. Just need to make a quick stop somewhere first. You strike me as the hammer type."

Hawke looked even more confused, but didn't ask any questions. He just jumped into the Chevy, the front suspension giving out the familiar curtsy.

Fenris had a real hard time not flooring the car. Not to run away. Because he felt lightheaded and reckless, like a kid showing off a new toy.

He kept glancing at the rearview mirror. The headlights were still following him.

And when he pulled beside the white building, the car stopped right next to his.

Hawke's eyes scanned the building, wide and confused. “Don't tell me we've come to bust into a museum?”

“Museum? I always thought it looked like a mausoleum,” Fenris muttered, lighting up a smoke.

Hawke glanced at him, back at the house. Then the realization finally hit him. “You used to live here?”

“Wouldn't really call it living. More like I existed here.” He snorted. “Guess you could call it the ‘museum of my childhood traumas’.”

He flicked the cigarette with a practiced ease and headed up the steps, digging out the keys from his pocket. Though he appeared casual, fear was clawing at his throat. This place still gave him the creeps. Too much of Danarius still lingered inside.

He was hoping to do something about that tonight.

Hawke followed him inside, still taking in the pompousness. “Exactly how rich was this guy?”

“Well, I only have a rough estimate. Some art still needs evaluation and stocks are always changing.” Fenris said, kicking down a vase he'd always hated. It shattered on the floor with a loud crash.

“But shithead had swindled the county's money for years.”

He dug out a spraycan from the bag he was holding and started shaking it. The rattle echoed from the stone walls. “Plus all the drugs he prescribed to addicts.”

“And voila. You can afford to live in a castle and die an asshole.” He flicked off the cap and started painting over the eyes that still stared down at him. It was only a painting, but felt good nonetheless. “I always wanted to dig out his eyes. Painting them over is a small victory.”

Hawke was staring at him, mouth open and eyes wide. “I knew you two had your differences… But you really hated him.”

“The feeling was mutual. Trust me.” Fenris said, a dark smile on his lips. He was still spraying over the painting.

The can coughed out the remainder of the paint and Fenris let it clatter to the marble. A piece chipped off a floor tile.

After all the years of abuse, the ghost of Danarius was finally withering away.

He turned to Hawke with a grin on his face. “Wanna see my old room? If he didn't empty it out.”

Hawke just nodded. He seemed like he had no idea what was happening. How important this really was to Fenris. “I’ve never… Seen you like this.”

Fenris was already halfway up the stairs. “Like what?”

“Like.. Caffeine is working.”

“I feel like I'm high. Without the need to grind my teeth to smithereens,” Fenris smirked, running up the steps. “The first time I slid these down as a kid, he gave me a smack on the head.”

He kicked the railing, testing how hard it would be to knock down. “Third time he beat me unconscious.”

He kicked the railing again. It shook, but didn't break. Fenris decided to leave it alone. For now.

Hawke was following him a few steps back. Looking surprisingly solemn. “Are you okay? Did you… take something?”

Fenris turned, standing at the top of the stairs. Hands in the air like he'd just reached the top of a mountain. “Nope. Just claiming my life as my own.”

He sauntered along the hallway, memories flooding back. Both the good and the bad.

How he stumbled on his feet and mom's hand helping him up. All the black eyes Danarius gave him.

Adrenaline was finally draining out.

And this time there was another hand to catch him before his knees gave out completely.

Hawke pulled him into a hug. Arms strong and warm around his body. “He's gone.” He stroked Fenris's back, long and calm touches. “You don't have to do this tonight. The house is still here tomorrow. As am I.”

Fenris inhaled Hawke's scent, letting the warmth calm down his fever. But not too long. He gently pushed Hawke away. “I still need to do one more thing. I can't sleep here otherwise.”

He turned, heading for another door. His room could wait a while longer. This one would be harder to see. But the ghost had to burn tonight.

Fenris slowly opened the door to the master bedroom, half expecting to see his mother laying in bed. Pale, thin and barely awake, as usual.

But the bed was empty, covered with a black spread. He quickly averted his eyes away. Tomorrow he could think of mom.

What he wanted to find would be in the dressing room.

Fenris glanced over his shoulder as he slid the door open. Hawke was still there. “I once hid here when we were playing hide and seek with mom. Danarius found me instead. That man really fucking loved his suits.”

With that, he started ripping the coats and pants off the hangers, throwing them over his shoulder on the carpet covered floor. And once only the hangers were swaying on the racks, he yanked open the drawers, flipping them over. Neatly rolled ties, socks and underwear all fell down into the pile.

For a moment he stood still, breath ragged and staring down at the mess he’d made.

Hawke was just leaning against the doorway, arms crossed but smiling. “Happy?”

Fenris leaned over the pile and grabbed as many clothes he could hold in his arms. “Not yet. Help me drag these outside.”

Two trips later, they were both standing beside the empty pool in the backyard. A pile of clothes lay on the white tiles. Fenris stared at it and slowly sat down on the edge. He dug out a can of petrol, sausage skewers and a bag of marshmallows from the plastic bag he’d been holding.

Hawke sat down beside him, close enough for their legs to touch. “You’re not gonna…?”

Fenris just gave him a wide grin and started pouring the gasoline over the clothes. “You can prepare the mallows.”

And soon they sat there, side by side, the smell of burning wool and silk thick and bitter in the air. Coughing and eyes stinging as they toasted marshmallows over what remained of Danarius’s wardrobe.

Suddenly, Fenris burst out in loud laughter.

Hawke shot him a quick, questioning look.

“The pool just reminded me of something Zevran said, ages ago.” Fenris said between chuckles.

“There’s no picture perfect picket-fence life.” He started. “The wife fucks the pool boy, the husband fucks the pool boy. Pool boy gets paid and laid. Be the pool boy.” He tried his best to imitate Zevran’s accent. Failed completely, which made him laugh even harder.

Hawke stared at him for a moment, the corners of his lips slowly raising. And he finally joined Fenris’s laugh. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“You have to be a bit crazy to survive life,” Fenris said, leaning closer to Hawke. He could no longer resist tasting those marshmallow covered lips.

They sat beside the pool long into the night, watching the pile of clothes turn to ash. Talking about everything and nothing—favourite movies, childhood dreams, how good freshly mowed grass smelled.

Slowly getting to know each other.

When they finally fell silent, the sky was already turning pale yellow, birds waking up in the trees and starting out their daily songs.

Fenris yawned, tried to push himself back on his legs. But he had no energy left. “Guess we should sleep a bit,” he said, voice hoarse and tired.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched the sun rise sober.

He tried to get up again, still nothing. His legs were already asleep.

Hawke watched him fumble with warm eyes and slowly stood up. Offered him a hand. “Sleep sounds good.”

They staggered back inside, leaning against each other. Tired of everything that had happened yesterday. But cautiously optimistic they both had someone to lean on.

Fenris walked back upstairs, turned the opposite way from the master bedroom, heading towards the guestrooms.

He stopped by one door, another yawn tugging his jaw. “The bed should have linens in it. If there aren’t, just dig through some closet. Or sleep under the spread. Everything will go to trash anyway.”

Hawke took a step closer and placed a soft kiss on Fenris’s lips. “Good night Fenris.” He opened the opposite door, quickly glancing inside. “See you later.”

Fenris smiled, opened his door. “Good night, Hawke.”

Fenris stirred from his sleep, slowly opening his eyes. No headache. No taste of alcohol or regrets in his mouth. The linens were white and fresh, the smell of softener barely noticeable. The guestroom was quiet and neutral in its cleanliness. There were no nightmares here.

He sat up, still feeling slightly drowsy and stretched out his arms, muscles and tendons settling back into place with creaks.

His luggage was still back in the car, so he dressed in yesterday's clothes. They still smelled faintly of burnt wool. The memory brought a smile on his face and he slicked back the hairs sticking to his forehead.

When he stepped out to the hallway, he could hear Hawke’s snoring through the wooden door. He should let him sleep. They’d stayed up way too long.

The sun felt warm against Fenris’s face when he stepped out of the front door. He dug a cigarette from a pack and lit it. Not because he felt the need, just out of old habit. Fifteen years, and for the first time he thought he might quit.

The house was still too big. Ugly. But no longer felt like a tomb he’d returned to. Maybe he was ready to dig out a few more ghosts. Hopefully peaceful this time.

He let the cigarette drop on the gravel, put it out with his shoe and walked back in.

His room was emptied out. Just one more guest room for visitors that would never come. There’d been little he owned anyway. He’d taken everything that mattered when he’d moved into the dorm.

Even the stains from Blu-Tack had been painted over.

It should have stung. But this had never really been his home anyway.

He only hoped Danarius hadn’t thrown everything out. Photos from before. His old toys. He’d be happy to find even one comic stacked away somewhere.

The ladders to the attic slid down with a creak. Like they hadn’t been used in a while. Dust slowly pillowed down, looking like a cloud in the midday light.

He’d never been there before, he’d learned early to stay out of closed rooms. But it looked exactly like he’d thought it would. Rows of shelves, stacked with straight lines of cardboard boxes with labels—not handwritten, printed. Medical magazines. Christmas ornaments.

His eyes kept scanning, hoping to see something else. Something real amidst this hollow neurosis that described his step-father perfectly.

More shelves. More Danarius’s shit.

Frustration twisted in Fenris’s gut. Had that fucker erased everything?

He kept walking. Glancing. Searching.

But just as he was about to light up a smoke, something caught his eye in the furthest corner.

Different-sized boxes, not in a neat pile. Handwritten words on the sides.

Fenris froze. The cigarette slipped from his lips and hit the floor. Unlit.

His legs moved before he even realized. He crossed the room in long strides and fell to his knees with a thud. Started looking at the boxes, tracing the words with his finger. Mom’s handwriting. Elegant, yet slightly chaotic in its unevenness.

Baby clothes(0-4).

Toys.

Photos.

He carefully opened up the last box and started picking up the pictures. One by one.

A silver-haired baby in a high chair. The whole face smeared with blueberries.

A bit older kid, splashing in a communal kiddie pool.

A beautiful woman holding a baby. Smiling and alive.

Fenris hadn’t even realized he was crying, until the first drop fell on the picture.

He pressed the photo against his chest and closed the box again. He couldn’t look any more. Not today.

Instead, he reached for the box labeled ‘toys’.

He wiped his eyes dry.

Mom had kept his old Turtles. Worn and well-played. One was missing a hand. Maybe he should take it back to LA with him. Show it to his PA and ask if it was also ‘retro’.

Fenris snorted at the thought. She was so young, she wouldn’t know how a cassette bonded with a pencil.

His breath hitched with a chuckle. Fuck he was getting old.

“Are you there?” A shout carried from downstairs. Hawke’s voice.

“Yeah. Just a sec, I’m coming down,” Fenris shouted and packed the toys back into the box. He grabbed the one with photos. Took a step. Then lifted up the one containing toys.

He handed the lighter box to Hawke through the opening. Hawke gave it a glance, a smile spreading across his face when he recognized the green, three-fingered hand holding a nunchuk.

Fenris climbed down, the box of photos neatly tucked under his arm. Toys he was ready to share but photos felt a bit too personal before morning coffee.

“Mornin’, ”Hawke said with a smile and gave Fenris a small peck on the cheek. His eyes drifted back to the boxes. “Not that I’m judging… but were you playing with toys up there?”

“Something like that,” Fenris muttered.

Hawke still had crust in the corners of his eyes, a red mark from a pillow spread on his cheek. For some reason it made his heart skip a beat.

They still hadn't slept together. And yet, with every glance, every touch, he was falling for Hawke all over again.

The realization scared Fenris. He’d been hurt before.

He quickly turned on his heels, heading for downstairs. If he could only act casual, maybe Hawke wouldn’t notice anything. “I don’t think there’s anything edible here. Wanna go grab some breakfast?”

“Well, since we’re digging up childhood memories… there’s a Waffle House nearby?”

Fenris stopped. Turned. Burst into laughter. “I’ve never, ever, been to a Waffle House!”

Hawke’s jaw dropped and he sped down the stairs. Opened the door into the sunlight. “We’re fixing that now!”

Way too many hashbrowns and waffles later, Fenris leaned back against the couch. The table before him was littered with empty plates and cups. “I think this is how turkeys feel on Thanksgiving… ” he groaned, feeling nauseous. Way too much food.

“I mean… If a stuffed and roasted animal carcass can feel anything.”

Hawke let out a sound, something between a burb and a chuckle. “What’s next?” He glanced outside, the Ferrari was waiting in the parking lot. Guess he wanted to drive some more.

Fenris checked his watch, there was still some time before his flight left. Back to LA. Back to the life he'd built there. The band, the hustle. The chaos.

He assumed Hawke also had work on Monday.

That's the most boring part of being an adult. You just couldn't drop everything and do what you wanted.

Fenris slowly wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin. Curled it into a greasy, messy ball before dropping it on the plates. He pushed the pile aside, clearing up the surface between them.

His stomach was still turning.

He looked back outside, like the trees might ground his thoughts while his fingers dug out a photo from his chest pocket. Something he’d tucked there in the attic.

Fenris carefully placed the picture on the table. Facing Hawke.

“Actually, I…” The nausea was returning. This time it wasn't only because of eating too much greasy food. He swallowed, tried to push it back down.

“I wanna go see mum,” he said. The words felt heavy falling out.

Hawke grabbed the photo and looked at it for a long while. Not saying anything.

He reached for Fenris's hand, quickly brushing his fingers with his own. Not really holding hands, just reminding Fenris he wasn’t alone.

“You know where…” Hawke asked, handing the photo back to Fenris.

Fenris grabbed it, gently caressing the image with his fingertips. “Isabela told me. She dug out the location somehow.”

He sighed and pushed the photo back into his pocket. Teeth pierced his lower lip, the taste of rust coated his tongue. Like so many times before. “I've been too afraid to go there. But I think it's time.“

Hawke reached for his hand again, fingertips just barely touching, warmth radiating between the skin.

He was still wearing the wedding ring.

Fenris stared at it, not saying anything. More acid rose to his mouth and this one was even harder to swallow back down.

Hawke pulled his hand free and started sliding the golden band away. But even when it had been tucked into Hawke’s pocket, the skin was still paler where it had sat.

“What’re you gonna do?” Fenris asked, voice hoarse. Hiding the ring didn’t always mean what it was supposed to.

Hawke snorted, rubbing his ringfinger. Like he could remove the mark like that. “Guess I should go back home. Try to talk with Fran like civilised adults.”

Fenris lifted up his eyes, stared at Hawke over the stained linoleum. He coughed, finally forcing out the question he’d been thinking of since last evening. “So you’re really gonna go through with it?”

“It was over long before I sent you the message. Seeing you again just made it easier to admit,” Hawke said with a long sigh. He downed the remaining, cold coffee from his cup with a grimace. “You’re given these expectations… Get married, have kids. Provide for them.”

He took a pause, still rubbing his thumb over the pale spot.

“No one ever tells you what to do when she starts fucking her highschool-ex. And you remember your own crush from college.”

Fenris stayed quiet for a moment. He’d never lived by the expectations. He had no answers, only bad jokes. A slanted smile rose to his lips, when he finally spoke. “Isn’t that the plot for most of the romcoms these days?”

Hawke’s thumb finally stopped. He chuckled. Laid his hand on the table. “Want me to come with you?”

Fenris stared at Hawke’s hand. He wanted to entwine their fingers, but couldn’t. They were already getting weird glances from the eating families and the staff.

He couldn’t say the words. Just a small nod of his head.

Fenris walked down the gravel pathway, rows of headstones brushing past. Like walking fast enough might hide them from his view. His fingers were curled around the stem of the peony
he’d stopped to buy. Mum’s favourite.

He could hear Hawke’s footsteps following him, just a few paces back.

He was glad Hawke was there. Otherwise he would’ve turned around already.

Fenris stopped on his tracks, stared at the black granite. Two gilded names, side by side. One, topped with all the titles. The other with only a name and dates. Like she’d left nothing behind.

Fenris’s hand curled into a fist, the stem breaking under his fingers. The flower slowly fell down, petals folding in on themselves against the grass.

He leaned back, right foot lifting from the ground as he braced to topple the stone. Why couldn't she be rid of Danarius even here?

A warm, steady hand landed on his shoulder. Stopped the motion.

Fenris turned his head, mouth in a snarl, preparing to spit out something spiteful. Something that might make him feel better.

Hawke just stared at him. Not smiling. Not judging. Understanding.

Fenris let his foot drop back against the ground. Sat on the grass with a sigh and picked up the flower again. Petals bent, but not broken and placed it neatly on her side. “Hi, mum.”

He tried to keep his eyes on the name that mattered.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Fenris whispered as his fingers brushed against the cold stone. His throat felt dry. For a moment he wished he’d taken something, a glass—or a bottle—of wine before coming here. But he couldn’t keep running forever.

“I’m okay. Living in LA. Playing in a band,” he said. He started listing record sales, places they’d played at. Statistics were easier than emotions.

He could hear Hawke shift his weight, just behind his back.

The rambling stopped. That’s not why he was here.

“I’m here with Hawke. He’s my—” Fenris stopped. Coughed. They hadn’t defined the relationship yet.

“He’s a friend of mine,” Fenris muttered finally. The word didn’t feel right. “You would’ve liked him.”

“Hi,” Hawke said with a low voice as he stepped closer. Fenris could feel his knee brushing against his back.

They stayed like that for a while, a warm breeze tousling their hair, silence stretching, but not uncomfortable. Fenris leaned against Hawke’s leg, his eyes still focused on his mother’s name. He wanted to add something that proved she’d been more than just a wife to an asshole. ‘Gone too soon’ was a cliché, but it might work. She’d been younger than Fenris was now.

“We should go.” Fenris said with a sigh. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”

Hawke took a step back, helped him back on his feet. But didn’t let go of his hand when he was standing.

They walked back to the cars in silence, hand in hand.

Their cars stood in the empty park, side by side. Not looking like they’d fit together. A rugged and rusty truck, a small oil puddle already gleaming on the tarmac under it. A gleaming red supercar, built for speed and chaos.

A bit like the two of them.

Fenris stopped, his hand digging out the keys. He didn’t want Hawke to come to the airport. There were too many people, too many prying eyes and noise. This place was quiet, perfect for saying goodbyes.

He slowly faced Hawke, curled his thumbs into his belt loops. He didn’t know what to say.

It seemed Hawke didn’t either. He just wrapped his hands around Fenris’s waist and pulled him into a soft kiss.

Fenris inhaled his scent, tasted his mouth. The cheap deodorant and the cola bubblegum. He wanted to remember them when he got back to reality. So he kissed Hawke again. Slower this time. Like a promise.

Chapter Text

Fenris was sitting in the backseat of a taxi, staring out the window. Cars rushed past familiar scenery that felt strangely alien after just a few days he’d spent back in his hometown.

Now it felt like it had happened years ago.

His apartment was quiet and empty. Air too hot and still, the AC slowly coming back to life with a drone and a steady hum. He let go of his luggage and it fell on the floor with a thud. The sounds of sirens were carrying from outside. Back to reality.

The phone chimed in his pocket.

One new voicemail.

From Hawke.

“Hi Fenris. I assume you’re back home. As am I.” A pause.

“Fran left with Malcolm and moved back to her mother.” His voice broke in the end. Followed by another, longer pause.

“She left me a lovely note on the kitchen table. Called you my ‘junkie boyfriend.’ Said she didn’t want ‘sick pedo faggots’ anywhere near her son.”

A stifled snort.

“Do you know any good lawyers? Might need one if I want to see my son again.”

Fenris listened to the mail again. His throat tightened, he knew those slurs all too well. With a trembling hand, he reached for a bottle he’d left on the table.

Stared at it for a moment, turned his eyes back down and called Hawke instead. Hawke needed Fenris more than he needed alcohol.

Hawke answered with a tired ‘hello’. He didn’t sound like he’d been sleeping. More like he was still holding back tears.

Fenris’s hand curled into a fist and he slumped on the worn couch. Talked to Hawke with a soft voice. Gave the name of his lawyer. He knew she was always looking for a good fight, especially one like this.

Offered to pay for it all.

But no matter what he said, Hawke sounded like he’d already given up.

He opened up his laptop. Started a Skype call, but held on to his phone until Hawke logged on.

Hawke was sitting in the living room. Eyes puffy and red, shoulders slumped. Downing beer like there was no tomorrow.

They talked long into the night. Nothing important, just staying connected.

At least Fenris made Hawke stop drinking. Told him to get something from the kitchen. Chatted away as he watched Hawke empty out leftovers from a Tupperware.

And when they finally said each other ‘good night’, Fenris had downed way too much coffee, but stayed sober.

He imagined Hawke laying down in his double bed, alone. But hopefully feeling a bit better than before.

He walked to his balcony with stiff legs. Lit a smoke and stared at the lights and the chaos unraveling before his eyes. Traffic and sirens, the sky that never went dark. The day had already changed, but no one was expecting him before noon.

Meeting with the band went surprisingly smooth. Discussing themes for the next album. First draft for the playlist for the next gig. Bryan was sober, no new marks on his arms. He’d met someone in rehab, was flying to ‘Cisco tomorrow. Maybe this one would stick. The sobriety or the guy. Fenris had lost track of both.

Fenris briefly spoke of Danarius’s inheritance and what he planned to do with it. Didn’t mention anything about Hawke. Felt too new, too private.

Besides, these guys had only seen Hawke once. On Halloween. The night Fenris kissed Bryan on stage, just to see if Hawke still cared. His new “friends” started shouting slurs and punching people. Hawke just stood still at the edge of it, jaw clenched and arms crossed. Staring at him.

Fenris shook his head. No use of thinking back to that night. Wasn’t a particularly good memory.

He was back in the apartment, staring at the blank paper in front of him. Occasionally strumming on the guitar. Trying to come up with something new.

Sure, burning up Danarius’s old clothes should’ve been the perfect inspiration for a song. But somehow creating lyrics about tailored suits and toasting marshmallows wasn’t as easy as he'd hoped.

It all missed the main ingredient.

Hawke.

Fenris sighed and placed his guitar back on its stand. Grabbed his phone and finally called his lawyer.

She would chew his head off when he dropped the bomb about the dorm and scholarship.

She answered after a third ring.

Fenris started out softly, explaining Hawke’s current situation. She was happy to take the case, especially after Fenris mentioned Hawke’s child and his wife’s homophobia.

But when Fenris told her about the inheritance and what he intended to do with most of the money, she just flipped. Called it ‘absolute waste of money’.

Fenris reminded her, dryly, that her bills were paid by a ‘hopeless dreamer’ too. And he was a dropout. Those kids could be so much more.

Finally she yielded with a sigh. Promised to call the head of the music department and arrange the money transfer.

Fenris hung up before she could try to talk him out of it again.

He sent a quick text to Hawke, explaining he now had a lawyer. “A proper mother hen, who’s a killer in court. You’re in good hands”.

He stepped up, still feeling restless. Maybe he just needed some exercise to clear his head. And he’d eaten too much junk during the weekend anyway.

He slowly pulled up his shirt, let the jeans drop to the floor. He caught his reflection in the mirror as he walked by. Shirtless and tired. He looked away before he could start picking out all the flaws. Stepped on the treadmill as the first beats started playing. Collection of industrial techno he’d bought while in Germany.

He kept running long after the CD ended. Focusing on keeping his breathing steady, listening to his feet thud against the moving surface.

He only stopped when he heard his phone ringing.

Answered with a ragged breath and pushed the sweat-slicked hair off his face.

“So, how’d the dinner go?” Isabela asked on the other end, lighthearted but curious.

Fenris stayed quiet for a moment. Even he hadn’t completely processed what had happened during the weekend. He’d walked into a landmine and before he could react, it all went off. He sighed, slowly started explaining what had happened. Hawke’s confession. Fran walking in.

Isabela just listened, giving small grunts here and there.

And when Fenris finally ended with how they parted at the graveyard, she sighed. “Fen… I’m happy for you. You know I’d love nothing more than you finding someone.”

Fenris had walked to the kitchen, staring at the contents of the almost empty fridge. His hand hovered between the bottle of white wine and water.

“But you both have baggage. Be careful.”

Fenris’s fingers curled around the bottle, cracked it open and took a long swig. Cool water tasted surprisingly nice.

“I know that. We’re not twenty anymore. We’re taking it slow.”

He drank down some more.

“And we live in different states. He’ll be coming here next month.”

Isabela let out a loud squeal. “He’s coming to Pride?!”

Fenris cursed under his breath. He’d already forgotten it would be June. And The Abominations were doing a gig. Not to mention Isabela and Zevran would be staying at his house too.

“I forgot about that.”

Isabela let out a disapproving huff. “Well, that’s nice. Your two best friends, the highlight of the year and you just ‘forget’?”

“It’s been a bit busy weekend,” Fenris grunted as he placed the empty bottle on the counter. “I should go to shower, just did a workout. Talk to you later.”

Isabela was still talking when he ended the call.

He could worry about the details later. For now, he just needed to get sweat off his skin. Live through the next few weeks. Prepare till he could see Hawke again.

A sharp chime of the doorbell cut through the beating music. Fenris’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes scanned the room—still presentable. Isabela and Zevran had stopped talking, just stared at him, then glanced at each other. They both had annoying, knowing smiles on their lips.

Fenris snatched a stray popcorn kernel off the floor and tossed it into trash on his way to the door.

Hawke was standing there, dressed in khaki shorts and a faded tee, a large bag slung over his shoulder. Looking perfectly out of place in this city of chaos and perfectly sculpted images.

“Hi Hawke,” Fenris said. A smile was playing on his lips as he stepped aside. He wanted to pull him closer, feel his warmth and lips. It had been almost a month since they’d last seen each other, unless you counted the daily Skype calls. But you didn’t catch the scent through the screen.

Hawke stepped in and dropped his bag in the hallway. Muttered a quiet ‘hi’.

They both just stood there, close but not touching. Awkward and confused.

“For fuck’s sake. Give him a kiss. There’s enough sexual tension here to cut through a pride float,” Zevran huffed. Fenris turned his eyes and gave him a scowl.

Zevran retreated back to the living room with a wide grin and a chuckle.

Hawke took a step closer to Fenris, gently cupped his cheek and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Nice seeing you again.”

Fenris leaned into the touch, inhaling Hawke’s scent as his arms wrapped around him. The music was still blaring, Isabela and Zevran were most likely staring at them. But he needed to have this tiny moment. Just the two of them.

And when they finally pulled apart, their fingers entwined together and they walked to the living room like that. Like two teens who just started dating.

Isabela lifted her glass into a toast, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You too are just too cute!”

Zevran just chuckled and downed his wine. “Cute. Sure. Can we get to tequila now?”

“No one’s stopping you, Zev,” Fenris muttered as he led Hawke to the second guest room.

The bottle popped open behind him.

Fenris slowly counted to ten. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol since he’d returned to LA. But maybe tonight he might afford a glass of wine.

He turned to Hawke, a smile back on his face. “Relax. Change if you feel like it. If you’re hungry, I’ve got some snacks here and there. I thought we could go to a restaurant a bit later.”

He stepped closer, dropped his voice into a whisper. “I’m so sorry those two idiots are here. I totally forgot they’d be coming too.”

Hawke just pulled him close and gave him a kiss. Longer and deeper this time. “You relax. Let’s just go with the flow and have fun. Alright?”

“You really don’t mind that I have a gig tonight?” Fenris muttered as he combed his fingers through Hawke’s hair.

“I’d love to see you get on stage.” Another kiss. “That’s where I first really saw you. Not as the broody roommate. As an incredibly talented, good looking guy.” Hawke chuckled. “That one kiss in the air blew my closet open.”

Fenris blinked. That was honest. Too honest.

Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he pulled away. Turned his back to Hawke. “I saw you too. Since the first day you sat right next to me and wouldn’t leave me alone.”

He sharply turned on his heels, leaving Hawke alone in the room.

Returned to the living room to his friends. He grabbed his half-empty can of diet cola and drank it down. Like the luke-warm drink could calm down his nerves.

A few hours later, Fenris stepped out of his room dressed in tight leather pants and a black tank top. A few silver rings in his fingers and a simple chain on his neck. The usual armor he wore to the stage these days.

He froze in the doorway, eyes landing on Zevran. He instantly recognized the worn crop top he was wearing. “Pussy for Breakfast, Dick for Dinner” printed on the front. He didn’t have to see the back to know his band’s name was there.

“Where the hell did you find that?” He groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

Zevran stepped up and did a twirl. Bodyglitter and a mist of tequila sprayed in the air. “On eBay. Cost me thirty dollars. You refused to send me one while you were doing the tour.”

“It’s a good song!” Isabela chimed, giving Zevran smack on his shorts-clad ass. “I still don’t understand why you stopped playing it.”

Fenris sighed, his eyes drifting at Hawke. He was slouching on the couch, a can of beer in his hand. Smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He stepped closer, placed his hand on Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke glanced up, his smile softening a bit.

All he wanted was to have a quiet weekend with Hawke.

The problem was, the weekend they’d chosen happened to be one of the loudest, craziest weekends the city had to offer.

“We should get going, the limo’ll be here soon,” Fenris muttered, running his tongue over his teeth. His eyes lingered on the open tequila bottle on the table. He wanted a drink.

Hawke turned, eyebrows raised. “Limo?”

“We do this every year! The record company taxes it as “marketing and promotion.” I just call it arriving in style.” Isabela grinned as she hopped up, downing her drink with a smooth flick of her hand.

“I’ve never been in a limo,” Hawke said with a grin. He looked almost giddy at the thought.

Fenris’s heart felt like it wanted to burst out of his chest. He still couldn’t understand how a grown man could appear so innocent at times.

And when they slid into the backseat of the limo, Fenris took a seat right next to Hawke, their legs brushing together. He wasn’t even bothered by Zevran’s shirt anymore. Not even when Zevran opened the bottle of champagne and sprayed it all over himself, like a participant in a wet t-shirt contest.

Isabela kept snapping pictures, telling them all to huddle together. Posted them on Instagram with way too many tags.

The city spread around them, hot, loud and too bright. But right now he was sitting with the people he loved most in the world. And sometimes that’s enough.

Fenris gave a final, quick glance in the mirror. Lined green eyes, hair raised in a mohawk. Glitter streaked across his cheekbones. Years blending together between then and now—long nights, sleeping in buses, too many drinks before and after the shows.

He followed the rest of the band to the stage, hand gripping the neck of his guitar, head held high. The usual scowl on his face, eyes scanning the audience as the lights swept over it. People were cheering and clapping, glasses raised in the air, hands reaching towards the stage.

Finally he found Hawke, sitting at the table with Isabela and Zevran. Drinking beer, staring right at him.

Their eyes locked, just for a moment.

A tiny smile pierced through the scowl as he played out the first chords.

He let out a slow exhale, let the music envelop him once more. But this time there was only one person he was playing to.

Even when he did the usual performance of flirts and suggestions with the rest of the band, his eyes never fully left Hawke. He was just sitting there, watching and smiling. Occasionally saying something to Isabela or Zevran.

A song ended and Fenris stepped forth, fingers curling around the mic. “Actually… Tonight there are some very special people in the audience.” People cheered, all eyes turned to him. “One of them has a birthday tomorrow.”

More cheers, even louder this time.

“I won’t say how much or he’ll kick my ass.” Chuckles rose from the crowd, but Fenris was looking at Zevran with a wide grin on his lips. “This person really knows how important a balanced diet is for a person…”

Zevran’s mouth dropped open and he stood up, pointing at his shirt with both fingers.

Fenris just gave him a small nod, let go of the mic and took a step back. Played out the first chords with a wide grin.

Hawke just shook his head, a smile on his lips.

And when the last song ended, Fenris took a bow, brow glistening with sweat, breath slightly ragged. He let the cheers wash over his body, did a tired wink towards the audience. Found Hawke’s eyes again and quickly kissed the air. Just like that very first time.

He could see Hawke blush, even from a distance.

The backstage was loud, already smelling of spilled alcohol and sweat. The rest of the band talking, groupies streaming in.

Fenris just needed a small breather and he dug a cigarette from his bag, heading towards the balcony. But before he could take the first inhale, the door opened again.

Hawke stepped out, yanked the cigarette from between Fenris’s lips, threw it on the floor and replaced it with his lips.

A small gasp escaped from Fenris’s mouth when Hawke pushed him hard against the wall, his thigh pressing against his groin.

“You drive me insane,” Hawke muttered against Fenris’s mouth, before their lips met again.

He tasted like beer and tequila. Of cola bubblegum. The mixture shouldn’t have worked, but for Fenris it was the sweetest taste in the world.

The door creaked open, but this time Hawke didn’t stop. He just pulled Fenris closer, lips tracing down Fenris’s jaw, down his neck.

The music thudded somewhere below.

Sharp click of a lighter cut through the music, followed by a hoarse voice and the smell of cigarette. “If it isn’t the mister mistake?”

Fenris turned his head sharply. Bryan was leaning heavily against the railing, smiling. His eyes were already glazed over. Guess the rehab hadn’t worked. Again.

“Go away,” Fenris muttered, fingers clutching Hawke’s shirt like it could ground him. Or keep Hawke from leaving.

“But you seemed so ready to forget him back then,” Bryan huffed. “With E and sex with me.”

“Ten years ago,” Fenris muttered, the memory tasted like vomit on his tongue.

But Bryan’s words had already pierced through the heat. Hawke was tensing, slowly pulling away. Hands leaving Fenris’s sides.

But Fenris wasn’t about to give up so easily. He gave a brief, reassuring glance at Hawke. Ignored the clenched jaw the best he could while entwining their fingers together. “Some of us move on.”

He led Hawke back inside, leaving Bryan alone on the balcony.

Once, Fenris might have thought him as everything he wanted to be. But now that he saw through the cockiness and makeup, he wanted to be anything but.

Hawke was still quiet, following Fenris to the greenroom.

Fenris wanted to explain, but he didn’t know how. It never meant anything. Just two spiraling people trying to forget the loneliness.

The people were talking, drinking. Isabela and Zevran were already there, chatting with the band and the fans.

Isabela gave them a glance, an eyebrow raised. Fenris just shook his head. Later.

They walked to the parking lot in the back. Away from the people. Hawke’s hand felt like stone against his own.

Fucking Bryan.

Fenris finally stopped and turned to Hawke. “You wanna go back to my place?”

Hawke finally yanked his hand free. Averted his eyes to the tarmac. “Isabela told me the basics of what happened.” He sighed. “It was all my fault.”

A cold hand coiled around Fenris’s insides. He reached for Hawke’s chin. Lifted it up, their eyes once more meeting. “Let’s leave it in the past. Please?”

When Hawke’s eyes finally met with Fenris’s, they were filled with sadness. “I’m not sure I can forgive myself.”

Fenris didn’t have the words. He didn’t care what had happened a decade ago, the mistakes they both had made. This was here and now. So he shut Hawke the only way he knew how, with a kiss.

They both slid back into the limo, heading back away from the bustling city. Sitting side by side in the back, legs brushing together but not speaking. What would come next was between the two of them.

Fenris stepped inside his condo, Hawke following him close behind. They hadn’t said a word since they left the club. There were no more words left for tonight.

As soon as the door shut, their lips crashed together. It wasn’t soft or sweet, embers reignited into a blaze.

Fenris gasped, started pulling away Hawke’s shirt. It fell to the floor, forgotten.

Hawke pushed him once more against the wall, breath escaping Fenris’s lungs as their bodies collided.

Fumbling fingers, ragged breaths between heated kisses.

A trail of clothes formed on the floor as Fenris led Hawke into his room, closing the door behind them with a click.

For a moment, they stopped beside the bed, chests heaving, in nothing but their underwear. Sweat was glistening in the darkness, years of longing, regrets and the heat of the moment hanging heavily in the air.

Fenris reached for Hawke’s hand once more and he pulled him into a quick embrace. Then slid on the bed, eyes watching Hawke’s reaction. Fear of rejection whispering in the back of his mind. They’d been here before.

Hawke followed him eagerly, laying his weight against Fenris’s body.

More feverish kisses, caressing hands.

Fenris placed his hand against Hawke’s chest, pressed him against the mattress and straddled him. Gave him a soft kiss on the lips as he shifted his weight, grinding his ass against Hawke’s groin.

A small smile rose on his lips when a loud groan left Hawke’s mouth. “You sure this time?”

Hawke didn’t say anything. Just dug his fingers into the flesh of Fenris’s thighs and lifted his hips, eyes never leaving Fenris’s.

That was the only answer Fenris needed.

His hand dug inside Hawke’s boxers, fingers curling around the shaft.

Hawke’s mouth opened, hips jerked against the touch as he tried to stifle out the moan. “Still haven’t been with a man,” he finally muttered, eyes fluttering open.

Fenris chuckled, softly, his hand still moving up and down. “Hawke, not now...”

Hawke placed his hand over Fenris’s hand, stopping the movement. Leaned in for a kiss. “I’m trying.”

He placed his hands around Fenris’s hips and gently lifted his weight away. Guided him back down against the mattress as he stayed there, eyes never leaving Fenris’s. “I know, it’s not about that. You’re just… someone I really care for.”

For the second time that night, Fenris shut him up with a kiss. Getting cute and soppy was alright, but right now he wanted to get down and dirty. He pulled away, breath ragged, his body aching.

He reached for the drawer, quickly grabbing a wrapper and a small bottle. He handed them to Hawke, eyes challenging. “Either we fuck tonight or I’m gonna hit the shower, alone.”

Hawke snorted against Fenris’s lips, pulled him closer and started pulling down the underwear.

And when Hawke finally slid inside, it wasn’t perfect. There were no fireworks or angelic choirs singing. Just hushed words, bodies shuddering and joining together. Gasps and small moans against each other’s mouths.

But it was enough for the first time.

And once they lay on the bed, side by side, spent and calm, Fenris reached for his side table, dug out a cigarette. Just another nasty habit. But he didn’t light it up, just tasted the dried leaves through the filter.

A sound of sirens carried over from a partially opened window. The world still existed somewhere outside this room.

A steady breathing continued next to him, deeper this time. Hawke had fallen asleep, tiny grunts and snores escaping between his lips. Eyes partially covered by his hair, beard tousled up.

A smile rose on Fenris’s lips as he returned the smoke back into the pack, turned to his side, back against Hawke, feeling the warmth of his skin. He pulled the covers over them, the steady humming of the AC the last sound he heard as he drifted into sleep.

Next morning Fenris stirred slowly, Hawke's arm was slung around his naked body, the calm breathing continuing even as he slid the hand away and stood up.

He still had the stage makeup on, glitter smeared across his face and hair, the mohawk turned into droopy spikes. He quickly washed it all off under the sink, water still dripping on his shoulders as he stepped back into the bedroom.

The steady breathing and snores still continued.

Fenris gave Hawke a quick glance, messy hair, a hand clutching the covers. Clitter clung to his skin and beard. Fenris’s hand twitched, wanting to brush it away, but he let him sleep some more.

The rest of the house was quiet, morning light streaming in between the blinds. Their clothes were still strewn on the floor, forming a clear trail from the front door.

He picked them up, one by one, and threw them into a small pile on the bedroom floor. Maybe Isabela and Zevran hadn’t come back. Wouldn't be the first time they acquired a new conquest at the pride. Together or separate. That wasn't his business.

He left the coffee machine brewing as he headed to the balcony and lit up his morning cigarette. Yes, he still intended to quit. But cutting down from a pack a day was something at least. He didn’t even need the nicotine, but habits are harder to kill than a simple craving.

The city was slowly waking up, cars rushing by, horns, sirens and distant music adding their own flavours to the mix.

He lowered the half-smoked cigarette towards the ashtray, sighed, took one more inhale and put it out. Babysteps.

Just as he was pouring the very first cup of coffee, inhaling the aroma and enjoying the stillness of the morning, his phone rang.

Their singer was calling.

“Sorry to wake you, but…” He took a pause, clearing his throat. “Bryan really blew it this time.”

Fenris sighed, took a long sip of his coffee. To get at least a drop of caffeine before the bad news. “Spill…”

“He punched a cop. Don’t know the full details yet, but the record company’s had enough. They’re not bailing him out.”

Perfect.

“So… I guess you’re the new lead guitar. Better get practicing, we’ve still got a deadline for the new record.”

The call ended with a click.

Fenris just stared at the screen. Emptied his cup and poured another one.

He should’ve felt happy. Playing lead meant more challenge, more output to the tracks. But it also meant standing closer to the edge. Of stage. Of public eyes. He preferred staying in the darkness.

An hour later Fenris was still leaning against his hand, deep in thought and staring at the wall. The first pot of coffee gone and second one brewing, when arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders. Fenris flinched, startled.

Warm lips and beard nuzzled against his nape.

“Mornin’,” Hawke’s groggy voice whispered. His breath was warm, moving the short hairs on the back of Fenris’s neck, making him shiver against the touch.

He turned his head, smiling, and gave Hawke a soft kiss. “Hey you.”

“You’ve been up for long?” Hawke asked, leaning his jaw against Fenris’s shoulder, his beard tickling against the bare neck.

Fenris’s smile faltered, just a bit. He didn’t want to tell the news just yet. Hawke was still here—warm and smelling of sleep. Reality could wait a little longer. “Not really. Didn’t wanna wake you up. You were snoring so peacefully.”

Hawke grimaced, his cheeks flushed. “Sorry…”

Fenris just leaned closer, the warmth of Hawke’s body made him realize how cold he’d gotten. “I didn’t mind.”

The moment was broken by a loud rumble from Hawke’s stomach. He tried to pull away and straighten up. But Fenris grabbed his arms, not letting go just yet. Hawke felt like a warm blanket, wrapped around like that.

“We were supposed to go to a Drag brunch for Zevran’s birthday, but I don’t think he’s up yet. Or even back here.”

“I’m here,” Zevran’s voice muttered close by.

Finally Fenris let go of Hawke and turned.

Zevran was standing in the living room, rubbing his temple with one hand, an almost empty tequila bottle hanging from the other. Wearing nothing but a tiny, leopard print thong. “Didn’t want to interrupt you two.”

He sighed, sad and defeated. “I won’t admit I’m aging, but my body sure feels like it.”

Fenris snorted. A lot less Pride energy in the air this morning. “Is that a no for brunch?”

Zevran stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Never.” He took a swig of the tequila. “i just need a minute. And maybe some clothes.”

He wavered in place for a moment, then started heading back to the guest room.

“You’ve seen Isabela?” Fenris asked, one eyebrow raised, lips in a slanted smile.

“She’s still in bed. Satisfied,” Zevran said with a wink and closed the door behind him.

Fenris and Hawke glanced at each other. Smiles turned into laughter.

“I thought Isabela is married. To Merrill?” Hawke asked.

“She is. She accepts her… non-monogamous nature,” Fenris snorted. He downed the last of the cooled-down coffee from his mug. He was feeling even happier he’d stuck with soda last night.

The brunch was exactly what Fenris had expected; an overcrowded terrace, filled with cheering people, tables covered with emptied Mimosa glasses, bills flying in the air and the smell of hairspray and sweat. Sun blaring ruthlessly between the parasols. Rainbows and glitter, high heels and higher wigs that reached for the heavens.

He was still drinking coffee, hanging on to the cup like a lifeline. Spreading his scrambled eggs across the plate, but not eating. A forced smile on his lips, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

He still hadn’t told any of them the news about the band situation. Hadn’t checked his social feeds, had no idea if it was out yet. And that made it even worse, it was something beyond what he could control. But he couldn’t say it out just yet. It might affect Hawke too, and he had enough going on with his divorce.

Fenris gave Hawke a quick glance.

Hawke was sitting right next to him, eyes wide and mouth open. Like he had no idea what was going on.

Fenris grabbed his hand, gave it a soft squeeze. “We can go if you want.”

“No, I… It’s just…” Hawke turned his head towards Fenris, smiling. Not letting go of the hand. “This feels safe.”

Fenris’s expression softened and he leaned against Hawke’s shoulder. “It is safe.”

The crowd around them cheered. Not at them, but the performer.

But this was the first time they held hands like this in public. And Hawke wasn’t pulling away. Or feeling scared. That deserved cheers.

And when Hawke offered him a pancake, drenched in maple syrup and butter, he took a bite. Swallowed in down and didn’t instantly feel guilty.

Baby steps.

Fenris and Hawke sat together on his worn leather couch, enjoying the silence of the place, the AC softly humming in the background.

Fenris was twirling a pick he’d dug from the pocket of his jeans, trying to think how to drop the bomb.

Hawke was giving him short glances, like he knew something was wrong, but didn’t know how to ask about it.

“I…” they both started, simultaneously.

Fenris coughed, giving a quick glance at Hawke. The pick was still spinning between his fingers. “You first.”

“I have a court hearing next month. About the divorce and the custody of Malcolm,” Hawke muttered. “Could you…” he faltered. “Could you be there?”

Fenris’s fingers stopped. He reached for Hawke’s hand, entwined their fingers together. His problems could wait, this was more important. “Of course.”

Hawke let out a long exhale, leaned in for a kiss. “What did you want to say?”

Fenris shook his head, smiled. “Nothing important.”

A tiny lie, surely.

But when he dropped Hawke back at the airport the next day, he still hadn’t mentioned the tiny change in the band’s dynamic.

He kissed Hawke in the backseat before the taxi pulled up to the curb, like he could hold off the goodbye for one more breath.

Then watched him walk away, bag slung over his shoulder. Did a small wave before Hawke stepped inside and disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter Text

The practice room stank of smoke and stale beer. Fenris sat beside the table, spinning a pen between his fingers. Chewing on a nicotine gum like it somehow could replace the actual thing. Staring at their singer, who seemed to be more interested in getting his next hookup instead of practicing for their upcoming album.

“Yes, I can play the riffs,” he muttered, jaw tight.

Ten fucking years, and still they treated him as “the guy in the back.” The fact that they hadn’t even noticed it was usually Fenris playing, while Bryan stood in the spotlight, amp muted and focusing on not taking a nosedive into the crowd.

“Could we just start the practice?” Fenris groaned. “We've got the studio booked in three weeks. And I've got a flight to catch in the evening.”

The gum was only worsening the headache. At least smoking gave his hands something to do.

Maybe he still had a pack tucked in his bag. Somewhere between scribbled lyrics, sheets and… Nope. Quitting. Instead of digging further, he tossed another gum into his mouth.

It was supposed to taste like menthol, but to Fenris it only tasted like the lack of a cigarette in his mouth. The gum didn’t burn his throat. It just stuck to his gums and dried them up.

He pushed himself up and grabbed the guitar. Slammed on the strings like it could wake up the others. “Please? Hawke's hearing is tomorrow and I need to be there.”

The singer stood up, reluctantly and glanced at Fenris. “You’re turning into a real buzzkill bitch. Did you quit your sense of humor along with smoking and drinking?“

Fenris opened his mouth, ready to snap something back. His fist itched to connect with the idiot’s jaw. But he forced a smile on his lips instead. He didn’t need any more conflicts in the dynamics. “This bitch just wants to make a good album, okay?”

The smoke smelled way too good when the drummer walked by, finally sitting beside his set, twirling the sticks in his fingers. Fenris wanted nothing more than to yank it off his lips and take a long inhale.

Two weeks and nothing but gums and bandages for him. Hawke hadn’t asked him to quit, or even complained about the taste. Fenris just wanted to look like someone who belonged at Hawke’s side of the court. And if that meant giving up bad habits and putting on a suit, he would try his best.

And the new songs did sound good. They were more mature, more about growing up, less sex and alcohol.

When they finished the practice, the singer actually gave him a pat on the shoulder, complimenting his lyrics and playing. Fenris gave him a tiny, appreciative smile and dug out another nicotine gum. It tasted a bit less terrible.

Fenris called a cab, grabbed his luggage and wished the guys a good rest of the week. He was already nervous about the trip. Seeing Hawke again, but mostly he was scared about the hearing.

The last time he’d been in court had been this spring—after a small party at the hills when he’d crashed his latest car into the railing.

Not to mention the other incidents. Like the fountain.

Most likely Hawke knew all about them by now, just hadn’t mentioned them during the Skype calls. Still wasn’t looking forward to talking about all the stupid things he’d been doing in his life.

Fenris stepped into the cab with a sigh. He really wanted to be there for Hawke. He just wasn’t sure if it would be helpful or inconvenient for Hawke’s case. Maybe it was better he just waited outside in the hall.

Fenris instantly noticed Hawke from the other end of the airport corridor. Standing still to the side, people walking by, a wide smile spreading on his face. Wearing red flannel and worn jeans. Fenris quickened his pace, luggage wheels rattling against the tiles.

But there was no warm hug waiting, no kisses just yet. Just a small ‘hi’ and fingers brushing together as Hawke grabbed his bag. Keeping the distance, talking about their daily lives, when Fenris wanted nothing more than to pull Hawke close and taste his lips. But not here, not yet.

The air felt warm and humid as they stepped out, even with the sun already setting. Not like the choking heat baked into the concrete and the sea haze of LA. This was more grounded, heat softened by forest shade and farmland instead of skyscrapers.

Hawke’s truck started with the usual coughs and groans, and finally their fingers entwined together on the worn velour bench.

“I missed you,” Hawke said, glancing quickly at Fenris.

“Missed you too,” Fenris said with a small, tired smile.

“Still getting dog shit in your mailbox?” Fenris muttered, giving Hawke’s hand a small squeeze.

“Not today. And the postman said good morning. Maybe our kiss is finally old news,” Hawke said with a chuckle. But his smile wasn’t as wide as before.

“I get why you hate LA, but this place? Fucking sucks,” Hawke continued.

Fenris sighed and stroked Hawke’s fingers with his own. He hated that Hawke had to deal with the hate all on his own. Or at all.

“You cut your beard shorter,” Fenris said, quickly tracing Hawke’s jaw with his fingertips. “I like it.”

Sure, a very superficial thing, but he wanted to get Hawke’s mind elsewhere. They still had this evening before the hearing and they both could use a bit of distraction. He leaned back against the seat, staring out of the window as they drove on.

And half an hour later, when they finally closed the door to the outside world, their lips crashed together, Hawke dropped the bags on the floor, lifted Fenris up and carried him to the bedroom.

Fenris pulled away for a breather and glanced at the mattress sitting on the floor. One eyebrow raising slowly.

“Sorry, haven’t gotten a bed yet. Burned the old one,” Hawke muttered, his lips tracing Fenris’s neck and collarbones, fingers fumbling with his shirt.

A low chuckle escaped Fenris’s lips and he lifted up his arms. The shirt flew on the floor in a lazy arch. “Pyromania as therapy? Sounds familiar.”

“It was,” Hawke grunted, tugging down Fenris’s jeans.

A smile was still playing on Fenris’s lips when Hawke gently eased him down on the mattress. The sheets felt pleasantly cool against his bare skin, quickly joined by the warm heat of Hawke’s body.

They both tried to slow it down, savour each other’s mouths and touches. But it had been a whole month and they needed this too much.

All too soon Fenris let out a hushed gasp, his back arching, toes curling against the mattress. Hawke sealed his mouth with his own, body shuddering as he let go.

They stayed still for a moment, sweaty skins touching and eyes locked, breathing slowly calming down.

Finally Hawke laid down on his back, right next to Fenris and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “You quit smoking?”

It was more of a statement than a question.

Fenris turned to his side, leaning against his hand, eyebrow cocked.

“I can’t taste it anymore,” Hawke said, caressing Fenris’s cheek.

Fenris grabbed the hand and kissed the knuckles. “I’m trying.”

“Thank you for being here,” Hawke muttered, pulling Fenris in for an embrace.

The evening sun pierced through the blinds, dust motes drifted slowly in the air. Birdsongs and the scent of pines drifted to the room from the partially open window.

They made love again, this time slow, more deliberate. Not rushed by physical need, but enjoying each other and the calmness of the moment.

Tomorrow was still hours away and sometimes you had to focus on what you had.

Tonight was for kisses and bad puns. The smell of barbecue smoke as they sat in the backyard, drinking coke. For watching the sun set behind the trees and stars appear in the darkening sky.

And finally tucking in together in the darkness.

Fenris stared at the wall, Hawke’s arm wrapped around his waist, the short hairs in the back of his neck moving to the rhythm of Hawke’s breaths. He wished he could stop the time right there, stay in the warm darkness, listening to Hawke sleep forever. But his past had shown that good things rarely lasted.

Tomorrow was the hearing and that meant digging up old—and new—mistakes from their graves. All he could hope for, is that they wouldn’t affect Hawke. That he would get his son back.

Fenris’s thoughts drifted to the last time he’d seen Malcolm, staring at his parents fighting with wide eyes, tiny fingers curled around the edge of his seat. Not crying but scared.

He still had no idea how he would fit Hawke’s life if he got his son back. He wasn’t exactly the perfect role model, and he had no idea what a happy childhood was supposed to look like.

Fenris shifted his position, curled his fingers around Hawke’s hand and closed his eyes. Tried his hardest to make the sleep come. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the warmth, he still felt like he was sinking.

Fenris slid down from Hawke’s pickup. The tie already felt like a noose around his throat, the fitted charcoal suit sticking to his body, tight and restricting. Like some sort of medieval torture device.

Automatically, his hand went for his pocket, trying to dig out the pack of smokes. Instead he only found the mocking cardboard rectangle filled with nicotine gums.

He tossed two into his mouth and followed Hawke inside the hotel.

The noose loosened a tiny bit when the room door opened and he saw the redhead standing in the room. Already dressed in dark blue pants and a dress shirt. Her usual scowl softened a bit as she gave him a quick hug. “Nice to see you Fenris.”

“You too, Aveline. I can’t thank you enough for being here,” Fenris said, closing the door behind them. “Looking out for Hawke.”

With that Fenris gave him a quick glance. He could tell how nervous Hawke was, fiddling with his cuffs, buttoning and opening his jacket, that was just a bit too tight.

Fenris assumed the last time he’d worn it was at the altar. Waiting for his wife.

Whom he was now about to divorce.

Fenris placed his hand on Hawke’s shoulder and gave him a small peck on the cheek. “Let’s go through the plan once more.”

Aveline walked to her desk and started tucking the papers into neat piles, before sliding them into her briefcase. “A simple joint legal custody and equitable distribution. Hawke’s been the main supporter in this marriage, and he’s always been a good parent, according to Malcolm’s teachers and neighbours."

She turned, staring straight at Hawke. “And despite what your soon ex-wife says, your sexual orientation has nothing to do with your parenting skills.”

Hawke winced, his gaze dropping to the floor, jaw tight and shoulders hunched. “I still can’t believe she made it part of the arguments. Or that I have to discuss it in court.”

Aveline gave Hawke a quick, slightly awkward pat on the back. “You won’t. If her lawyer brings it up, I will shut them down and fast. Same with your current relationship.”

With that, she glanced at Fenris. “You two don’t even live together, so it should be a no-brainer.”

Fenris coughed, fingers digging into his jacket again. Still no cigarettes.

“What about my… history?” he muttered, eyes drifting from Aveline to Hawke. They hadn’t discussed these things last night, but surely Hawke had heard by now. Fenris had some past issues with the law.

“Like I said, you two don’t live together and the relationship is new. DUI’s shouldn’t be an issue in this case, you’re not the parent,” Aveline said, her voice slightly dropping in the end. “But the fountain incident? That could be a problem, if the judge is particularly conservative.”

Fenris grimaced, fingers pressing against his temples. “I was 25. Surely that’s ancient history by now.”

Hawke’s eyebrow raised. “What did you do?”

Fenris sighed, a wry, half-cocked smile on his lips. “Peed in a public fountain on my birthday, after a gig. The judge ruled it as ‘indecent exposure’.”

“That’s how we met,” Aveline said, dryly. “But you’re not that kid anymore. And I can prove it.”

Fenris didn’t respond. He still had no idea who he was now. Only that he didn’t want to be the reason Hawke lost his son. “Maybe it’s better if I wait outside,” he muttered.

Hawke just stared at the both of them, lips slowly turning into a smile. Finally bursting into laughter. “I read about that in a tabloid!” Another snort. “Thought it was funny then. Still think it’s incredibly stupid… and funny.”

Hawke’s laughter finally faded and he grabbed Fenris’s hand, slowly lifting it to his lips. “I need you in that courtroom.”

But when they stepped back into Hawke’s pickup, Fenris still wished he could have a smoke and a drink, just to calm down his nerves. Divorce and child-custody were things adults did, not for someone like him.

Fenris sat at the back of the courtroom, perched on a wooden bench, trying his hardest to stay still. The back was too straight, and something, most likely a splinter, kept digging into the back of his thigh.

And Hawke was right there, sitting just out of reach, listening to Aveline and his wife’s lawyer discussing his character.

So far Aveline had deflected every point the lawyer had tried to make. Hawke was a perfectly ordinary, law-abiding citizen, who’d worked at the same place since he was eleven. He hadn’t even called the cops on Fran, who’d moved Malcolm out without permission.

But they hadn’t mentioned Fenris’s name. Yet. But he’d noticed the sly smile on Fran’s face when he followed Hawke into the room and took a seat in the back.

“Unless you have some other proof why Mr. Hawke should not get joint custody, I think this hearing is over,” the judge said, his gavel hovering over the block.

Hawke glanced over his shoulder, shot a quick smile and a thumbs-up to Fenris.

“While Mr Hawke might have been a good guardian before, what about his current partner?” the lawyer's voice rang through the courtroom.

Fenris’s stomach turned. Here it was. Fran’s best weapon.

“May I remind you that Mr Wolfe is not permanently residing with Mr Hawke. And thus, he will not be co-parenting Malcolm,” Aveline responded, her voice stern.

“Mr Wolfe has a pattern of irresponsible behaviour, including multiple DUI’s, a history with substance abuse and a charge of indecent exposure. Surely not someone fit to be around a young child,” the lawyer continued.

Fenris saw Hawke flinch at the words, his hand curling into a fist against the wooden table.

A heavy lump formed in Fenris’s throat. It was getting harder to breathe. His fingers found the half eaten pack of gums, the foil crinkling softly in the quiet room.

“Mr Wolfe is employed and has a steady income. There are no records of child endangerment, violence or substance abuse,” Aveline said, giving Fenris a quick glance.

Fran slammed the table and stood up, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “He’s a has-been who fucks around and breaks families!” She was hissing through her teeth, looking straight at Fenris. “I don’t want either of them near my son!”

Hawke stood up, slowly. Staring at his wife across the room. “You started cheating.”

“You’re a fucking faggot!” Fran hissed, her voice raising to a shout on the last word.

It echoed on the walls, hushed gasps rising from the seats. The judge’s voice rose, but Fenris didn’t hear it.

He was already up, and running the door. His heart was pounding in his ears, the taste of vomit in his mouth. People turned to look as he rushed past, through the front doors and finally stopping at the foot of the stairs, hand gripping the railing as he hurled into the bushes.

The air was hot and humid, sky yellow. A thunder rumbled in the distance.

Fenris felt like he was still choking, shaky fingers loosening the tie, opening up buttons of his shirt. Shame and acid burned his throat.

He shouldn’t have ran. Hawke still needed him.

But Fran’s words rang still in his ears. Breaks families.

No matter what Hawke had said, those two might still be together if he hadn’t met with Hawke. Surely a broken marriage is still better for the child than divorce?

His fingers dug out the gums, he stared at them for a moment. Threw them in the trash and started heading towards the kiosk.

The first smoke tasted like a relief. Breath calming down, fingers stopped shaking.

Second was a question. Shouldn’t he stop here? Go back into the courtroom. Be there for Hawke.

Third was just regret wrapped in a thin paper, filled with dry leaves.

Fenris was still sitting on the lowest step, staring at the concrete, burnt out cigarette butt dangling between his fingers, when a figure stopped by his side.

He glanced up. A lock of hair slipped into his eyes, but he didn’t need to see clearly to know who it was.

“We won,” Hawke said with a tired voice. “Aveline was amazing, shooting down all the prejudice and proving what I already knew. You’re not a danger to Malcolm.”

Fenris’s mouth opened, he quickly grabbed the cigarette pack and shoved it into his pocket as he stood up. Like he wanted to hide the evidence.

“Won?” he muttered, not fully understanding what Hawke meant by that.

“Shared custody. Malcolm’ll be staying with me every other week,” Hawke said, voice slightly hitching at the end. He had a wide smile on his lips, teardrops sticking to his lashes. “I’m gonna pick him up from the kindergarten today.”

Fenris stared at him for a moment longer, relief washing over his body as he pulled Hawke into a quick hug, his forehead pressing against Hawke’s chest.

Hawke snorted. “Guess we’ll have to go shopping first. I don’t have any of his clothes or toys. Or even a bed. Fran took them all.”

Fenris pulled away from the hug, hand falling back to the sides. This was still a public place and Hawke didn’t need any more attention around here.

He was truly happy for Hawke, it had been hard to listen to how much he missed his son, fearing he’d lost him forever. But secretly, he’d hoped Malcolm wouldn’t be around when he was.

He’d never been good with kids, not even when he was one.

“Two guys in suits. Bed Bath and Beyond. Buying kid stuff? Sounds like a beginning of a very bad joke,” Fenris muttered.

Multiple stops, long receipts and a cargo bed filled to the brim later, they’d finally stopped at Malcolm’s daycare. Hawke was already standing by the gates, a wide grin on his lips, eyes shooting towards the front door every time it opened.

Fenris was sitting in the car, watching him. Flicking his lighter open and close. Old country song crackling softly from the radio.

The door opened again, a middle-aged woman stepped out, a young dark-haired boy clutching her hand. She pointed towards Hawke and the boy let go of the hand, smiling wide as he ran. Shouting one word Fenris couldn’t hear through the glass.

But he assumed it was ‘daddy’.

Hawke pushed the gate open and kneeled, arms wide, wrapping them softly around Malcolm as soon as he could. A small kiss on his head. And finally lifting him up with ease, talking and smiling. Like the courtroom never happened.

A sharp pain hit Fenris’s chest. Not exactly fear, not jealousy. Something he quite couldn’t name, but it had to do with seeing Hawke like this. A proud father, holding up his son.

Something Fenris had never felt.

He wasn’t built for this, families.

But it was already too late to run, Hawke was tucking Malcolm into the backseat, still chatting and asking about all the small things that had happened since they last saw.

Malcolm’s brown eyes stared right at Fenris, quiet but curious.

“Hi, Malcolm,” Fenris said, forcing a tiny smile on his lips as he offered his hand towards the boy.

He didn’t take it.

The rejection was small, barely anything. But it still landed

“Come on now, say hi,” Hawke grinned and clicked the buckle down.

“Hi,” Malcolm finally muttered, as he clutched his toy dog tighter against his chest. It looked like it needed a wash—or replacing.

They drove off, the song changing on the radio, Fenris’s fingers still gripping his lighter. He could feel Malcolm’s eyes staring.

Fenris knew that gaze. Judging and wary. Like he didn’t belong there.

“How old are you?”

Fenris turned his head to the backseat, eyebrow raised.

“You have white hair. Only old people have white hair.”

Hawke burst into relaxed laughter. “Fenris is the same age as daddy. But he’s old on the inside. That’s why he has silvery hair.”

Fenris shoved Hawke with his elbow, right below the ribs.

But Hawke’s laughter had relaxed him a bit. Maybe he could survive, as long as Hawke was there beside him.

Sweat was trickling down Fenris’s back when he finally carried the last bag into the living room. The place was cluttered with paper bags and cardboard boxes of various sizes.

Hawke was already in Malcolm’s room, building up the bedframe as Malcolm watched and picked up tools from a rusted toolbox.

Fenris wiped his brow with a smile on his face as he leaned against the doorframe. “How’s it going?”

Malcolm dropped the wrench he was holding on the floor with a thud and shuffled closer to Hawke.

For some reason the small rejection hurt worse than it should’ve. This was only the second time he met with Malcolm and the first one had ended in a disaster. No wonder the kid was wary.

Hawke shot Fenris a warm smile, followed by a snort. “I should’ve read the instructions first.”

Fenris' eyes scanned the room, various sized pieces, bolts and screws littered the floor. “Who knew a car bed had this many parts?” He kneeled and picked up the discarded paper. Eyed it quickly. “Need help?”

Not that he really knew what to do. The last time he’d built anything was back in college, figuring out the engine of his old bike. Which he soon crashed beyond repair.

“Actually, if you could make some food. There’s boxes of mac ‘n’cheese in the cupboard,” Hawke said as he picked up another piece. Turned it around in his hands. “It’s almost Malcolm’s dinner time and I really should get the bed ready. Otherwise we’ll all be sleeping on the floor.”

Fenris shoved the instructions to Hawke, muttered something about ‘stupid male pride’ and headed towards the kitchen.

Last night he’d never been there. Just the bedroom and the backyard. And Hawke had been there beside him.

Now the kitchen felt like a reminder of the last time he’d been there.

Fran casually chatting, picking up things from the gift basket he’d brought. Now there were no photos, no flowers in vases. Hawke didn’t even have curtains in his windows.

Fenris sighed, swallowed down the lump forming in his throat and started digging through the cupboards. This wasn’t the time to think of that, he was supposed to be a responsible adult and cook for a child.

After four doors he finally found a kettle, two more and he had the box in his hand. The instructions were easy, but the nutritional values made him grimace. Nothing but empty calories and way too much salt.

Not that he cooked. His fridge was mostly used for storing white wine and an occasional sparkly. Okay, not these days. Only diet coke.

He set the water to boil and walked back to Malcolm’s room.

Something that was starting to resemble a bed was standing in the middle of the room.

“You like cars?” Fenris asked Malcolm, who was staring at the bed in awe. His toy dog lay forgotten on the floor.

Malcolm turned, did a few small nods, then averted his eyes.

“You won’t believe how many times we’ve watched the DVD,” Hawke grinned, tightening the last bolts. “He loves Lightning.”

“We should go to Disneyland together,” Fenris said casually.

His eyes widened, heat rising to his cheeks. He quickly turned. “I’ll go check the food.”

He walked to the kitchen, legs stiff. This all felt too normal. Too calm.

The water was boiling over, gas hissing as the drops hit it. The smell of cheese powder hung in the air.

And soon he had yellowish, oily goop in the kettle. It looked absolutely disgusting.

“Food’s ready,” he muttered, still staring at the mess.

Hawke came in, carrying Malcolm and placing a small peck on Fenris’s cheek. “Thanks.”

Fenris flinched, his eyes flicking between Malcolm and Hawke.

But the kid didn’t care.

He seemed much more interested in getting food into his stomach.

Hawke set him down in the high chair, dug out a cup and a spoon and placed them before Malcolm. Gave another, lingering kiss to Fenris, this time straight on his lips. “I still need to put down the sheets. Could you watch him for a moment?”

And with that he left, leaving Fenris standing in the kitchen, Malcolm trying to shove food into his small mouth. Most of it just ended on his cheeks or the table.

Fenris took a step closer, staring at Malcolm like he would burst into flames at any moment.

But he didn't.

Instead he just lifted up his empty mug—already stained by the cheese sauce—and glanced at Fenris. “Juice?”

Fenris blinked.

Malcolm was looking right at him.

He grabbed the cup, his fingers instantly sticky with the sauce. But he pushed down the revulsion, and dug out a carton from the fridge. Placed the mug on the table in front of Malcolm. Resisted the urge to wash his hands. Just rubbed his fingers together under the table like he could remove the stains that way.

Only much later, after Hawke lifted half-asleep Malcolm from the couch and carried him into the bed, Fenris washed his hands and the table. Threw his pack of cigarettes into the trashcan with a sigh.

In the quiet darkness of the bedroom, with only AC humming lazily in the background, their mouths found each other, clothes dropping to the floor. The summer heat clinging to bare skin as their bodies entwine together.

And after the hushed good nights and final kisses for the day, Fenris curled against Hawke’s naked body, breathing in his scent, feeling his heartbeat below his palm.

He could almost believe in happiness at that moment.

Chapter Text

Back in LA, Fenris tried his hardest to avoid old habits. But it’s hard not to drift when your anchor is hundreds of miles away, and even your clothes don’t smell like him anymore.

And the harder he tried to cling on to things he could control—running on treadmill and practicing the songs till his fingers bled—the more he drank coffee and went through packs of nicotine gum.

Maybe skipped a meal or two, but forced down a protein shake.

Went to bed late, sometimes woke in the early hours to finetune some chords in the solo. Or just paced around the house, unable to calm down. The recording would start soon and he still felt like something was missing. Something just beyond his reach.

But at least they talked with Hawke every day, small snippets of each other’s lives shared through video calls.

Once more, Fenris opened up the laptop, started a Skype call and waited anxiously to see Hawke’s face.

When Hawke finally appeared on the screen, the weight lifted from his chest, at least for a little while.

“Hey, you,” he said with a tired smile.

“Hi Fen,” Hawke replied with a warm smile. “How’s it going?”

“Well…” Fenris sighed, took a sip of his coffee. “Still practicing. The label gave the songs a green light and they should be ready. But I just don’t know…”

Hawke smiled. “I’m sure they’re great. You’ve been working really hard. Are you getting any sleep?”

More coffee.

“Sometimes,” Fenris muttered.

A sound of running footsteps came from Hawke’s background.

“Malcolm’s with me this week. We’re going for a small hike tomorrow.” Hawke turned his head. “Malcolm, come say hi to Fenris.”

Footsteps ran closer and Hawke leaned over, grabbing Malcolm and placing him on his lap. He was clutching his toy dog to his chest again, staring at the screen with wide eyes.

Fenris gave him a smile and a small wave. “Hi Malcolm.”

“Hi Fennis…” Malcolm muttered and did an awkward little wave. Then struggled to get free and Hawke let him go.

“He’s a bit hyper. We were just throwing a ball in the yard and had dinner.” Hawke yawned. “He’s taking this surprisingly well. Hasn’t asked why Fran doesn’t live here anymore.”

Fenris replied with a yawn of his own. “Kids are like that. I think.”

When you have no choice, you get used to almost anything. Don’t even question it most of the time.

“So how’s your work?” Fenris asked. He just wanted to hear Hawke’s voice, speaking about anything, even changing oils and fixing rusty hems.

It was the only time of the day he could actually calm down.

But all too soon the call had to end, Malcolm’s bedtime was coming and Hawke had to prepare for work. Fenris stayed on the couch, staring at the empty screen, drinking the rest of his coffee even after it had gone cold.

And when the night fell, he kept pacing. Going to the balcony, not to smoke. Just to breathe in “fresh air”, which here meant the smell of gasoline, and the smoke from the forest fires. Twirling a pick between his fingers. Wondering how long he could keep this up.

Fenris stepped out of the studio’s control room, phone already to his ear. The hallway was empty, nothing but fluorescent lamps humming overhead, sad potted plants and walls plastered with framed CD’s and reviews.

“Hey, just wanted to give you a quick head’s up. Can’t make it to Skype tonight,” Fenris blurted as soon as Hawke answered.

His headache was reaching new heights, maybe it was the constant chewing, or maybe because he was just beyond annoyed. The nausea wasn’t helping either.

“Our bassist keeps messing up and I’m still at the studio,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. He leaned against the wall and slid down. The vending machine was out of diet cola and he couldn’t drink any more coffee today. His hands were already shaking too much, stomach turning from all the acid.

“Do you really have to be there? It’s past midnight…” Hawke said, worried, and stifling a yawn.

Fenris sighed, “just parts of the glamour. Never sleeping and sitting in a dark room that stinks of sweat, farts and greasy food.”

“They don’t show that part in the tabloids,” Hawke said with a tired snort.

A half-cocked smile rose on Fenris’s lips. “Pit-stains don’t sell.”

He sighed again, and pushed himself to his feet. “Guess I should head back.”

Took a pause.

“I miss you.”

“Miss you too. Try to get some sleep,” Hawke replied, too quickly, words almost swallowed by a yawn. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Hawke,” Fenris said, voice lightly hitching at the end.

The lights were still shining overhead, the diet coke was still out. Guess that meant more coffee.

“I wanna do that again,” Fenris muttered, sliding the headset off his ears.

He couldn’t see the producer or the rest of the band clearly through the dusty glass, just silhouettes next to the console, but he could sense their collective eyerolls.

“It sounded fine here,” the singer’s voice crackled through the stereos.

Fenris huffed. “This is our fifth album. I don’t want fine, I want good. Maybe even great.” He took a long swig of his water bottle, then poured the rest over his head. The AC wasn’t working again and the small room was heating up, fast. The place stank of bitter sweat, dust, and old cables, like the ghosts of previous artists still lingered here.

“One more take, okay? We’ve gotta keep moving,” the voice crackled again. The producer. LA’s longest-haired bald guy, who always wore worn Metallica tees and had permanent pitstains.

Fenris flicked his hair back, droplets of water fell to the ground and on his shoulders, trickling down his back. A bit cooler at least.

He moved the headset back in its place, grabbed the first chord and started from the beginning. Foot tapped the floor, fingers moved on the strings. His eyes closed, he didn’t need to look anymore. He knew the song, knew the melody. Now he just needed to get it out just the way he wanted.

He hadn’t wanted to record like this, alone in the booth, playing over a backing track instead of with the others. But the label insisted. Said it would ‘give them more artistic freedom’. All Fenris heard ‘it’s easier to post-process individual tracks’.

The last chord lingered in the air, and finally Fenris dared to exhale. He let go of the guitar’s neck, pushed the headset down on his neck. Opened his eyes. He could hear faint clapping, even though the talkback mic wasn’t on.

“I told you I needed another take!” Fenris muttered, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips.

Maybe it wasn’t on the same level as the great ones, but it was his. The melody, the lyrics and now the guitar track.

Mom might not have anything besides her name and the dates on the tombstone, but now she had a song. That should mean something.

Fenris stepped out of the booth, the hallway pleasantly cool after the wallowing heat he’d been playing in for the past hour. The drummer stepped out of the control room, cigarette dangling from his lips as he headed towards the door.

He turned, offered the pack towards Fenris. “Just one. To celebrate?”

Fenris stared at it, the chewed out nicotine gum was already crumbling to tiny pieces on his tongue, tasting like cardboard.

He hadn’t touched one in weeks. Not since running out of the courtroom. But today didn’t count. He’d just played one hell of a solo and that deserved a reward.

“Just one,” Fenris sighed and grabbed a smoke.

They walked to the balcony in unison, lighters clicking, adding more smoke to the mixture of heat rising from the concrete, car pollution and faint smell of the sea.

The first drag felt like stress lifting, the way it burned his tongue, filling up his lungs.

“You’re doing a really good job with the tracks,” the drummer suddenly said, leaning against the railing. “Bryan usually stuck with the three-chords and rock-attitude.”

Fenris lifted up his eyes, surprised. He rarely got any compliments from these guys.

“We’re heading out for dinner soon, wanna come with?” the drummer continued.

Fenris took another drag, flicked off the ashes. Watched them trail off with the wind and vanish. “Sure. Gonna call Hawke first.”

The drummer snorted. “Whatever, lover boy… Don’t take too long, pizzas and beers aren’t waiting.”

Fenris dug out his phone from his bag and hit call. These days Hawke’s number stayed on top.

Hawke answered after the second ring.

“Hi Hawke,” he said, voice soft, a tiny smile on his lips.

“Hi Fen,” Hawke replied.

The longing hit with a heavy bang against Fenris’s chest and he leaned against the wall. He wished he could slither through the phone and appear right next to Hawke.

“How’s it going?” Hawke asked. Dishes were clanging in the background, most likely he was making food. Hopefully not more of that yellow goop Hawke called mac’n’cheese.

“Most of the recording’s done,” Fenris sighed and he slid down, stared at the carpet between his boots. “Still need to play some rhythm guitar parts. We don’t have a player yet, gotta find someone before the tour.”

“I thought you’re the rhythm?” Hawke asked. The clanging stopped.

Fenris’s eyes widened, he bit the inside of his cheek. He’d forgotten to tell Hawke. This was not the way he wanted to tell it.

He coughed, trying to fill the silence with anything till he could think of a way to fix the slip.

“Surprise!” he muttered, trying to sound cheerful. “Bryan got kicked out and I got a raise.”

“Okay… when did this happen?” Hawke asked, the warmth fading from his voice.

“A while back… but the label told us to keep it a secret. Better publicity or something, announcing when the record is out,” Fenris said, biting his lips.

It was easier to blame the label than to admit he’d simply… forgotten. That he hadn’t thought to tell the person he missed most.

He watched the rest of the band pour out of the control room, chatting and beer bottles in hand. They were starting the celebrations early.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you, but… contracts. You know,” Fenris said with a quiet voice.

“Sure… But congrats on the new record. And the raise,” Hawke said, followed with more clinks and thuds. A cupboard closing a bit too loud. He sounded tired.

“I should get going, the guys are heading for celebratory pizzas and I promised to join them,” Fenris muttered.

He would’ve preferred Hawke’s cooking, if it meant he could be sitting beside him.

“I’ll Skype you later, shouldn’t be too late. I… miss you,” Fenris murmured, he didn’t want anyone else to hear the words.

He already wanted another cigarette.

“Sure. Have fun and miss you too,” Hawke replied, ending the call.

Fenris stared at the screen a moment longer, before slowly standing up. His body felt heavy, like he hadn’t slept in weeks and it was finally starting to hit.

He followed the band outside, and asked for another cigarette from the drummer. Just one more. A reward, he told himself.

By the time they slid into the limo, Fenris had smoked three more. He hadn’t grabbed a beer, though. Surely that meant he wasn’t slipping.

Soon the music was blasting from the stereos, a tiny disco ball kept turning in the car ceiling. Fenris had forced a smile on his lips as he leaned against the leather seats. He tried his hardest to join the conversation. But he could still hear Hawke’s tired voice. The disappointment clung to his tongue like the taste of the cigarettes.

He should’ve told Hawke sooner. He knew that. He’d known since July, since Hawke’s visit… but the hearing and all the physical distance. Just too much stuff happening.

The singer popped open the bottle of cooled champagne, tiny droplets glittering in the air, falling over the leather interior.

And when he offered Fenris a glass, he didn’t refuse. Just called it one more reward.

The bubbles tickled against his tongue as he drank it down. Cool and dry, sliding down way too easily. They didn’t even ask if he wanted another, just kept pouring.

Fifth album.

A perfectly valid reason for a celebration.

Fenris stepped inside his flat, the lights felt instantly too bright, the air cold after the heat of the streets.

Shivers shook his body as he stripped off the boots. Stumbled to the kitchen with bare feet. The tiles felt cool against his skin.

He grabbed a can of diet cola from the fridge and forced it down. Not what he really was craving for, but he’d thrown out all the alcohol. Except maybe the Scotch he was saving.

Which he wouldn’t open today.

He threw the empty can into the sink, grabbed another one and opened up his laptop.

It was barely past midnight. Maybe Hawke wasn’t asleep yet.

He started the call, stared at the view in his camera. The house was dark behind his back, the white screen highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. He cracked open the can, took a sip.

Waited.

Hawke’s face appeared on the screen, hair tousled, a faint handprint on his cheek. “Hi again.” His voice sounded groggy, like he’d just woken up. Maybe he had.

“Did I wake you up?” Fenris muttered, taking another sip of cola. Like he wanted Hawke to notice. Just soda tonight.

Hawke scratched his beard, a wide yawn spreading across his face. “A bit. Did you have fun?”

Fenris thought back. Greasy pizza he’d barely touched. A glass of wine that kept filling up. And he kept emptying.

“Guess so… but I’d rather be there,” Fenris muttered. He wasn’t lying. It was harder to keep the darkness at bay when he was alone.

“I wish you were here,” Hawke said and leaned against his hand. Stayed quiet for a moment, just looking at the screen.

“So… Lead guitar?”

Fenris took a sip of his can, trying to hide the flinch.

“Anything else you couldn’t tell me?” Hawke continued.

This time Fenris couldn’t hide the shivers that shook his body.

“I wrote a couple of songs….” Fenris muttered.

Fear flashed across Hawke’s face.

“Nothing about us. Nothing about… you.” Fenris continued, fingers curling around the empty can off-screen. The buzz was already fading. He hated the silence it left behind.

“Besides, we’re not that big a deal. The only time we’re mentioned in the tabloids is when the bigger names are in rehab, or someone does something really stupid,” Fenris sighed. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to assure Hawke or himself.

He really hoped this album would be better. But he wished they didn’t have to show it to the world. Only to those who really mattered.

He touched the screen, but it was nothing like brushing his fingers through Hawke’s hair. Just glass, cold and smooth. “You’re safe. Malcolm’s safe. No one knows—or cares we are dating.”

“I know. It’s just weird… You’re a celebrity,” Hawke muttered. “Dating me. Divorced dad with nothing but loans and a rusty pickup.”

Fenris huffed, stared straight at the camera. “Dating you because I—”

His mouth snapped shut. He’d almost said it. The dreadful ‘L-word’.

He blamed it on the alcohol. Hoped Hawke had missed it.

“I care about you. You’re funny, warm and real. Everything I don’t have in LA,” Fenris continued.

Hawke just chuckled. “LA was pretty warm when I visited you.”

Fenris stuck out his tongue.

But something lingered in Hawke’s eyes, something that told he hadn’t missed what Fenris almost said.

“I care about you too. A lot. But I should head to bed, I’ve got work tomorrow,” Hawke muttered, hiding another yawn with his hand.

“Talk to you tomorrow. Good night Hawke,” Fenris kissed the air, eyes taking in Hawke’s image. He wanted it to be the last thing he thought of before falling asleep.

Hawke gave him a warm smile, good night and closed off the call.

Fenris was left alone, AC’s humm, distant cars and sirens in the background. Clinging on to the empty can of soda.

His throat felt dry.

Hawke hadn’t asked about alcohol, so maybe he hadn’t noticed anything. Hopefully. Tomorrow he would get back with the program. Go for a morning run. Throw the cigarettes in the trash. Not drink.

Days blurred past, more coffee, more smokes. Going to the studio. Empty glass bottles gathering in the sink of his house.

More missed Skype calls. Hanging on to every phone call and text, browsing Hawke’s Facebook photos like it could close the distance.

Stomach churning, tightening belt to a smaller hole. One thing he still had control over.

Laying awake in bed, staring at Hawke’s picture as he drank down wine, too afraid to call cause his voice was slurring. Almost sending messages at the break of dawn. All the longing, all the love. Then deleting them. Returning to the wine.

Fenris stood on the stage of a small club, guitar hanging against his hips. The video shoot was about to start, actors gathering in small groups on the floor, techs adjusting lights and sound.

Too bright. Too loud. Good thing they were using a backtrack, his fingers couldn’t grab the chords properly. They were shaking too much.

The makeup gave up, slapped sunglasses on him, and said, “Just keep ‘em on”.

Fenris agreed.

People took their places, the music started playing from the stereos and Fenris stepped forth. The perfect rocker scowl plastered on his face, legs wide, fingers moving like he still had control over them.

The camera moved past his face, and he stuck out his tongue, just like they’d told him to do.

This wasn't about the music. About the pain and trauma you poured into the lyrics. Just glitter and crafted images the PR people planned in their high towers and served to the cash cows.

Acid rose to Fenris’s mouth and he flinched. Swallowed down with a sigh, eyes closing.

Just one more week to survive. Then Hawke would come and everything would be fine again.

The director wished for more energy from the actors, more “edge” from the band. Apparently, more rings and a chain necklace did that.

And when he finally crawled under the blanket, hair wet from the shower and shivering despite clothes, he decided to Skype Hawke before opening a new bottle.

Hawke’s surprised, but smiling face blinked to the screen. “Hey. I thought you’d still be shooting?”

Fenris shook his head and wrapped the blankets around him tighter. “They let us go. They’re finishing the video with shots of empty streets, graffiti and other shit.”

Hawke smiled, his fingertips reaching for the camera, like he could reach Fenris through the wires. “It’s good to see you again.”

Fenris reached for the fingers on instinct, but once more they only met with glass. He left his hand there anyway. Just for a second, pretending it was enough. “You too. I wish you were already here.”

“I know…,” Hawke muttered, letting his hand drop. “Still not sleeping well?”

Fenris pointed to his face. “Just some makeup I missed in the shower.”

He didn’t even know why he kept lying to Hawke. He was exhausted. Shaking and constantly nauseated. But he didn’t want him to worry. Hawke had his own problems.

“So, where’s that picture Malcolm drew?” Fenris asked, smiling. The pack of cigarettes lay just out of the frame and he slid it further. Hawke didn’t need to know.

“I put it on the fridge. Just wait a second, I’ll go grab it!” Hawke grinned and left the frame.

Hawke returned to the frame, holding a white paper. Turned it to the camera.

Two stick-figures; one with a beard and a plaid-shirt, hand was clutching another figure. Someone with silvery short hair, furrowed eyebrows and a smile. All dressed in black.

Fenris let out a shaky breath. Smiled at Hawke, as he fought back tears. “I love it,” he managed to finally whisper. “Send me a photo of it, will you?”

Hawke replied with a smile and Fenris watched him fumble with his phone, still swallowing down the emotions. Guess he hadn’t drunk them all down just yet. “Tell him he’s gonna be the next Dalí… or something.”

“I’m not sure he knows who that is. But I’ll tell him you like it.” Hawke grinned. A pause. Smile softening a bit. “You should try to get some sleep. You look tired.”

“I’ll try. Thanks for showing me that, Hawke.” Fenris whispered.

“Of course. You’re part of the picture.” Hawke grinned. “Good night, Fen. Miss you.”

Fenris muttered good night back, closed the laptop and tossed on the nightstand. He was still fighting back the tears.

He turned to his side, arms wrapping around his stomach, curling from the caffeine and alcohol.

He was already destroying what he had never dared to hope for.

The next morning Fenris didn’t start with the hair of the dog. Instead, he set the coffeemaker, and gathered the bottles from the sink in a plastic bag. Threw them in the bin as he walked to a nearby corner store. Grabbed yogurt. Whole-wheat bread. His stomach was turning at the sight of the meat-counter.

Only after that did he allow himself a cigarette on the balcony.

The record was almost done. No more excuses to spiral.

He had someone he cared about. And, for whatever reason, that someone cared back. And he had to do better. Be worthy of that care.

Feeling almost proud of himself, he sent Hawke a text. “Morning.”

Almost added a ‘<’ and ‘3’ to the end. But that wasn’t really him. Black coffee and maybe one more cigarette sounded better.

And he managed to keep it up. At least for a few days. Eating, walking outside. Skyping Hawke.

Until the singer sent him a text to come to the first screening of the video.

It’s just so hard to stay sober when everyone else is drinking.

But he wouldn’t do it alone at home. No more.

Chapter Text

Fenris woke to the sharp buzz of his phone against the nightstand. He rubbed his eyes, throat feeling dry. A headache was waking behind his eyeballs.

He squinted at the name on the screen. Isabela. The phone buzzed again and he answered with a quiet grunt.

“You asshole!” Isabela’s voice carried over, way too loud.

Fenris dug out a cigarette, lit it up before a tired sigh, “What did I do now?”

“How about a mention of you becoming the new lead guitarist?!” Isabela continued shouting.

Guess the first press release was out.

Fenris put her on speaker and retreated, opened up a window so the smoke could get out. So it wouldn’t stick to the walls or the sheets. Hawke was coming today.

“I forgot,” he muttered as he sat down, pulling a shirt over his head.

“Seriously. Do I have to send you to a memory assessment?” Isabela huffed. “But you do look good in the new photos. Not sure about the sunglasses though. Do you really need them inside the club?”

“Nice to hear from you too. How’s Merrill?” Fenris groaned, flicking his cigarette towards the ashtray. Some of it fell on the floor and he quickly wiped them off with his finger. Black soot covered his fingertip.

“Great. Lecturing in Paris,” Isabela groaned. Fenris could hear her cracking open a can. “I’m just so bored and lonely here. Even Zevran is too busy with his pensioners at the “wellness center” he can’t play with me.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. He knew full well Isabela had her fair share of playmates all around the country. If and when she needed them.

“Hawke’s coming to LA today,” Fenris said, voice softening.

He glanced at his reflection at the full-body mirror. Eyes slightly bloodshot, but he still had a few hours. He was more worried how his jeans were hanging from his hip bones, like they were about to fall any second. Hawke would notice it. And that would lead to questions.

He should hit some shops before picking Hawke up from the airport. He’d taken an advance for the new record and bought a new car. Not a Ferrari, but a sporty Nissan. Still fast, still a bit reckless. But it had a backseat and a trunk. Sensible, at least in theory.

“Good for you. At least someone’s getting laid tonight,” Isabela huffed with a loud gulp. “When are you coming to Miami?”

“Dunno yet. All the tour dates aren’t settled yet,” Fenris muttered. He glanced at the clock, shifting the phone off speaker. “Listen, I gotta go. Still need to grab some stuff from the shop, clean up… you know.”

Isabela snorted. “Hawke isn’t coming to see how much dust you have on your furniture. He’s coming to see you.”

“I know,” Fenris grunted. But he couldn’t help brushing his finger on his windowsill. His new cleaner wasn’t doing a good job. “Talk to you later. The new video drops at midnight, LA time.”

“I know, hun. Take care.”

The call ended with a click.

Fenris walked to the kitchen, set the coffee machine and walked to the balcony. After this cigarette he would quit again.

Probably.

Fenris watched Hawke walk among the passengers, carrying his bag, looking lost and out of place among the well-cut suits and stiletto heels.

His eyes were still hidden behind sunglasses, a wary smile playing on his lips when Hawke stopped in front of him, hurling his bag on the floor with a grunt. “I hate flying.”

“I offered to pay for the first class. Makes it bearable,” Fenris snorted. “Also, get a wheeled suitcase.”

He tried lifting Hawke’s bag from the ground, just to return the gesture. Failed miserably.

“Also, we have shops. Maybe buy a pair of jeans and shirts you could leave at my place,” once more, the words dropped out before he could stop them. At least the sunglasses would hide some of the heat on his cheeks.

Hawke gave him a quick look, grabbed his bag once more. “The divorce murdered my bank account. Gotta live modestly for a while.”

Hawke’s words felt like a dagger between Fenris’s ribs.

What kind of asshole drives a new car to pick up someone who couldn’t even afford new jeans?

He stopped beside the car, almost sheepishly.

Hawke just gave it a quick glance and tried shoving his bag in the tiny trunk. It barely fit there. “GT-R?”

Fenris cleared his throat. “Last year’s model.”

Like that made it suddenly affordable.

He slid behind the wheel, eyes never leaving Hawke. “Is everything okay?”

Hawke took a seat beside him, grabbed Fenris’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound grumpy. Just a bit stressed… the money and all. You know.”

Fenris leaned over, placed a proper kiss on his lips. This was LA and they were behind tinted windows. No one could see it. “You’re here now. A whole week, just the two of us. Finally.”

They drove back to Fenris’s place in calm silence, and when they stepped inside his house, Hawke’s arms instantly wrapped around his waist, lips finding each other before the door even closed. Fitting together, mouths hungry—like they’d both been starving for touch.

When Hawke finally broke the kiss, he didn’t pull away. Just stayed there, warm and steady. “You’ve lost weight.”

Fenris didn’t meet his gaze. He should've known Hawke would notice. Still, hearing it aloud made something tighten in his chest. Maybe shame.

He traced Hawke’s jaw and throat with his lips. He didn’t want to talk. Or think. Trying to make him shut up.

But Hawke’s fingers wrapped around his shoulders, gently pushing him away. “Are… you okay?”

Fenris sighed, turning his head so he could give a small peck on Hawke’s hand. Forced a smile on his face. “Just a bit of stress. Nothing to worry about.”

Hawke stared at him for a while, eyes narrowing. His thumbs tracing the sharp edges of Fenris’s collarbones. “We’re getting tacos tonight.”

But Hawke’s eyes softened again, the concern melting into primal hunger, and he pulled Fenris against his chest once more. Slid his hands under his ass and lifted him up with ease, like he wanted to be sure Fenris was really there.

Fenris coiled his legs around Hawke’s waist, arms around his shoulders. Clinging to his warmth and body like nothing else mattered in this world.

And it didn’t. Just drowning in kisses, skin pressing against skin, limbs entwining and rhythm of their bodies melting together. Two people living apart, becoming one like the distance never existed.

The sun was starting to set behind the blinds as they still lay in bed, sweaty and tired, slightly sore, but calmed down and spent.

Fenris lay still, his cheek against Hawke’s chest, rising with his breaths, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The darkness in his mind banished for a moment.

Hawke’s stomach growled. He pushed himself partially up, leaning against his hand as he looked at Fenris. “Tacos?”

Fenris snorted, lifted his head away from Hawke’s chest. “I still got to do that stupid video stream today. The great overlords at the label want me there to talk about the new album and being the lead guitar.”

Hawke’s smile faltered a bit.

“How about I take a quick shower, we hit a taco truck and then I’ll head out? You can stay here. I don’t think you’ll want to watch me work.” Fenris smiled and slid to his feet. His legs felt still a bit shaky, skin warm where Hawke had gripped him.

Hawke jumped up, wrapped his hand around Fenris’s waist and kissed his cheek. “Are you kidding? Of course I want to see it!”

Fenris blinked. Took a step toward the bathroom. His body moving out of habit. But Hawke didn’t let go, just moved beside him.

He cared for Hawke, he’d said that aloud a lot of times.

But this?

Showering together, Hawke coming to his work… was new.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for this.

But Hawke’s hand left his waist as he stepped into the shower, water washing over his body, eyes closed, pushing his hair back.

It should’ve been sexual, seeing Hawke bared like that, water glistening on his skin, muscles tensing as he continued to wash away the sweat.

But to Fenris it was the most intimate thing he had ever seen.

He stayed frozen, arms wrapped around his body like he didn’t know what to do with them, sweat drying on his skin, making him shiver.

Hawke gave him a quick glance, didn’t say anything, just waited if Fenris would join him.

With a soft smile he finally reached over, grabbed Fenris’s hand and pulled him under the warm water. Gave him a soft kiss and tousled his hair. Like he wanted to say he was really there.

His shower gel smelled strange on Hawke’s skin. Familiar, but warmer. And he couldn’t get enough of it.

Fenris stepped out of his car, the heels of his boots echoing in the half-empty garage. Behind him, Hawke’s sneakers padded softly against the concrete, the warm scent of paper-wrapped tacos wafting in the air.

He led Hawke to the elevator, finally removing his sunglasses. His foot was tapping against the floor, arms wrapped against his chest. He just wanted to get this over with and return to his place. Return to being alone with Hawke.

The floor was mostly empty, but that wasn’t surprising. Any sane person was at home at this hour. But for some reason the PR felt their music “fit the midnight-scene”.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

They walked to the conference room, most of the band was already there, dressed in black and leather, not really fitting in with the light wood and corporate setting.

“If it isn’t the loverboy and the lover!” The drummer grinned, taking a sip of his beer.

Fenris rolled his eyes and stepped in. “This is Hawke. That’s the band.” He waved a hand vaguely at them. “Introduce yourselves, if you feel like pretending to be polite adults.”

Hawke stepped in with a wide grin and lifted up the bag he was carrying. “We’ve got tacos!”

The singer’s eyes flicked between Fenris and Hawke, and he shot up, hand out. “I always love a guy who comes in with tacos.”

Fenris snorted and took a seat, but the tension in his shoulders eased up, at least a bit. He hadn’t been worried about Hawke, he was an easy person to like. But he’d feared these idiots would blurt out something stupid and make Hawke feel strange. He wasn’t used to places like this.

He watched the rest of the band introduce themselves, fight over the tacos like seagulls on a dropped burger, and joke with Hawke like they’d known forever.

He finally grabbed a soda and the taco Hawke had placed in front of him, offering Hawke a warm smile even as his nails dug into his palms beneath the table. Still nervous.

It didn’t help when people started marching in, setting up laptops and cameras, a mic right in front of them. Spewing crap like “bring up the hype” and “use the notes”, as if they had any idea what music really was about. The band’s banner hung droopy on the white wall, looking like Robert Smith had wandered to Coachella and was getting a sunburn.

For some reason it only got worse when the people dragged the potted palms out of frame, like that made the room any edgier.

The drummer stood up, digging out a pack of cigarettes. He quickly glanced at Fenris, nodding towards the door with his head.

Fenris stared at him, desperate to taste the smoke. But Hawke was here and he had to keep up the appearance.

No.

He’d quit.

Hawke just glanced at him, smiled and mouthed ‘go’.

Like he’d known already.

Fenris shot up, following the drummer, hand gently brushing Hawke’s back as he passed. Gratitude and reassurance. He would get through this.

And when the whole band finally cramped onto the vintage, leopard-upholstered sofa, his eyes sought out Hawke once more. He was sitting in the back of the room, smiling and watching Fenris. Doing the thumbs-up.

A smile broke through the scowl, no matter how hard he tried to shove it down.

And the fans didn’t miss it, the comment thread immediately flooded.

“So cute OMG”
“he should smile more!”
“whos the new guy??? 10/10 would bang”
“KISS!”
“when the video drops?”

The singer leaned over the mic, grinning, lifting up his beer. “Hello! We’re The Abominations, and we’ve got some great news for you all!”

Fenris tried to zone out the screen, focus on Hawke’s smile, on what he was supposed to say. But the closer they got to his part, the more he wanted to throw the mic out of the window, down a beer and disappear.

“Uh, Fenris?”

He could feel an elbow digging to his side.

He flinched, turned his gaze to the singer. To the camera. To the comments.

“Where’s Bryan?”
“Bring back Bryan :(”

He covered his mouth with his hand, coughed. Eyes flicking towards Hawke once more.

“Hi everyone! I’m Fenris. You might’ve seen me before, playing guitar somewhere on the edge of the shadows.”

Another cough, nails digging deeper into his palm.

“Bryan’s got some…” his voice hitched, the weight against his chest was growing heavier with every word. Fenris didn’t like what Bryan had become, but they were friends. Maybe.

Heroin addiction.

“...some personal things. So I’m taking his place in the front. For a while.”

He couldn’t look down. Couldn’t see the comments. He feared the reaction too much.

Instead he just stood up, got out of the frame. Let the singer handle the rest, he’d done his part.

One of the PR-people tried to stop him, shove him back down to the couch. Fenris just pushed him aside and walked to Hawke. Grabbed his hand and led him out of the room.

Heartbeat was pounding on his ears, taste of fresh blood on his tongue. He’d bitten his lips again.

When they finally got to the elevator, Hawke stopped him. Wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. Whispered something against his ears, his breath warm, arms steady, but Fenris couldn’t hear a word.

The thumping of his own heart was still too loud.

His fingers fisted Hawke’s shirt, face pressed against his neck, beard softly scratching against his skin. Trying to calm down his breaths.

He heard the door open somewhere down the corridor, people chattering. Hawke said something. The door closed again and the hallway fell once more in silence.

Fenris took a long inhale, then leaned back. “I think I should go back. Not in front of the camera, just to hear what people are saying about the new single.”

Hawke watched him, a soft smile on his lips. “You sure?”

Fenris gave him a short nod. He didn’t really want to go, but it was his band. Part of his new responsibilities.

Hawke pressed their foreheads together, just for a moment, and let go. Followed Fenris close behind as he slid back into the conference room and took a seat in the back. The rest of the band were still sitting on the couch, replying to comments and joking around.

The singer shot him a quick glance, eyebrow raised. But no one asked him to come back. They knew better by now.

Next morning Fenris woke up to the sunlight streaming between blinds. The sheets were warm, but dry. Neatly tucked under him, not tangled around his legs like usual. But the most important thing was the warmth and weight beside him. Hawke was still here.

Hawke’s silhouette stood right in the middle of the light, a halo around his head, as he leaned against his hand. “Mornin’.”

Groggily Fenris wiped his eyes, pushed the hair away from his face. He still couldn’t believe he could wake up to Hawke’s smile for the next week. “Morning, Hawke.”

Hawke leaned in for a kiss, brushing an escaped lock behind Fenris’s ear. “Didn’t wanna wake you. It’s the first time I’ve watched you sleep.”

“Stalker,” Fenris muttered, smirking as he pushed Hawke’s face away.

He knew his breath was terrible, his hair a tangled mess. He’d meant to be the first one up, brewing coffee, maybe walking down the street to grab bagels before Hawke stirred.

He sat up, reaching for a shirt from the floor.

But Hawke’s fingers curled around his wrist, firm and warm, tugging him back down. “Nope. Not letting you go.”

He pulled Fenris back to bed, back to his side, arm around his shoulders, skin touching skin. Fenris snorted and placed his head on Hawke’s chest. He’d never been good at staying in one place.

“Thought you wanted to do tourist-stuff today?” Fenris asked, his finger tracing Hawke’s chest muscles, brushing through the dark hair.

Hawke kept grabbing him harder, pushing air out of his lungs. “Can’t we just… stay here a little longer?”

“What is it?” Fenris asked, worry creeping into his voice as he lifted his head, meeting Hawke’s gaze.

“Your video is trending,” Hawke muttered. His finger traced circles in Fenris’s back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He sounded almost jealous, like he wasn’t ready to share Fenris with the world. “So many weird comments… like they only care about your looks. Not the music.”

Fenris didn’t want the attention either.

But it was just one stupid music video. And in the city of angels, no one cared about one leather-clad shadow. As long as you kept your sunglasses on and faded into the background.

Fenris smiled, gave a quick peck on Hawke’s lips. “Let’s just get some coffee. I’ll pick up breakfast. Then we can talk about what you want to see.”

Another kiss.

“Okay?”

But when Hawke was getting ready in the bathroom, he checked his socials. So many new messages and likes. Someone had even shared some articles, “Why haven’t we heard about The Abominations before?” “From teen angst to rocking—What you should know”.

He sighed and grabbed a pair of Ray-Bans. Flashed a smile to Hawke as they stepped out.

No one was waiting there, no one cared enough. And that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

All too soon they were tucked side by side in a tram, the tour guide’s voice carrying constantly over the speakers. The air was already too hot and Fenris was drowning in sweat in his leather pants.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to a Studio Tour! You love movies.” Hawke grinned, snapping yet another picture.

“At first I was too poor,” Fenris muttered. “And now… it has Jimmy Fallon.”

And he’d never had anyone to come here with. Isabela and Zevran were more interested in the nightclubs and parties. Not seeing the house from Psycho.

The tram rattled on, past facades of wood and plaster. Nothing here was real. Whole streets no one ever lived in, just a mirage.

“I like him. He’s funny…Oh!” Hawke said, his head turning around. “It’s the square from Back to The Future!” The camera clicked again, rapidly.

Fenris just watched him, hiding his smile behind the dark glasses. But Hawke’s child-like enthusiasm was catching on. Maybe he’d been living here for too long, forgotten what this place was really about.

Dreams.

“I did visit a murder tour once. Black Dahlia, Manson… all that,” Fenris grinned and dug a water bottle from his bag. “It was interesting.”

Hawke narrowed his eyes. “You’re weird.”

His grin returned, even wider than before. “But I like it.”

His hand brushed Fenris’s, just quickly. They were alone in the back, but it was still a public place.

Suddenly, the people started yelling “shark”.

Fenris rolled his eyes, watched the staged scene unfold. There wasn’t even blood in the water. But the spattered water did feel nice, when the mechanical shark swam past him.

“Could we go somewhere with AC next?” he muttered.

Sure, they were playing “Hawke’s choice”. But he didn’t want to die of heatstroke.

“Why’d you wear leather? You’ve been living here for ages, it’s summer. It’s supposed to be hot,” Hawke grinned and poured some water into his palm, splashing it at Fenris.

“Most places have AC’s. Not really an outdoorsy person, you know,” Fenris grunted.

“You’re worse than Malcolm,“ Hawke smiled, finally entwining their fingers together. “We’re getting you tacky bermudas, and no complaints.”

“As long as they’re black,” Fenris huffed, and dumped the rest of his water on his head.

“So, how about burgers at the Hard Rock Café? That’s your place, right?” Hawke asked, camera still in hand as he took photos of the view.

The tram ride was finally coming to an end.

“Never been there,” Fenris grinned and stood up.

There was enough sweat between the leather and his skin to fill a small pool. He had no idea how his pants were still staying on.

Hawke just stared at him. “What the hell you’ve been doing here?”

“Living,” Fenris said with a grin, already turning towards the exits.

That wasn’t exactly the truth. Most days he’d just been coasting, trying to work, waiting for the next tour and the recordings to start.

At first, flipping burgers. Living in a flat crammed with others. Then the drummer’s van, after they got kicked out. Playing in bars where the stage was protected with chicken wire. Countless hours on the road, setting up posters in the middle of the night, hoping at least some people showed up so they could pay for the gas.

He didn’t want to think of the rest.

But Hawke didn’t need to know any of that.

The back seat of the taxi was cool and calm after the screaming tourists. Fenris sighed with pleasure and leaned against the back.

“And next, the new single drop from The Abominations. If you haven’t heard of them before, don’t worry. I hadn’t either. But listen to this and send us your thoughts on Facebook or Instagram!” a voice on the radio spoke. They sounded like they were on the fourth pan of coffee.

Fenris pushed harder against the seat, like he could disappear into the padding. But Hawke just grabbed his hand once more, his thumb gently brushing the knuckles, making the fist slowly open up. “It’s a good song.”

“It’s commercial,” Fenris muttered, staring out the window as the traffic slowly climbed down towards the city center.

Hawke nudged him with his shoulder, poked at his cheek with his free hand. “Stop being like that. Listen to your song on the radio.”

The taxi driver quickly glanced at the back seat, eyebrow cocked. “This your song?”

“Yeah, my boyfriend’s band.” Hawke said with a newfound proudness in his voice.

Fenris’s eyes widened and he glanced at Hawke, just briefly. Didn’t say anything. Just let the word settle in his chest, warm and comforting.

“Can I get an autograph? I can tell, you will be big,” The driver said and started digging through his glove compartment. His car veered almost to the opposite lane before he handed Hawke a worn notebook. “I collect names.”

Fenris stared at the notebook, then started flipping through the pages. There were some names he recognized, some he didn’t. Smiley faces and small notes. It smelled faintly of sunscreen and spilled beer.

And when he finally found an empty page, he scribbled down his name. Stared at it for a moment. The letters looked thin and uneven, like they knew they didn’t belong there. But he couldn’t wipe it away. Now it was part of a stranger’s books, next to hearts and stars.

With a sigh he closed it and handed it back to the driver.

Guess it was too late to learn calligraphy now.

They slid out of the taxi, back into the blistering heat. Back into the hordes of tourists, flashing cameras and the smell of hot concrete, traffic and food. But Hawke was still holding his hand, and the meteors weren’t falling or the ground opening up.

Just one more couple, enjoying the late afternoon and each other.

They stepped under the canopy and Hawke leaned closer, whispering into Fenris’s ear. “The word slipped. Hope you don’t mind.”

Fenris gave Hawke’s hand a tiny squeeze, a long kiss on his lips and slid his hand free. “I didn't hate it.” He gave Hawke a grin and stepped inside the restaurant, leaving Hawke standing in the shade, dumbfounded.

Classic rock played in the stereos, the smell of fried food drifting in the air. Walls plastered with framed photos, vinyls and old clothes. Battered guitars. Shrines of heroes of past and present.

Fenris stopped in front of one particular frame, staring at the simple leather trousers squished behind glass and the image painted beside them, shoulder-length hair and defiant eyes, holding on to a microphone.

Hawke walked to him, only giving the image a quick glance, then watching Fenris in silence.

“When I was younger, I wished to become one of them,” Fenris whispered. Mostly to himself. “Immortalized icons. Creating something that would last longer than they did.”

He used to think he had to scream and scandalize just to get noticed. Now he just wanted to be heard when he was whispering. Or didn’t talk at all.

Fenris’s fingers brushed against the painting, not daring to touch the frame. “I’m starting to understand why they are immortal.” His voice hitched. “And I don’t want it anymore.”

Hawke stayed quiet, his hand slowly sliding to Fenris’s back, caressing the bare skin of between the shirt and the pants. “I don’t want an immortal.”

He pulled Fenris closer, eyes locked. “I want you,” he whispered, his breath warm against Fenris’s lips.

Still not the dreaded L-word. But something frightfully close to it.

Fenris kissed Hawke’s lips. Then quickly pulled away, heart thumping in his ears. Retreating towards the counter and the tourists, like it could erase what Hawke had said.

Fenris turned, a smile back on his face. He slowly counted to ten, focusing on his breaths. Calming them down. “What you wanna eat?”

Hawke hadn’t followed him right away, just stayed by Morrison’s stare, hands in pockets, watching and smiling. Like he knew what Fenris couldn’t say out loud.

After burgers, overly-priced merch and walk down the Walk of Fame, they finally caught a cab, heading back towards the outskirts, away from the people, the lights and the never stopping movement.

Fenris had fallen quiet, just watching the cars driving by. He felt tired, but not from stress or work. Just being out in the open all day, even if it had been with Hawke.

He glanced at Hawke, who was clicking through the photos he’d taken that day. He still hadn’t replied to Hawke’s confession. He wasn’t sure how.

They stepped into his apartment, the air still and hot, the AC starting in the background.

“I’ll take a quick shower. There’s soda in the fridge, if you want something,” Fenris muttered, heading towards his room.

“Can I come with you?” Hawke asked, placing the bags on the floor.

Fenris froze mid-motion, fingers still on the lacings of his pants. For a heartbeat, he stared at Hawke. He had no words, just a slow nod.

The water fell on their skins, washing away the dust and the sweat, the smell of the city.

Their lips met once more. Hawke pressed Fenris’s back against the cool tiles, hand tracing down the sharp edges of his hipbones, then slid lower. Confident and firm, like the last trace of his insecurities had finally washed away.

Fenris kissed the curve of his neck, letting his eyes close. He wrapped his arms around Hawke’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. “I’m yours,” he whispered, the voice barely audible above the streaming water and their breaths.

Hawke didn’t say anything, just lifted Fenris up and pressed him harder against the wall, grabbing Fenris’s wrists in his hand, moving them towards the ceiling. Joining their bodies together once more.

But this time it was different. The word was out, though neither of them had said it out loud. But they knew.

And when they lay beneath the covers, skin still steaming from the hot shower, Fenris moved closer, his spine against Hawke’s stomach, Hawke’s arm under his neck, the other wrapped around his waist.

Hawke gave a soft kiss on the back of Fenris’s neck and whispered good night to his ear.

His breath stirred the fine hairs, making Fenris shiver despite the heat. “Good night, Hawke.”

Hawke let out a tired chuckle. “You never say my first name.”

Fenris grabbed Hawke’s hand, pulled it tighter around him. “You’re my Hawke,” he huffed.

Like that explained everything.

And maybe it did.

Hawke just let out another chuckle, one more kiss on the back of his neck, just below the hairline, and fell quiet, bodies fitting together like they were sculpted that way.

Sirens and traffic droned in the distance, the city lights never dimmed down, but here it was quiet and dark, just two people sleeping, and for once, not dreaming.

The week passed far too quickly. Walking hand in hand at the Monica Pier, eating shaved ice as the Sun set into the Pacific Ocean. Renting bikes and heading to the hills, returning with burnt necks and aching muscles.

Cooking together in Fenris’s small kitchen, Hawke barefooted and singing off-key, Fenris mostly watching, half-cocked smile on his lips, trying to imprint the scene in his head.

Doing tiny, mundane things, enjoying the closeness.

The only thing they kept fighting about—and Fenris kept winning in the end—who would pay for things.

He kept telling Hawke it was his turn, he was hosting and that was all. He had the money and was happy to shower Hawke with it.

But he also noticed how much it kept bugging Hawke. He was used to being the provider, the so-called “man” in the relationship, in the retrogressive sense.

“Okay, pay. I don’t want to fight anymore,” he muttered to Hawke, as they were standing at the foodmarket’s counter. He stepped aside, gave Hawke a smile and grabbed a bag.

Hawke just blinked and started digging out his wallet, surprised but clearly happy.

Some things weren’t worth winning.

It was their last evening together, Hawke would head back home tomorrow. It should’ve not felt like an ending, but it meant they would have to return to Skyping and phone calls.

That meant not waking up together, not watching movies as they snuggled up together on his couch. No more kisses in the shower.

No one tethering him to reality.

Once again, Fenris sat cross-legged by the kitchen island, head propped lazily on one hand, watching Hawke’s back as he prepared the pasta. “I think this is the first time anyone has used my oven.”

Hawke turned, eyebrow raised, ladle in hand. “But why? Casseroles are the easiest medal prep.”

Fenris snorted. “Not really a prepper.”

Protein shakes were so much easier, or maybe grabbing something on the fly—if he remembered.

Hawke gave him a wide smile, and started pouring the ingredients into a pan. “Well, here’s something for you to eat next week.” He topped it off with breadcrumbs. “Mom’s recipe. Tuna.”

A distant memory floated to Fenris’s mind. The two of them, sitting in the dorm’s kitchen. Sharing food Hawke’s mom had given him.

Fenris slid to his feet, wrapped his arms around Hawke’s waist and gave him a long kiss. “You remember?”

Hawke returned the kiss, locked his eyes with Fenris. “I remember everything.” He sighed, placing the ladle on the counter. “I just wish I would’ve been stronger then. We wouldn’t have missed all that time.”

Fenris smiled, pressing his head against Hawke’s chest. Just listened. “We have time now,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a prayer.

Hawke gave him a kiss on his head, then pulled away. Set the food in the oven and started washing the dishes.

Fenris just stayed in place, the distance already settling onto his skin like the first breath of winter.

And after the dinner, after one more movie together, as they lay in bed, Fenris placed his head on Hawke’s chest, inhaled his scent.

For the first time in a week he was craving a cigarette.

Already replacing one addiction with another.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the familiar noises, the AC, the drone of the traffic. But more importantly, Hawke’s breathing and steady pulse.

He already knew he would fall again.

And as Fenris sat behind the wheel of his car, watching Hawke walk away, carrying his bag, the darkness started seeping in. The touch of Hawke’s fingers fading from his skin, the warmness of his lips leaving Fenris’s.

He reached into his glove compartment, dug out a pack of smokes.

Did one more wave as Hawke stepped through the sliding doors, uncertain if he could even see it.

He lit up. Inhaled.

Sped off like he could escape the goodbye.

Chapter Text

Fenris sat back in the conference room, the rest of the band on his side of the table, the PR-people on the other. Staring at the PowerPoint at the whiteboard. “Working on the ‘hype-strategy’”.

They called it hype.

He called it selling the meat.

The worn pick kept spinning between his fingers, and the coffee mug stayed empty. He glanced sideways, the singer was looking at his phone under the table. Maybe he could do the same. These people seemed more interested in their slideshow than what the actual musicians were doing.

Fenris slid out his phone and started typing a message.

“Still in meeting. PR wants us on a radio-show. Photoshoot. Losing brain function. You?”

Hawke replied with a selfie, with a message “Preparing for winter”. Hair messy, sticking to his forehead. A wide grin plastered on his face. Holding an axe over his shoulder.

No shirt.

Fenris felt blush creeping to his cheeks and leaned forward, trying to hide the phone further under the table.

He started typing a reply, something along the lines of “sending pictures like that is not fair”, when someone’s hand slammed against the table. He closed the screen and leaned back against the chair, eyes lifting up.

“Questions?” One of the PR-folk asked. Maybe one of the Mike’s. Or Mark. Whatever.

“Do we have to do this?” The singer asked, stretching out his arms, grinning.

Fenris chuckled along with the others.

The Mike-Mark’s brow furrowed and he started talking about contracts and the importance of it all, so the record would sell and people would come to see them live. Which of course meant money.

Fenris just rolled his eyes and stood up. “Just send the details to my PA, I’ll be there.”

He walked out of the door, followed by the rest of the band.

“You’re getting better at this,” the drummer noted as they crammed into the elevator.

Fenris sighed and leaned against the wall. “I just hate all this bullshit. Gimme a bus, the dates and a guitar. Let us show what we actually do, instead of these fucking parades.”

The singer gave him an elbow. “Not enjoying the attention, Hollywood’s favourite bisexual bad boy?”

Fenris shot him a glare. “Stop calling me that.”

He didn’t even know where the tabloids had dug them up—old photos, leaving parties with whoever. Kissing Bryan on the stage in some dump, just to rile up the front row and to piss off the back. Past mistakes plastered in yellow pages.

But the singer kept on pressing. “I’ve still got the article. Does Hawke know you ‘swing both ways’, or should I just send it to him?”

Fenris jumped forward, hand in fist as he pushed the singer against the opposite wall with a loud thud. “Shut up!”

The drummer and bassist grabbed his shoulders, pulling him away. “Just a joke, let it go, Fen.”

Fenris just stayed quiet and dug out a cigarette. Placed it between his lips, just to stop the words. He hated how easy it was, throwing punches against words.

As soon as the elevator stopped, he rushed towards the door. Sunglasses down, cigarette lit before sunlight hit his face. He kept telling himself, it was just the stress getting to him.

The singer stepped out. Gave him a glance and a pat on the shoulder. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said it.”

The drummer wrapped his arms around their shoulders. “Let’s try not to kill each other before the tour, ok?”

Fenris threw the butt towards the trash, missed and watched it lay on the ground, crumbled and still smoking. “Whatever.”

“Afterwork?” Someone asked.

Fenris considered it just a second. He knew it wouldn’t be wise, a drink always turned to many. But it was better than going back to the empty apartment.

So he just nodded and lit up another smoke.

Joined the others in teasing the singer about his latest hookup.

And returned home at the break of dawn. Tired and drunk. He didn’t even bother undressing. He collapsed face-first into the sheets, still stinking of smoke and sweat, the taste of vodka sour in his mouth.

Another day in paradise.

Fenris was sitting in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection. Hair styled, eyes lined and the makeup artist still adding more powder. Finally, he swatted the hand away with an angry scowl.

They answered with an unimpressed flick of the tongue and put down the puff.

Music was blaring from the stereos, just a bit too loud to his hangover tensed brains.

He got up from the high chair, and started heading towards the door. Just to get away from the noise, the smells and maybe for a smoke. But before his fingertips could reach the handle, the stylist grabbed his shoulders and guided him—quite roughly—back. He had a disapproving scowl on his face. “Those jeans are way too loose. And how about some mesh… Let’s show off those abs?”

Fenris wanted to punch him in the face.

The drummer was goofing around in his boxers, asking if a feather boa would fit his aesthetics and pretending to be offended when he was denied.

Fenris rolled his eyes and grabbed the pants, ducking behind the screen. But the stylist just stepped in, shook his head and grabbed the pants from Fenris’s grip.

He tried wrapping a leather kilt over Fenris’s waist, hands brushing over his hips, lingering too long. Fenris took a step back, stomach turning. The hands were cold and slim, strangers.

A lump in his throat, he grabbed his jeans from the rack and started pulling them up. “I’m wearing these or leaving. Okay?”

The stylist opened his mouth, then shut it again. Rolled his eyes like he’d been offended.

Fenris left him standing there and walked outside. The music was still blasting, even through the door. His eyes closed as he leaned against the wall and called Hawke.

He could still feel the stylist’s hands touching him, crawling on his skin like ants.

When Hawke finally answered, Fenris exhaled. “Hey, you.”

“How’s the shoot going?” Hawke asked.

Fenris huffed, turned away from the phone and lit up a cigarette, hoping Hawke couldn’t hear the flick of the lighter. “I look like a fucking plastic doll.”

Hawke chuckled, softly. “That well, huh?”

“One idiot wanted me to put on a kilt.” Fenris grunted, taking a long drag.

“He thought you’re Scottish?”

Fenris knew Hawke was only trying to make him feel better. But all he could muster was a short, dry snort. “Something like that.”

“I’m sure you look good. Send me a pic, if you want.” Hawke said, softly. “The new single sounded great!”

Fenris sighed. “It’s better than the first. Less glitter and more grit.”

The door opened, someone giving him a five-minute-warning. Fenris grunted. Pointed at his phone.

“They need me back inside. And if one more person touches me, I’m punching them.” Fenris snorted. “Keep your eyes on the tabloids. ‘Deranged rocker burns down a photo studio’.”

Hawke burst out in laughter. “I think you meant ‘enraged’.”

“Nope. Deranged,” Fenris said flatly and tossed the cigarette. “Talk to you later… Hawke.”

He ended the call, but stared at the name a while longer. Once more, he swallowed down the word he really wanted to say.

He opened the door. Closed it again.

Snapped a quick selfie against the red tiles. Forcing a smile to replace the scowl. Hawke didn’t deserve that.

The studio was too hot, smelling of heating lamps, dust and makeup.

And when the photographer started shouting out orders, Fenris withdrew his thoughts back to Hawke’s voice and smile. He let them pose him like a mannequin, suppressing the flinches when they turned his head or moved his hands.

Bought a bottle of vodka on his way home. Stopped at the corner shop for another.

With tired eyes, watched the hair gel and makeup spiral down the drain. Skyped Hawke, the water still dripping on his shoulders.

After the good nights, and swallowed words, he stared at the screen a moment longer. Hoping Hawke would come back.

And finally, stepped on the balcony, looking at the city lights and cracked open the cork.

Just part of the job.

“Saw the new pictures. You weren’t kidding. That much Photoshop should be illegal," Hawke’s voice carried over the speaker.

Fenris snorted. “We’ve still got that radio-thing today. At least I won’t be choking on powder.”

He was back in his apartment, sitting on the bed, making a new hole in the belt with scissors. His hands were shaking. Discarded clothes lay on the floor in piles of black leather and torn denim. Everything was too loose.

He finally settled on the shorts he’d bought when Hawke was visiting and zipped them up. Tightened the belt. “How’s Malcolm?”

“Well, you know. Excited about going to first grade.” Hawke said, sounding like a proud father.

Fenris sighed and picked up the phone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come for his birthday.”

“It's okay. He loved the massive garage you sent. Been playing with it ever since,” Hawke said. “And you’re still coming over in two weeks?”

“Of course,” Fenris muttered and gave a final glance at the mirror. His ribs were still visible through the t-shirt. He dug a loose hoodie from the closet and added it on top. “I need a break before the tour starts.”

“I can only imagine…” Hawke said. “Talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah. Miss you,” Fenris whispered and ended the call. He hovered for a moment, thumb resting against the screen, before tossing the phone in his bag and grabbed sunglasses.

The sun was blaring down from a clear sky, sweat already forming on his temples. At least his car had AC and he could drive it to the studio’s parking hall.

Once more crammed on a sofa with the band, at least this time there were no cameras. Just a mic, and the host. And he seemed to actually care about the music, rather than the surface.

“So, new album…” the host started, pointing at them with a pen. “Can I just say, I like it. Less teen-angst and middle fingers and more… mature. What changed? What made you go this direction?”

“Well. The band’s dynamic changed after Bryan’s leave of absence,” the singer chimed in.

Fenris gave him a side-eyed glance. Guess leave of absence sounded better than ‘yet another rehab and getting dropped.’

“And our long-time rhythm guitar really stepped up and took his place in the front,” the singer continued.

The host turned his eyes to Fenris’s direction. “So, how does it feel? You’ve been getting a lot of attention in the tabloids, mostly for your looks and your sexuality.”

Fenris sighed, trying his hardest to hide the eye-roll. “I’m just a musician. That’s what I want to do. Play music with the rest of the band.”

The host lifted his hand, stopping Fenris. “Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.” He continued with a smile, “I’m really liking the new riffs and the songs.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes and leaned back. The host’s foot had just brushed against his leg under the table. A mistake—surely. Hopefully. He shifted his weight, pulling his legs closer to the couch.

“Heard you also got to do songwriting this time. How’s that process been?” The host continued, smiling. Like nothing had happened.

Fenris took a sip of coffee. “It’s been a process.” A slanted smile rose on his lips. “But I’m glad these guys finally let me try it out.”

“Maybe they should’ve let you try it sooner.” The host said with a soft smile, staring straight at him.

Fenris didn’t answer. It wasn’t about letting, and more about Bryan’s absence. They needed to fill out the record and couldn’t refuse when Fenris made the suggestion.

The host had already switched back to the usual radio-voice. “Here’s the newest single from the upcoming album. We’ll be right back with The Abominations, to discuss the upcoming tour!”

They dropped off the air and Fenris let out a long exhale. “Can I grab a quick smoke?”

The host gave him a nod and Fenris stepped out of the studio, sweating.

The outside air was even worse, hitting him like an open oven. The smog hung low, mixing in with the smoke from his cigarette as he took a long drag.

The coffee came back up, fast and acidic, and he doubled over, trying to spit out the shame before anyone could see. His throat burned, eyes leaking water. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, taking another drag to cover up the taste.

“I can see the diet of nicotine and not-eating is working,” the drummer said, dryly. He was already sitting on a bench, smoking. “All you need is some drugs and we’ve got another Bryan.”

Fenris straightened up, stomach still convulsing. “I’m not him.”

“Sure. Haven’t heard that before,” the drummer kept staring at Fenris, a mixture of worry and surrender on his face. But in the end, he just stood up and threw the butt in the ashtray. “We’re going back on air. Coming?”

Fenris just nodded and inhaled the rest of the smoke. Guess the hoodie hadn’t worked.

He followed the taller man inside, back to the booth.

More questions about the tour, the dates.

And when the interview finally ended, Fenris’s head was spinning and the nausea was hitting with vengeance. He got up and finally unzipped the hoodie, pushing up the sleeves.

The drummer gave him a quick glance, before shaking hands with the host.

“It's been a real pleasure to have you here. Good luck with the tour! And once more, this was The Abominations! You can see them all across the country, check the dates on their website!”

The show was off air.

“It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Fenris.” The host said, stepping up closer.

Fenris shook the offered hand, wanting nothing more than to get out.

But the host didn’t let go. Instead, his grip tightened, just lightly. His voice lowered, as he leaned closer. His breath burned Fenris’s neck, the smell of his cologne clinging to his throat. “Listen… I’m having a small party this weekend. Just a few friends, local musicians. If you—and the rest of the guys want to drop by, you’re welcome.”

Not so long ago he would’ve been happy to accept. Party in the Hills, surrendering to temptations. Making connections.

But now it felt like an invasion.

“I’ll… think about it,” Fenris muttered and yanked his hand free. Followed the rest of the band out, still feeling the host's eyes on his back. He wiped his hands on the shorts the second the door clicked shut.

“Where the fuck do they find these creeps?” Fenris muttered as he lit up a smoke.

The singer glanced at him, voice bitter. “What do you mean?” A pause. “He actually talked about music. Not your looks. Rare these days.”

He sounded jealous.

Fenris didn’t say anything, just walked towards the parking, the sun’s rays merciless, heat rising from the concrete.

A loud squeal pierced his thoughts. Then another. In seconds, he was surrounded by a group of young women. Talking excitedly, asking for autographs and taking pictures.

Their noises grew even louder when the rest of the band walked closer, their voices blurring into cacophony. They huddled together for pictures, the singer’s hand on his shoulders. Someone’s hand grabbed his ass, hard, and Fenris flinched, trying to escape.

But the singer just grabbed him harder and gave him a quick scowl.

Anything for fame.

Later that evening, Fenris stepped out of the corner shop and cracked open a bottle of wine. It wasn’t cool, or even good. But it was liquid and eased the burn in his throat. He could still feel the hands on his body, touching and groping.

He knew the fans didn’t mean to harm, they just thought it was normal. But that only made it worse.

He dropped the empty bottle in the recycling, lit up another cigarette. He should empty out the ashtray, it was overflowing—again. Or maybe just ask the cleaning lady the next time she comes over.

Fenris walked up the steps, sliding down the sunglasses. He let out a long exhale when the door closed behind his back. Finally back in the safety of his own four walls.

But the AC was turned on, the lights burning. Had he forgotten to shut them off?

He stopped on his tracks when something clattered in the kitchen.

Fenris’s eyes narrowed, and instinctively he wrapped the keychain around his knuckles. This was LA, break-ins weren’t unheard of.

He was already digging out his phone, when a figure stepped out, silhouetting against the windows.

Fenris swallowed, hands dropping to his sides. “Isa, what are you doing here?”

He hated the slur in his own voice.

“Came to do this,” Isabela said and closed the distance between them. She gave a hard smack in the back of his head.

Fenris flinched. Not from pain. Just surprised to see her there. He was still rubbing the spot, absentmindedly, when Isabela’s arms wrapped around him.

”And this,” she muttered, as she squeezed the air out of his lungs. Fenris took a shaky inhale, breathing in her familiar scent.

“Jumped on the first plane after I saw the new photos… And talked with Hawke on the phone,” she continued as her arms slid down. “He's worried. I'm worried.”

Her fingers stopped at the edge of his ribs, pressing hard through the softness of the hoodie.

Fenris didn't meet her eyes. “It's just st—”

“Don't you fucking say stress,” Isabela huffed. “You look like a walking corpse and your place was littered with empty bottles when I came in.”

Fenris swallowed, eyes turning to the floor. He could still taste the wine on his tongue.

She wrapped her fingers around Fenris's wrists, her eyes scanning down, checking and turning the arms slowly. Like she was expecting to find bruises. Or worse.

“Stop it,” Fenris muttered and tried yanking his arms free. Isabela’s fingers felt like shackles, unyielding. “I'm not using anything.”

“That's something at least," Isabela muttered, finally letting go. ”Sit. I made food.”

Fenris stared at her, eyebrow cocked. The smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. ”You? Made food?”

Isabela rolled her eyes.” Okay… Got takeaway. But I re-heated it.”

Fenris hadn’t even registered the smell of food, but now it made his stomach turn. “I just ate.”

Isabela just gripped his shoulders and led him towards the kitchen, her long nails digging into his collarbones. “You’re eating. Or I’m tying you down and feeding you.” She snorted, mostly to herself. “I’m excellent with ropes.”

Fenris sighed. Rolled his eyes. But grabbed the fork when offered and tried his hardest to ignore how the grains of rice resembled insect eggs on his tongue as he bit down.

Isabela stayed standing and placed a glass of water next to him. Fenris gave it a quick glance and swallowed it down. It made ingesting easier.

Finally, she sighed and grabbed a seat. “Why didn’t you call me? Or talk to Hawke…”

“About what?” Fenris muttered, swallowing down another slimy, chewed down ball.

Isabela smacked him again, this time softer. “Drinking too much. Eating too little.” She took a short pause, leaning against her palm. “Since when has your taste in dry, white wine gotten down to straight up vodka? “

“The last time we met, you were hammered,” Fenris muttered.

“I’m no saint, you know that. But not every day. Not alone,” she sighed. “Please, Fen. Talk to me.”

Fenris just stared at the food on his plate, pushing it around with his fork. He couldn’t take another bite.

“I haven’t seen you this bad since, what’s-her-name?” Isabela said, grabbing Fenris’s hand. “That little psycho-bitch, who emptied your wallet and left you with a black eye?”

Fenris hadn’t thought about her in a long time. She’d been the first girl he’d dated since coming to LA. Just one more person in the line of mistakes. “Let’s not talk about her, okay?” He pushed the plate away.

“So what’s it this time? First cracks with Hawke?” She huffed, glancing at the polaroid on the fridge.

It was from their Universal Tour. Hawke had a huge grin on his face, arm slung on Fenris’s shoulders. Fenris was trying so hard not to smile, he looked like he was pouting. Like ‘an angry puppy’, Hawke had commented.

Fenris stared at the oil gathering on the sauce. “Not Hawke,” he grunted. “Just… work.”

How the hell was he supposed to explain to Isabela how much he hated being in the public eye. The constant ogling, the probing hands. People talking like he couldn’t hear. Not to mention the online comments.

The hundreds of miles between him and Hawke didn’t help.

“I don’t understand how Bryan endured it,” he finally muttered.

Isabela grabbed his hand, tighter. “He didn’t. You’re not.” She closed her eyes, just briefly. “Heroin isn’t enduring.”

She was the only one Fenris had told the real reason why he’d been dropped. She hadn’t sounded surprised. Maybe she still remembered dragging Fenris out of the hotel room, the first time the two of them had met. After the gig, the alcohol and ecstacy.

“Still, not doing drugs,” Fenris muttered. At this point it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“No one starts shooting immediately.” Isabela’s voice was barely above a whisper. Her thumb moved slowly across the back of his hand. “I thought being a musician was your dream?”

“Music? Yes. The rest is the problem,” Fenris yanked his hand free. Even her touch was too much to bear. “I just want to play guitar and have fun.”

She gave the half-full plate a quick glance and sighed. “I know.”

She stood up and scooped the rest of the food back in the container. “Could we call Hawke next? I kinda promised him.”

Cold gripped Fenris’s insides. It was different to talk to Isabela about all this shit. They’d known each other for ages. But Hawke? He needed to keep up the facade, no matter how much mold was growing under the plaster.

He opened his mouth. Snapped it back again. “Let’s grab a smoke first?”

Isabela narrowed her eyes, but followed Fenris out to the balcony anyway. “Nothing like the smell of burning forest, smog and self-hatred.”

“If this is the city of angels, I don’t want to know what hell looks like,” Fenris snorted.

“Guess the Los Diabolos didn’t have the same ring to it,” Isabela replied. Her laughter was husky, but it was much better than the fear-ridden voice from before.

Her laughter slowly died down, leaving them in the usual cacophony of the traffic and sirens. “I know you don’t want Hawke to see you like this,” she took a drag. “But he’s already seen it. And he’s fucking scared.”

Fenris hid the flinch by raising his hand to his lips. Eyes on the yellow blaze in the distance. “I didn’t mean to slip this far.”

Isabela leaned against him. “I know, hun.”

They walked back inside, and slumped on the couch as Fenris opened up his laptop. He kept staring at the screen, finger unmoving on the touchpad. He wanted to hear Hawke’s voice, hear about his day. Not talk about himself.

Finally, Isabela sighed and took the mouse. “Fuck it.”

Hawke’s face appeared on the screen, hair tousled and a towel still slung over his shoulders. He gave them both a wide smile and a wave. “Hiya you two!”

Isabela just gave him a smile and leaned back against the couch. Not saying anything.

Fenris just gave Hawke a tired smile. “Hey, Hawke.”

“So, how did the interview go?” Hawke asked, trying his hardest to sound normal. But his fingers were fumbling with his sofa pillow.

“Talked about the record. About the tour. Nothing special,” Fenris said, forcing a smile.

Sure, the host had gotten awfully friendly in the end, getting too close and inviting him to a party. But Hawke didn’t need to know that. Fenris wasn’t going anyway.

“What about your day?”

Hawke smiled and started explaining his day. Despite being fresh out of the shower, he still had dark oil smudges on his hands.

Isabela still sat by Fenris’s side, just listening, arms crossed over her chest.

Letting out sighs and rolling her eyes as they kept going.

And going.

“Fuck it. Can’t stand this any longer,” she finally groaned. “You two talk every damn day and still manage to say nothing.”

Fenris’s mouth snapped shut. It was much easier to discuss the new track he’d heard on the radio than to talk about himself.

Hawke’s eyes drifted to somewhere off-screen and he took a long sip from a mug.

“For fuck’s sake… Women won’t stop talking, men just shut up. It’s feelings, not rocket science!”

She elbowed Fenris and hissed between her teeth, “either talk or show him what you’ve been up to lately.”

Fenris turned his eyes to her, biting his lip. “Could you give us a minute? I’d rather… you know.”

Isabela’s eyes narrowed, but she dug out a smoke and headed for the balcony, leaving Fenris alone in the living room.

Fenris kept staring at Hawke, trying to think where to start.

“I…,” he managed to mutter, but the words kept slipping away.

Hawke’s smile faltered and his eyes turned away. He took a long sip from his mug. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice it sooner,” he said, voice cracking. Then paused for a moment. “Or actually, I did notice. I was just too scared to say anything.”

He sighed, finally turning his eyes to the camera. “I’m afraid you’re not coming back from the tour.”

Fenris’s eyebrow raised, slowly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re killing yourself, Fen,” Hawke whispered.

His words felt like a punch against Fenris’s chest, air escaping his lungs. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. He just sat there, Hawke’s words echoing in his ears.

“I know you’re drinking. And all the weight you’ve lost? Shit,” Hawke muttered. “You’ve always been lean, but now you’re skinny. The last time I held you, you weighed nothing. And I…”

He took a long exhale and Fenris watched his Adam’s apple move under the scruffy beard.

“I’m afraid I’ll lose you.”

Fenris didn’t know what to say. The food rose to his mouth and he forced it down. He hated seeing Hawke like this, scared and vulnerable. But what hurt more was knowing he was the reason.

The balcony door opened and Isabela came back to the room. She took a seat next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “I’ll be here for a few days. Taking care of him.”

Fenris was still trying to calm his breaths, mouth full of chewed rice and sauce. He felt like an outsider in this conversation, like a child listening as the adults decided what was best for him.

“And, I contacted his PA. She’ll be making sure there’s food in the fridge.” Isabela continued. Her voice was steely, each word cutting Fenris like a blade.

“Isa, what the hell?!” Fenris finally managed to snap. Shame rose to his cheeks, coloring them crimson. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“I know,” Isabela said softly. “But I can’t be here all the time and you pay her to do things. Just one more duty, that’s it,” she continued with a sigh.

“Thank you, Isabela,” Hawke said, eyes fixed on the camera. They seemed to look straight through Fenris.

“No problem,” she grinned and finally released her arms. “For some reason, we both seem to love this one.”

Fenris didn’t miss the small gasp escaping Hawke’s lips.

Neither of them still hadn’t said the word. But neither did deny it either.

Fenris felt raw. Naked. It was much easier to ignore the problem when you’re alone and drinking it down. Which might have been a part of the problem.

“I hate you two,” he finally grunted.

But he didn't. And these two knew it.

After more re-heated leftovers and an old movie they’d seen way too many times, the two of them started settling in for the night. Isabela followed him to the master bedroom and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said she was sleeping next to him, just like she had during childhood sleepovers.

Back when life was so much easier.

Fenris started slowly peeling away the clothes, painfully aware of Isabela’s presence in the edge of his vision. He caught her staring before she quickly looked away. But he still saw it— the furrowing of the eyebrows and her mouth tightening. Like she’d seen something she couldn’t bear to look at.

He quickly turned off the lights and slid under the covers, back turned to Isabela. Tired. Ashamed. Once more, he’d been nothing but trouble to the people he cared most about. Spreading rot like a festering wound.

The mattress shifted under Isabela’s weight, her steady breaths soft and near. She wasn’t saying anything, but Fenris could feel her eyes in the back of his head.

“Fen, you asleep?” Isabela whispered.

It would’ve been easier to pretend. But she’d come all this way and Fenris couldn’t keep up the lies anymore. So he just shook his head, his hair rustling against the pillow.

Suddenly, something warm touched his shoulder and he flinched. The touch didn’t repeat. The rational part of his mind said it was only Isabela, not some stranger. But every nerve was wound up too tight, like a guitar string about to snap.

“Sorry,” he muttered. How was he supposed to explain it all? The stares and the cameras. The party-invites and lingering handshakes. Being treated like a toy you throw away when it breaks.

“Fen, I—,” she started, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

Fenris turned and stared at Isabela’s huddled silhouette. Reached for her hand and touched it softly. “Don’t say sorry. Please.” The words were getting caught in his throat again. “It’s me. It’s always been me.”

“What the hell you talking about?” Isabela whispered, her voice getting louder.

Fenris swallowed down the lump. “I feel like I’m cheating on Hawke,” he finally managed to mutter.

Isabela sat up. Fenris didn’t need to see her to know her eyes were narrow slits. “I’m still not following.”

Fenris sighed and pushed himself up, back against the cool wall. He slowly started explaining. About the groping fans. The “professionals” at the photoshoots, who kept touching and moulding him to their wishes. Finally mentioning the radio hosts lingering eyes and hands, and the invite to the party.

Isabela only listened, but Fenris could feel the sheet moving under his body, as she gathered it into her fists, trying to keep the anger at bay.

“And the worst thing? Some part of me wanted to accept the invite.” Fenris finally sighed, his head falling against the wall with a soft thud, eyes closing. “Go down there, get hammered and not worry about the consequences.”

“Fen… you’re seriously fucked up,” Isabela said into the darkness. Her voice sounded soft, but the words felt like a dagger piercing his heart.

Fenris bit on his lip. He’d known that forever, but hearing it from Isabela still hurt. He didn’t dare to open his eyes, nails dug into his palms. But even that didn’t ease the pain he felt in his chest. Now even Isabela would leave him.

Isabela sighed and shifted her weight.

Fenris tried to prepare himself for the punch—or worse—seeing her walk away.

“You’re not cheating on anyone,” she finally said. “It’s all those people. They’re hurting you. Fucking molesting you.”

Fenris opened his eyes, her gaze drifting to her silhouette. “They don’t mean it like that. It’s just part of the job.”

Isabela huffed. Her head turned towards the window. A siren was screaming somewhere nearby. “It really isn’t.”

Fenris watched her arm lifting, then dropping back down. He could barely hear her voice. “Can I give you a hug?”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but a hug wasn’t it. A tiny whimper escaped his lips, like all the words had already been said out loud.

But that was all Isabela needed. Her warm arms wrapped around Fenris’s shoulders. He tensed up, just for a second, before the familiar scent of spices and sea enveloped him. Even in her childhood trailer she’d always been something fierce. Something the outside world couldn’t touch. But now she was crying, heavy sobs shaking her frame as she leaned against Fenris.

He slowly lifted up his hand and started softly caressing Isabela’s hair. His eyes were dry, but the weight on his chest was easing up with every teardrop. Like she was crying for him too.

Next Monday Fenris woke to his doorbell ringing. Insistently. He tossed the covers off and grabbed yesterday’s clothes from the floor. His eyes were barely open, hands moving on automation.

The bell rang again, piercing through his temples and ears like an arrow.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall proved his instinct right. It was only 10 AM. Barely a morning for someone like him.

He let out a loud groan.

He wasn’t drunk. Not even hungover. Just tired.

Isabela’s plane had left at the break of dawn and she had insisted he’d take her to the airport. She could’ve afforded the taxi. She just wanted to make sure he’d be too tired to start drinking once he got back home. And she’d been right.

Fenris opened the door, squinting into the sunlight. Messy bleached hair, colorful sunglasses and torn shorts. Faded army-boots. His PA.

She just stood on the doorstep, finger still on the bell. She gave him an eyeroll and a pop of her chewing gum. “Good morn’n Mr Wolf.” She lifted up bags from the ground and took a step closer. “I’ve got your b’eakfasts and lunches ‘ight ‘ere.”

Her Jersey accent sounded especially thick through the morning haze.

Fenris stepped aside and pushed his hair back, trying to understand what she was saying. “For the hundredth time, it’s Fenris. Not Mr Wolfe,” he finally managed to mutter as he followed her to the kitchen.

She was unpacking the bags, pulling out more and more food. Neatly packaged tupperware with labels for each day of the week. Still popping her gum.

Fenris’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the labels. He’d seen something similar in one of Bryan’s rehabs. “Pre-planned portions for that perfect recovery” the brochure had advertised.

He covered a cough with his hand, hiding a flinch. “Look… I don’t know what Isabela told you, but this is really not necessary.” He wanted coffee and a smoke, not pre-sliced apple wedges and sandwiches.

He grabbed a container and shoved it back into the bag. “I didn’t hire a babysitter.”

She turned and grabbed the ‘Wednesday-lunch’ back into her hands and placed it into the fridge. On top of the ‘Thursday-breakfast’. “I know, Mr Wolfe.”

She just kept stacking the containers, until there was only one left on the table. She slid it on the table towards Fenris. “Isabela pays me for this.”

His brows furrowed. So she was just Isabela, and still the PA refused to call him by first name. Then again, he didn’t even remember hers. Something with a ‘W’? Wendy? Winnie?

Or maybe he just needed some Whiskey in his system.

She dug out a spoon and placed it on top of the tupperware. Leaned against the counter and just stared at Fenris. Popping.

“You want a tip or something?” Fenris groaned, digging out a smoke from his pocket. Placed it between his lips, flicking a lighter.

She yanked it away and tossed it into a trashcan.

Fenris stared at her in disbelief. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“She also pays me to watch you eat breakfast.” She gave him a quick look and grabbed her phone. Started browsing it like this was completely normal.

“The fuck she does!” Fenris’s voice rose. For a second, he thought of grabbing her by the elbow and hauling her out of the front door. But a law-suit was not worth the satisfaction.

“No offence, Mr Wolfe, but I’m more afraid of her than I’m of you.” She looked up for a moment, eyes slightly widening. “She’s fucking… sorry. She’s terrifying."

Fenris closed his eyes, counted slowly to ten. But the girl hadn’t disappeared when he opened them again. “Did Isabela say anything about coffee? Am I allowed to drink that?”

She just shrugged and kept browsing her phone.

In the end, Fenris just sat down and opened up the container. Eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, berries. All in their neat little sections. It looked like a burp from someone’s Pinterest board.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, Fenris was dragging his luggage behind him once more. Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach. He hadn’t seen Hawke for over a month. And even now, he only had four days.

He’d also promised to meet with Varric for an interview today. About the college fund and the new dormitory.

The whole point of giving away Danarius's heritage had been to get rid of it in secrecy. He didn’t want the publicity. But even he couldn’t ignore twenty voicemails.

At least this time he wouldn’t be groped, poked or analyzed. Just one small newspaper and a familiar face.

He stepped outside. The air was still warm, the foliage green, but there was the first crispness of Fall in the wind. His eyes scanned the parking lot, trying to find the familiar shape of the rusty truck.

Even the sunglasses couldn’t hide his smile when Hawke stepped out of the truck.

They greeted each other with a quick hug. A soft caress across Hawke’s back and he pulled away again. It felt like torture. But this was the Midwest. Men didn’t kiss men here in public. Not if you didn’t want dogshit in your mailboxes.

He slid into the car and took a long inhale. Artificial pine scent mixing with the real thing, dust, rust and a ghost of fries. But more importantly, Hawke’s soap and cola bubble gum.

Neither of them needed to say how much they’d missed each other. It was in every breath, in the entwining fingers. The way their knees brushed together in corners.

“You look good,” Hawke said as he quickly glanced away from the road. “Really good.”

Fenris felt a small tinge of pride. He’d been following the program to the T. Breakfast. Two hot meals a day. No booze. He’d cut down to a half a pack per day. Was out of bed before noon and doing yoga.

The bandmates had teased at first—of course they had. But they’d stopped when he sat through an interview without twitching, eyes steady on the host and the camera. More professional than any of them.

“You look good too. But you always have,” Fenris said softly, reaching across to caress Hawke’s jaw. Maybe it was just the way sunlight hit him, but he thought he caught a silvery streak in Hawke’s beard. It suited him—but he couldn’t help wondering if he was the reason it was there.

He let his hand drop back on the velour and turned to stare out of the window, watching the lines of trees blur past. “Sorry about the interview… but Varric wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say.

Hawke snorted. “He never has.”

It was strange, realizing Hawke probably knew Varric better than he did now. Even though Fenris and Varric had been in the same class since middle-school, played in the same band. But Hawke had stayed here—just like Varric. And Fenris had moved to LA. Letting years slip past.

Or maybe just tried his hardest to erase the past.

Fenris checked his watch again. He was sitting in a booth at the Hanged Man, waiting for Varric. The place seemed appropriate for multiple reasons. It was late afternoon so the place was quieter than a church after holidays. He and Varric had played here more than once.

But it was also the place where he and Hawke had first seen each other again, after Fenris moved away. Almost six months ago now. So much had happened since then.

Hawke was playing pool with some friends, giving him an occasional glance and a smile. Fenris hid his behind a coffee mug.

Waiting made him anxious and a dive bar maybe wasn’t the place to go if you wanted to avoid alcohol. But their choices included non-alcoholics, coffee and cola. Guess the 0% IPA hadn’t reached the hicks yet.

Fenris glanced at the watch. Of course Varric was late.

Finally, the door opened and a familiar figure stepped in. Still wearing an obnoxious tiki-shirt, unbuttoned to his navel. Sporting more chains on his neck than a rap-artist. And grinning wider than the Cheshire cat.

Fenris pushed himself up and offered out his hand. Varric grabbed it and pulled him into a bear hug, slapping his back with loud thuds.

“Good to see you, porcupine!” Varric grinned, finally letting go. “I mean, in the flesh. Been seeing you in tabloids and such a plenty.”

“Hello, Varric,” Fenris snorted. “Still haven’t learnt to use the buttons I see.”

“Why hide the perfection?” Varric smirked and slid into the booth. “What’re you having?”

Fenris sat down, a smile tugging at his lips. “I can pay for my own coffee these days.”

“Besides the point. It’s on the paper's dime,” Varric said and handed Fenris the menu. “Might as well bleed them dry.”

After the waiter had taken their orders, Varric finally leaned back and took a long sip from his pint. “So, how’s Hollywood treating you?”

“Been busy,” Fenris sighed, his eyes trailing back to Hawke. He was just leaning over the table, preparing for a shot. “Look—I’m here only for a few days, so could we just do the interview?”

“Touchy,” Varric huffed. “Meant it off the record. The phone’s not out, no notepaper. Just your old drummer.”

Fenris sighed a half-hearted apology. Sure, they’d been friends once. But Varric was a journalist. He had learnt not to trust the type. And old habits died hard.

“Hasn’t done great to your social skills, that’s for sure,” Varric said, his eyes narrowing.

He dug out his phone and placed it on the table. “You mind if I record this? Wouldn’t want to upset the big star, right?”

Fenris flinched at the words. Varric sounded offended, the grin was gone. Maybe he really had tried to be nice.

His fingers wrapped around the mug’s handle, wishing the coffee was spiked. “Just focus on the new dorm, please.”

Varric just hit the record on the phone and started flipping through his notes. “So, when did you decide what to do with the heritage?”

Fenris’s eyes dropped to the table, teeth biting into his lower lip. Not enough to pierce, just a tiny pain to ground him.

So that’s what they called it. Years of being treated as a punching bag. Watching Danarius slowly murder your mother. Not to mention how he got all that money. Just heritage.

Varric took a small pause and snorted. “Was it right after he keeled over, or after the party in the hills and crashing into a wall?”

Fenris lifted his head slowly, eyes burning. He shoved the mug across the table. It toppled, sloshing coffee all over the surface and Varric’s notes. Hands curled into fists as he stood up. He managed to hiss between his teeth, “Fuck off, Tethras.”

He started heading towards the door, anger still boiling over. He didn’t even turn to look back when he spat out, “the interview’s over.”

He heard Varric’s footsteps following him, and soon a hand grabbed his sleeve. Fenris yanked it free and turned sharply on his heels.

Everyone in the bar was staring at them. Okay—three customers, Hawke and the bartender. Four sets of eyes too many.

Varric lifted up his hands, palms towards Fenris. “Sorry. Bad attempt at a joke.”

Fenris folded his arms, mouth a straight line. “Whatever. I’m leaving.”

The smell of beer and whiskey hung heavy in the air, making his throat dry up. Coffee wasn’t enough.

“Please, don’t.” Varric’s voice changed again. Pleading and eyes wide with panic. “My last week’s top story was about three escaped goats. There’s only so many puns you can make about Huey, Dewey and Louie.”

Fenris saw Hawke stepping closer, head tilted, still hanging on to the cue stick. His eyes kept shifting between the two of them. “Everything okay?”

“It appears LA has killed all the humour in our mutual friend,” Varric muttered.

“No need to be a dick, Varric,” Hawke grunted. Suddenly he was standing right next to Fenris, their hands almost touching, familiar warmth radiating from his bare arms. “Maybe try treating Fenris like a person, not a punchline?”

Fenris wanted nothing but to grab his hand and head home—to Hawke’s home. To get out of the leather, drop the act, and relax for once.

“Garrett, please, tell your friend I meant no harm. I’ll be professional from now on,” He didn’t even look at Fenris.

And once more, treated like a product. Like someone else needed to take control, so the poor little Fenris wouldn’t make stupid decisions on his own.

“The friend is standing right here. He can hear you loud and clear,” Fenris hissed and turned away, digging out a cigarette from his pocket. “And now he’s leaving.”

He stepped outside before Hawke could react and lit up. Walked to Hawke’s truck and leaned his back against it. The doors were shut, but the truck’s familiar scent still seeped through the seals. Usually it calmed him down. But the rage wasn’t cooling.

He watched Hawke stepping out of the bar, then walking to him, an apologetic smile on his face. “Varric says he’s sorry. I think he really means it.”

“I should’ve just blocked his number after the third voicemail,” Fenris grunted and took a long drag. He didn’t want to smoke when Hawke was here. But it calmed him down and eased up the nerves. His heartbeat was still too rapid, thudding against his ears like a drum solo.

Hawke tucked an escaped strand of hair behind Fenris’s ear, his hand lingering on his cheek for a moment. “You really want to leave?”

Fenris nodded and let his cigarette drop to the ground. He was just tired of being the poster boy. “I hate journalists.”

Hawke chuckled lightly. “He’s also your friend.” He brushed his fingers over Fenris’s fist. “He’s really proud of you. Telling tales of how the two of you played together.”

He chuckled again, eyes gleaming like melted chocolate under the setting sun. “Though I doubt he taught you how to play bar chords.”

Fenris gave the empty street a quick glance, then pulled Hawke closer and gave him a soft kiss. He didn’t let go of Hawke’s shirt immediately, just whispered into his ear. “I want to be alone with you. Not sit in a shady bar with Varric.”

A tiny smile tugged at his lips when a gasp escaped Hawke’s mouth.

Hawke returned the kiss, hungry and eager, their bodies pressing together. But he pulled away all too soon. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “Please, just answer some stupid questions and then we’ll go. Okay?”

Fenris rolled his eyes and sighed. Stole one more kiss from Hawke, and started heading back towards the Hanged Man. “Just don’t blame me if he ends up with a black eye.”

“You’re not punching anyone,” Hawke said calmly. “I know you’re a softie on the inside.”

Hawke was right of course. The only person he’d ever kept punishing was himself.

Fenris opened the door and stepped back into the dusty, beer-smelling dump. Varric was back in the booth, phone on the table and notes spread out, like he’d known Fenris would come back.

He ordered another coffee—black—and walked back to the table. Trying to focus on the lingering taste of Hawke on his lips.

He gave Varric a small nod and listened to the apology. It did sound genuine, even though Fenris wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Fenris just asked Varric to return to the interview, his feet pressing hard against the worn wood. Ready to bolt if Varric gave him any more snark. At least he rephrased the first question.

Hawke returned to the game of pool, but his eyes kept flicking back at their table. And Fenris kept glancing back. Answering Varric’s questions on automation.

No, he hadn’t seen the dorm yet. Yes, he might visit it some day. Music can be more than a dream. Everyone deserves the chance to do what they love.

The only time his polite, rehearsed smile cracked was when Varric told him the name of the dorm. The name of Fenris’s mother. That was a heritage he could accept.

“I would’ve called it Hell,” Fenris joked. But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He glanced at his watch. They’d already been at it for two hours and the bar was starting to slowly fill up. Sure, most likely they were just here to get hammered and no one would notice Fenris sitting in the corner. But he didn’t want to take the risk of getting recognized.

“Is that all?” he said with a sigh.

Varric glanced at his notes and nodded. “I think I can make something with this.” He lifted his head, eyes meeting with Fenris’s. He looked uncertain. “Thank you for the interview.”

Fenris gave him a tired nod. “You had some good questions, Varric.” A smile was tugging at his lips. “Just keep the text like that and I won’t sue you.”

Varric stopped the recording and snorted, “nice to see you’ve still got some of the old jokes left, Fen.”

They shook hands over the table and stood up. Varric was slightly wavering on his feet, the usual wide grin on his face. Fenris just stretched out his arms, then hid a yawn behind his hand. “It was nice to see you again.”

“You too, Fen,” Varric grinned. “Though you’ve turned into a bit of a diva. Bring back the porcupine sometime, okay?”

And with that he turned and waved back with his hand. Heading towards a table full of young women, maybe a bachelorette party.

Fenris just watched him go with a tired smile. Some things never changed. And maybe that was the point.

A car ride later, they were finally behind the closed door of Hawke’s home. Just the two of them, Malcolm was with his mom.

Fenris stripped off his leather coat and let it drop to the floor with clattering studs and zippers. He entwined his arms around Hawke’s waist, enjoying the worn plaid against his cheek. Soft and warm, smelling faintly of oil and soap. Just like him.

Hawke gave Fenris a soft kiss on his head, arms curling around shoulders. “Welcome home.”

Such simple words, but they made Fenris’s breath hitch. He hadn’t called a place home since he moved out of the trailer with his mother. To Danarius's marbled prison.

“Home,” he whispered. He felt something wet fall on his cheek and he wiped it away. Fast. So Hawke wouldn’t notice.

Hawke pulled back, just to see Fenris’s face. He placed a soft kiss on his lips, fingers caressing his lower back. “This is your home too, if you want it.”

Fenris didn’t know how to answer. A simple ‘yes’ wasn’t enough.

So he just sealed Hawke’s lips with his own, opening them with his tongue. Like Hawke had opened his heart and home for him.

“I’m paying my part of the mortgage,” he muttered, finally pulling away from the kiss.

Hawke burst into laughter. Tousled Fenris’s hair, then gently trailed his jawline down, thumb caressing his lips, opening them up. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Fenris said with a soft smile. He kissed the tip of Hawke’s thumb, then took it between his lips and gave it a tiny suck. “Wanna take a shower together?”

A mischievous glimmer in his eyes, he took a step back and started opening up the lacings of his leather pants.

Hawke let out a sharp exhale and started tearing off his shirt. “Always.”

Stripped of clothes and heated kisses later, Fenris tossed his boxers into Hawke’s laundry basket. Might as well start leaving some clothes here.

Warm water poured down, Hawke’s lips warmer on his neck, teeth gently grazing his ear. Fenris still had a smile on his lips, fingers trailing down the seams of the tiles. Their bathroom.

He turned and wrapped his arms around Hawke’s neck, pressing their hips together.

He looked at Hawke’s face from under his lashes, water dripping down. “Home.”

Hawke didn’t reply, just leaned in for another kiss, slow and sure. Like he’d been waiting for that word.

After the warmness of the shower, Fenris didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep on the couch, head against Hawke’s shoulder. When he stirred, the credits were rolling on the TV, the room otherwise dark. Hawke was looking at him with a warm smile.

He replied with a drowsy grin and tried to get up on his feet, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “Guess we should head to bed?”

Hawke nodded and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. His arm was already around Fenris’s waist, scooping him up. He stood up, strong and steady, carrying Fenris in his arms to the bedroom, then lying him down.

Usually Fenris hated to be lifted up, especially now since he’d gained some of his usual weight back. But he was too tired to protest. And Hawke didn’t seem to mind.

They curled up under the covers, Fenris’s back pressed to Hawke’s chest, one arm tucked under his head, the other curled around his waist. Surrounded, but not restricted. Breathing in the scent.

A distant cry of loon carried in from an open window. It sounded lonely.

But he was inside, warm and close to the man he loved. Even if he hadn’t admitted it out loud. Or even to himself. Not yet.

Fenris’s eyes were closed, feet and palms planted steadily on the ground as he lifted his hips up once more. His head dropped between his arms as he let out a slow exhale. The stretch felt nice on his tight shoulders and calves.

“Now there’s a nice sight for a morning.”

Fenris’s eyes opened and he leaned back forward, knees falling to the ground. He turned his head towards Hawke, a lop-sided smile on his lips. “Can’t even do morning yoga in peace without someone ogling me?”

Hawke was leaning against the doorway, wearing nothing but sweatpants. A wide grin on his face. “I can’t compliment my boyfriend?”

Fenris rolled up and stepped forward, arms sweeping up in a deep lunge. “I’m almost done.”

He could still feel Hawke watching. Smiling.

It was getting harder to focus on the breathing, he already lost the count. He shot a quick scowl at Hawke, though the corner of his mouth was twitching.

He snorted. “Okay. I’ll go make breakfast.”

Fenris saw him leave from the corner of his eye, the scowl melting away from his face. He could do yoga in LA. But he couldn’t watch Hawke cooking.

He rolled out his shoulders and headed to the kitchen. Hawke was already breaking eggs, humming—trying to hum—with a song from the radio. Fenris walked to him and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. He couldn’t get enough of how warm Hawke’s skin always felt.

“Do you need help?”

Hawke gave him a quick glance and a smile. He already had dug out a whisk. “Not really. But you can make the coffee if you want.”

“Learnt not to trust my cooking skills?” Fenris said with a snort.

Hawke kissed the air and poured the eggs into a pan with a loud sizzle. “Not craving for a burnt omelette right now.”

Fenris flipped him a finger and started measuring coffee grinds into the filter. He’d brought it to Hawke from LA, freshly ground, dark roasted and organic. Not something you could get here.

“What do you want to do today?” Hawke asked. He picked up the pan and flipped the omelette in the air with one fluid move of his hand.

Fenris watched it happen from the corner of his eye. “Showoff,” he muttered, trying his hardest to keep the smile at bay. Hawke looked so proud of himself, glancing at Fenris, making sure he’d seen the trick.

Just one more stupid reason to fall harder and harder.

“But, I don’t know. What do you want to do?” he asked. His stomach let out a small growl. It had gotten too used to eating already.

“Well, my sister Bethany’s in town,” Hawke said, flipping the omelette once more. “I was thinking we could grab dinner with her and mom. They’ve been dying to finally meet you.”

Fenris blinked. His hands stopped moving. “You want your family to meet… me?”

Hawke set the pan on the counter and pulled Fenris closer. “Of course.”

Fenris stared at Hawke in disbelief. He’d never been the type you’d introduce to your parents. And only a few of his relationships had lasted longer than a night or maybe two. He swallowed down a lump.

This was moving too fast.

Hawke must have noticed his discomfort, his arms curling around Fenris’s waist. He had a playful smile on his lips. “You’re my boyfriend. Of course I want them to meet you.”

He continued with a snort. “Besides, Beth doesn’t believe her dork older brother is dating a rock star.”

Fenris knew Hawke didn’t mean it like that. But the voice was already there.

He’s only with you for the money. For the fame. For the status. Showing you off like a collector’s item.

He pushed Hawke’s hands away on instinct and took a step away. “I think the coffee’s done,” he muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

Hawke’s brow creased, his smile faltering. “Everything okay?”

“Just a bit of a caffeine headache,” Fenris lied, forcing a smile on his face. He turned towards the cupboard. The mugs felt heavy in his hands, clinking together loudly.

Hawke didn’t say anything, just continued watching as Fenris poured coffee. His hands were shaking, dark liquid splashing on the counter. He set the pan down and started wiping away the stains. The coffee soaked through the paper towel, scalding his fingers.

“Fen… what is it?” Hawke whispered, his hand landing on Fenris’s. Stopping it.

Fenris glanced at Hawke. He wanted a smoke.

No.

He needed a smoke.

He stared at Hawke’s hand, calloused and warm, against his own. Bony and cold.

“Maybe not today?” he finally muttered. “The tour’s coming up and I need some quiet before that.”

Usually he’d started tour prepping with sleep deprivation, hangovers and parties. Continued it on the road.

Now he just wanted to sleep next to Hawke, snuggle on the couch and maybe watch some films.

Hawke lifted up his hand and cupped Fenris’s cheek. His thumb trailed against the sharp edge of the bone. The smile returned, tender, not the usual grin. “Okay.” He pulled Fenris in for a kiss. “Whatever you want.”

“Now I want coffee. And my morning cigarette.” He shot Hawke a quick glance. “Just one.”

Hawke snorted. “Sure. You go outside and I’ll bring the food soon.” His voice dropped a notch. “I managed to find turkey bacon. It’s supposed to be healthier for you.”

“Thank you,” Fenris said, grabbing the mugs. “And sorry.”

Hawke was already digging through the fridge and only shot him a brief grin. Waved his hand towards the back door.

Fenris stepped outside, the morning air warm, steam rising from the forest. The air smelled like Autumn. He sat down and lit up his smoke. Watched a thrush hopping on the lawn as he leaned against his hand.

Hawke stepped out, carrying a tray stacked with food. Omelettes for both of them, crispy bacon and fresh berries. They smelled good, steam rising in gentle curls.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” Fenris sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m just stressed about the tour.”

Hawke took a seat across and handed him a fork. “Don’t apologize. I can’t even imagine what it can be like.”

Fenris skewered a piece of bacon, a smile tugging on his lips. “Ten guys crammed into a bus, stench of sweat and beer seeping into your clothes, and sleeping in a bunk the size of a coffin.” He snorted. “Absolute luxury.”

Hawke’s head tilted. “Then why do you do it?”

“Cause I’m a masochist.”

Fenris pushed his hair back as he looked Hawke straight into the eye. “And I love playing. Seeing the people singing the lyrics. The cheers. Stepping on the stage and knowing you belong.”

Hawke reached across the table and caressed Fenris’s cheek. “You also belong here.”

Fenris leaned against the touch and closed his eyes. He still didn’t fully believe Hawke’s words. But he wanted to.

Fenris smacked his sweat-covered neck, annoyed scowl on his face. “I still don’t understand why you dragged me out here.”

Hawke just laughed and dug out a water bottle from his backpack. “You said you wanted quiet.”

They were sitting on a fallen tree, looking over a stream. Forest stretched behind them, birdsong threading through the trees, midday sun blaring between the branches. And all the mosquitoes of the midwest seemed to be attacking at once.

“The house was quiet too. And had much less blood-thirsty insects,” Fenris grunted and slapped his thigh, hoping to decrease the population by one.

Hawke scooted closer and kissed his cheek. His arm wrapped around Fenris’s shoulder as he lifted up his phone. “Come on, give me a smile. I wanna show Isabela I managed to drag you outside.”

Fenris shot him another frown, “that phone is going into the river if you try to get any more photos.”

He stood up and kneeled on the riverbank. The water felt cool as he sunk his fingers into the glistening stream. He scooped up water with cupped hands, splashing it on his face and hair.

He heard the phone click.

“I can’t help it,” Hawke said with a wide grin. He leaned back against his hands, eyes on Fenris, his smile softening. “I love—,”

He swallowed down the rest of the words with a loud gulp.

His face was bright red as he turned his gaze away and started fumbling with the cork of his water bottle. “Love how you look right now,” he muttered.

Fenris was still kneeling, water dripping from his hair. He could hear his own heartbeat over the rushing water.

A gust of wind rustled leaves, sending waves across the river’s surface, blurring the reflections.

He stood up, slowly.

“Love how I look?,” he said with a flat tone. “Sweaty and dirty, covered in mosquito bites. Absolutely irresistible.”

He stepped in front of Hawke and combed the dark curls away from his face with damp fingers. “And I think I have a blister in my toe.”

Hawke looked up, a smile returning to his lips. “Want a biggyback ride back to the car?”

“I rather drown myself in that river,” Fenris said, rolling his eyes. But he couldn’t hide the smile completely.

Hawke grabbed his hand with his own and gave the knuckles a soft kiss. “I’m buying you hiking boots for Christmas.”

“How romantic,” Fenris chuckled and sat beside Hawke.

Maybe nature wasn’t so bad after all. Not when you had someone to share it with.

Fenris scratched a red spot on his neck and Hawke quickly swatted the hand down. Fenris sighed and tucked his hand under his thigh. He was itching all over and the collar of his shirt kept rubbing against one of the mosquito bites.

The next day they were back in Hawke’s pick-up, clean, dressed up, and headed into town for dinner.

Dinner with Hawke’s mom and sister.

“You could’ve worn an old tee and jeans,” Hawke said as he flicked on the blinker. “It’s Olive Garden, not fine dining.”

Fenris adjusted his tie, sneaking in a quick scratch at the bite beneath it. “Sorry if I wanted to be presentable.”

He still feared their reactions. To the tattoos and earrings. To him.

Sure, these were the women who’d made Hawke who he was. But that only meant they’d want only the best for him. And Fenris couldn’t fit the description.

“You always look good,” Hawke said softly as he parked the car. “And stop scratching. It’ll only make it itch more.”

He gently pulled Fenris’ hand free and brushed his thumb across the knuckles. “I know they’ll like you.”

A careful choice of words, Fenris noted. Not “love.” Just “like.”

They hadn’t discussed Hawke’s almost-confession again.

Just walked back to the car through the forest, dry leaves and gravel rustling under their shoes. Hawke had tried to convince Fenris hiking was the best way to release stress. He still preferred full bodied Merlot and a good record.

He stepped out of the car and shook his legs. They felt numb, though the ride hadn’t been long. Maybe it was just the nerves. And he’d left the cigarettes back at Hawke’s place. One more way to appear mature and worthy, like he had his act together.

He followed Hawke inside, straightening up his shirt and quickly checking his reflection in the glass door. Hair slicked back, no dark circles under his eyes. Straight pants and a button-up. Just a regular person.

A waiter greeted them with a smile and Hawke told him they had a reservation. He grabbed a handful of menus and started leading them through the mostly-empty restaurant.

Fenris spotted two women sitting at a table, chatting with animated hands. They were clearly related.

His hand crept into his pocket. Empty. He didn’t even have nicotine gum.

“Hey you two!” Hawke said and stopped. His arms wrapped around the older woman's shoulders.

Fenris let out a shaky breath and finally lifted up his gaze. Put on the best poster smile. Fake it till you make it.

The younger woman was eyeing him with a smile on her lips. Offering a hand. “You must be Fenris. I’m Bethany.”

“Nice to meet you, Bethany,” Fenris said, shaking her hand. Three times. Polite enough but not pushy.

But she didn’t let it go.

“Now I finally believe Garrett,” she said, pulling him closer. “He’s been gushing about you so much I thought you couldn’t be real.”

“Ha ha, Beth,” Hawke said flatly.

Bethany finally released her grip and threw her arms around Hawke’s shoulders. “Hello, big bro.”

Fenris turned his eyes to Hawke’s mother. She was still sitting down, smiling politely. Observing.

“Hello Mrs Hawke,” Fenris said, offering out his hand.

“Actually, it’s Amell,” she remarked.

Fenris’s smile faltered, just for a moment, before he forced it back on. He tried thinking back. Had he ever heard Hawke use her last name? Maybe. Maybe not. He couldn’t remember.

A warm hand wrapped around his own.

“But please, call me Leandra.”

Fenris let out the breath he’d been holding. A quick mental check on the mask. The smile. “Nice to meet you, Leandra.”

“Can we get to the food, please. I’m starving,” Hawke said as he pulled out a chair for Fenris.

Fenris stared at it for a moment, the polite mask cracking slightly. He knew Hawke was trying only to be a gentleman, but pulling chairs for boyfriends was a bit weird. He stifled a snort and sat down.

Hawke didn’t even seem to notice, just took a seat beside him. Grabbed the menu from the waiter and started browsing it.

Fenris had already forgotten the waiter entirely.

“Can I take you drink orders?” he asked as he dug out a notepad. A customer-service smile plastered on his face.

The others started arguing if they should get a whole bottle of wine and share it, or just get individual glasses.

“Sparkling water for me, thanks,” Fenris muttered as he scanned the menu.

The argument stopped, eyes turning towards him.

“Fenris lost the game of rock-paper-scissors and is driving,” Hawke said with a grin. “I get to drink.”

Fenris glanced at him, thankful for the lie.

Another thing they hadn’t really talked about. But he’d noticed there was no longer beer in Hawke’s fridge.

The waiter finally left with their orders and the menus, forcing Fenris to look back up.

Leandra was staring at him.

“So, my son tells me you’re a musician,” she said, crossing her hands on the table. “And live in LA.”

Fenris nodded. Adjusted carefully the width of the smile as he prepared for the interrogation.

“So how’d you two meet?”

“Mom, I told you already. We used to be roommates back in college,” Hawke said.

His knee brushed against Fenris’s under the table. Trying to ground him.

“I remember,” she said, but her eyes never left Fenris. “I’m still trying to understand how reconnecting with an old roommate turns into the end of a marriage.”

Fenris’s jaw clenched tighter, the smile never faltering. But the words felt like a dagger, carving open all the questions he’d kept asking himself for the past months.

“Mom! Fenris broke nothing,” Hawke said through his teeth. His knee was pressing harder.

His voice rose. “Fran cheated on me. Blame her, if you want to blame someone.”

Leandra’s eyes finally left Fenris, turning to Hawke. Her voice was still soft on the surface, but there was a steely bite underneath. “But Malcolm—”

“My son is doing so much better now,” Hawke interrupted. “He doesn’t have to listen to constant fighting.”

Fenris just listened to them argue, his hand curling into a fist under the table. Rings pressed into skin, nails digging into his palms. Still smiling like his face was carved out of stone.

Bethany leaned across the table, cupping her mouth with her hand. “Don’t mind those two. Mom’s just being Catholic.” She let out a dry snort. “Divorce is bad. Gays are bad.”

Her face softened and she offered Fenris a genuine smile. No masks, no judgement. “But Garret hasn’t been this happy in years.”

Fenris met her gaze with weariness, looking for any sign of dishonesty. But there wasn’t any. Instead, her warmth managed to melt some of the lump in his throat, allowing him to breathe once more.

Hawke and Leandra were still arguing when the waiter reappeared with their drinks and entreés.

She gave him a warm smile and a nod, but Hawke was still glaring at his mother. His hand dipped under the table, finding Fenris’s, slowly uncurling the fist.

He leaned closer, their shoulders brushing together briefly. “I’m so sorry…” he whispered as his gaze turned to Fenris. “I really thought mom had gotten over her prejudice.”

Leandra was still watching them, eyes burning, as the waiter poured the wine into the glasses. But she didn’t say anything.

“Aren’t those two cute?” Bethany suddenly broke the silence, as she raised the glass. She was looking straight at Leandra, a smile on her lips and a challenge in her eyes. “To the happy couple.”

Hawke raised his glass with a wide grin and toasted with Bethany.

Finally, Leandra’s fingers curled around the stem as she barely lifted it up from the table.

Fenris blinked. Hawke was still holding his hand, the fizzy water sizzling in his glass. He slowly raised it up, mouthing a silent “thank you” to Bethany.

“Okay,” Hawke exhaled. “Can we get to food now or does mom have some more snide remarks to make?”

He lifted Fenris’s hand on the table, their fingers still entwined.

“I’m done being afraid.”

Leandra stared at the two of them, blush creeping up her neck.

Fenris wasn’t sure if it was shame or rage.

He tried to slide his hand free, but Hawke’s grip was too tight. “Please, Hawke. Just… let it go,” he finally muttered, eyes averting back to the table.

He wasn’t even sure if he meant his mother or the hand.

“You are an adult, Garrett,” Leandra said with a forced smile on her face. “I know I can’t make your choices for you. I just… don’t want you, or Malcolm, to get hurt.”

“You’re the only one hurting me, mom,” Hawke said, finally letting go of Fenris’s hand.

The sudden absence of Hawke’s touch made Fenris shiver. His throat felt dry, the kind of thirst water could never quench. But he took a sip of his glass anyway.

The tour would start soon. The long nights. The afterparties. The noise.

He wasn’t sure he could stay afloat.

The car ride back was quiet. Just the steady rumble of the engine, a faint country song on the stereo, and the rattle of the AC pierced through Fenris’s thoughts.

Sure. The dinner had continued with small talk and ended with hugs and smiles.

But he hadn’t missed Leandra’s side-eyed glances. Like she saw through Fenris better than Hawke. Like she knew what he was really like under the mask and the pretence.

Broken and unworthy.

His fingers curled around the wooden steering wheel, his knuckles slowly turning white. He didn’t even realize how tight he was holding on, until his rings dug deep into the skin.

He exhaled and forced the grip to loosen, as he briefly glanced to the side.

Hawke had fallen asleep, his head dropped against the side pillar. Hair partially covered his eyes, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

A faint, melancholic smile tugged at Fenris’s mouth. He turned his eyes back to the stretch of black concrete ahead. The road was mostly empty, only streetlights still burned in the suburb as he turned on the blinker and steered the car to Hawke’s driveway.

Our driveway, he thought briefly.

But it didn’t feel right.

Hawke didn’t even stir when the engine halted. The headlights lit up the house’s empty windows, painting the brick wall the color of dried blood.

Fenris lifted up his hand, gently caressing Hawke’s cheek. His lashes twitched. Then eyes slowly opened, dazed and warm. The smile lingered on his lips as he leaned against Fenris’s hand.

“We’re home,” Fenris whispered.

The word felt alien in his mouth. Like Leandra’s glances and words had made him question the meaning. Like he didn’t fully believe it any more.

Hawke rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said with a wide yawn. “Red wine makes me tired.”

“Let’s get to bed, okay?” Fenris muttered, finally shutting off the lights. He didn’t want Hawke to notice how tired he actually felt.

They didn’t say another word until they were back in the bedroom. Fenris was still undoing the buttons of his shirt when Hawke slumped on the bed, finally glancing at him.

“I’m so sorry you had to see my mom like that. I thought she was over the whole… you know.”

Hawke reached for his hand, and Fenris stepped closer. Hawke’s arms wrapped around Fenris’s waist, the bearded cheek falling against the bare chest.

He gave a tiny kiss on Hawke’s dark curls and tucked them behind his ear. “It’s okay. Stop apologizing.”

“It’s not okay,” Hawke muttered, his beard tickling Fenris’s skin. He sounded tired and maybe slightly drunk.

Fenris hadn’t seen him like this before.

“No one gets to treat you like that. Not mom. No one,” Hawke continued, his hand finally dropping down.

He leaned towards his disregarded jeans that lay on the floor. “I got you something.”

Fenris watched as he dug something out of the pocket, then hid it inside his fist.

“Close your eyes,” Hawke said as he leaned back up.

Fenris’s eyebrow raised ever so lightly, but he closed his eyes anyway.

Hawke’s hand curled around his and tucked something against his palm, then closed the fingers around the small object.

Fenris opened up his eyes and his fist.

A key and a small rectangular keyring. With a photo of the two of them, taken yesterday on the trail. Hawke was smiling wide, his arm wrapped around Fenris’s shoulders. Fenris was just squinting, face sweaty and looking irritated.

“I thought you should have the keys too,” Hawke said with a sheepish smile, as he watched Fenris’s reaction.

Fenris stared at the photo. At the keys. They felt heavy against his palm. Like even the inanimate object knew it didn’t belong there.

And still, he smiled. Cupped Hawke’s cheek, tracing the bone with his thumb. “Thank you,” he said softly.

The words sounded hollow in the quiet room.

He didn’t admit he’d also made a copy of keys to his LA flat for Hawke. He’d brought them along to the trail, almost handing them to Hawke as they sat by the river.

But handing them after Hawke's almost-confession had seemed too much. And now—after Leandra’s words—they just felt like giving false hope. Let them stay inside the back pocket, just like all the unsaid words.

Maybe after he got back from the tour.

He felt like Icaros, reaching towards the sun, even as the wax on his wings was already melting.

Fenris leaned in for a kiss, tasting wine on Hawke’s lips.

His tongue caressed Hawke’s lower lip, opening his mouth. Like the traces of alcohol or Hawke’s heat could melt the cold gripping his chest.

But the ice was already there. Digging in deeper.