Chapter Text
Anders sat down at Fenris’ table at the coffee shop. “I need a boyfriend.”
“That sounds like your problem.” He didn’t look up from his book.
“Well, obviously, it’s my problem,” he sighed. “Did it to myself, over and over.”
Fenris rolled his eyes and put the book down. “How is this more of a problem than usual?”
Anders made a face. His habit of hooking up with everyone who swiped right on his profile was well known, in addition to his abysmal track record of obtaining a second date afterward. “There’s this guy…” he trailed off as he tried to figure out the best way to explain that didn’t leave him slapped, or worse, without a conspirator.
“There always is,” Fenris commented drily.
“Not like that,” he groaned as he leaned back in his chair, but not before swiping Fenris’ coffee and taking an enormous gulp. “Well, not anymore. He – we didn’t want to do long distance. Said if we hit thirty-five we’d give it another shot.”
He glared as Anders put the now empty mug back on the table. “You’re thirty-four.”
“Yes, thank you, I never could count above three without taking my pants off.”
Fenris snorted. “Is that supposed to mean you have three dicks?”
“Maker, no, it’s one dick and two tes – anyway, the point is that Nate’s getting married.” Anders grimaced. He couldn’t even hate Elissa for stealing him. And she didn’t steal him, not really. Anders’ own… issues had kept him from going back to Ferelden for Rendon Howe’s funeral, plus he hadn’t been sure if he could’ve kept a straight face through it. Elissa, on the other hand, had been there the whole time, through the media storm of his grisly demise, the subsequent sex trafficking scandal, and the wrongful death trial. He’d seen her on the news, stone faced and arguing with reporters that the sins of the father aren’t the sins of the son, shielding Nate as best as she could.
It was no wonder he fell in love with her. If Anders was honest with himself (something he took great pains not to do) the only surprise was that it took Nate so long to pop the question in the first place. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he’s getting married. Destination wedding in Treviso next weekend. Called me last night. Wants me to be his best man. Offered to pay for the hotel, travel, everything. No suit, thank the Maker – they’re doing it casual. Well, casual as they can manage on her salary. Elissa’s… well, she has expensive taste, but she can afford it, so why not?”
“And all this somehow requires you to have a boyfriend.” Fenris sounded intrigued, but his expression was solidly neutral, verging into disdain. “Don’t Fereldans normally jump in a river while holding hands and call it a day? I’m sure I read that was a wedding tradition.”
Anders played along. “No, that’s after we pledge ourselves to mabari, king, country, and spouse in that order. Then we roll around in pig shit, then jump in a lake, not a river. Get our backwards customs right.”
“But where does the boyfriend come in?” he prompted, somehow managing to keep a straight face as his eyes flashed with something that could be annoyance or amusement. “Do you need this boyfriend to help you push the groom into the pig shit?”
He drummed his fingers on the table nervously, wishing he could redo the last twenty hours of his life and try again. “I… may have panicked. Might, just maybe, might have been a little jealous. It’s possible I tried to tell him I couldn’t because it’s my anniversary. Allegedly. And if I did that, it could be that he said he’d pay for the both of us.”
“Ah.” Fenris picked up his book and coffee cup, then stood. “Good luck.”
“Oh come onnnnnnn,” Anders groaned as he started to walk away. “A week in Antiva, Fenris! A week! A real vacation right on the beach –”
“I hate the smell of fish,” Fenris said over his shoulder as he put the mug on the dirty dishes bin at the edge of the bar.
Keep him talking, wear him down. “I’ll catch the bouquet and glue it to your forehead. You won't smell anything but roses.” Anders tried to offer a cheeky smile, but Fenris was already walking away, heading for the front patio. He dashed after him, bashing his nose on the door frame before bouncing off it and tripping into Fenris’ arms.
They tightened briefly around him as Fenris stood him back up and stepped away, rubbing his hands on his jeans like he'd touched something unpleasant. Rude. “Ask Hawke,” he suggested.
“He's busy. So is Sebastian,” he added miserably. “Look, it'd just be a day of pretend. I'll sleep on the floor, or in the bloody bathtub. They're booked for a cruise the next day, so we'd only have to get through the ceremony and reception. Three, maybe four hours, tops.” He took a deep breath. “I'm desperate, Fenris. Nate's – he was my best friend. Saw me through some really rough shit. I just… I want him happy, you know? Not to worry about me.”
Fenris pulled out his phone and tapped at it a few times. He frowned, then tapped at it again. “Treviso has several famous museums.” He stuffed it back in his pocket. “Sebastian? Really?”
Hope fluttered in Anders’ chest. “I…okay, that was a lie,” he admitted. “I mean, he is busy, but I didn't ask him. I don't think he can take a piss without apologizing to the Maker for touching himself. Can you imagine kissing him? I'd look less pathetic making out with a shoe.”
“Making out?” Fenris demanded. “What the void kind of wedding is this?”
He shrugged. “The usual kind. Some Andrastian crap, some vows, some ‘forever hold your peace.’ Then everyone’s hugging and kissing at the reception and getting misty-eyed and wondering which couple is going to tie the knot next.”
Fenris reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What exactly would you need me to do if I agreed to this?”
Got him. “Hand holding, smiling when you look at me. A few hugs, maybe an arm around my waist?”
“And…” Fenris swallowed. “And kissing?”
Anders stuck out his tongue. “You make it sound like I’m asking you to strip naked. Just a little peck or two, okay? Like this.” He darted forward and brushed his lips against Fenris' cheek, then jumped back, just in case he'd pressed his luck too far. “Easy, right?”
To his surprise, Fenris looked dumbfounded rather than pissed. He touched the spot Anders had kissed, then stared at his fingers as he rubbed them together. “I suppose so,” he said slowly. Then, just like before, he wiped them on his jeans, not meeting his eyes. “When do we leave?”
They left next Friday morning in a rental. Anders’ cheap clunker was more rust than metal, and the clutch had a habit of slipping at the worst possible times, making it hilariously ill-suited to a road trip across the Vimmarks, and Fenris’ motorcycle barely had the space for a second person, must less a week’s worth luggage.
The drive was less unpleasant than Anders had feared. Fenris sat in the passenger seat with a book in his lap and headphones in his ears, sipping coffee and ignoring everything, including Anders’ showtunes playlist. That was probably for the best – he’d never had a chance to drive a car that hooked up to a phone before, and belting out ‘Masquerade’ at the top of his lungs had never felt so good, provided he ignored the way it made his face sting on the high notes. He hadn’t broken his nose running into that stupid door in the coffee shop, and a bottle of cheap foundation hid the bruising, but it could still hurt like void if he moved his mouth wrong.
They switched seats at a gas station somewhere on the outskirts of Ansburg. Fenris plugged his phone into the car while Anders fiddled a game on his and wondered where his headphones were.
“The history of Seheron is one of bloody conflict. Many nations claim to have its best interest at heart, but if the locals are asked, the vast majority of them wish simply to be –”
Anders reached over to hit the pause button. “Were you listening to a book and reading another one at the same time?” he asked.
Fenris’ cheeks darkened. “Same book.” he flicked an uncertain glance at him. “Remember last year? About those night classes?”
“For those mechanic certifications, right?” Anders shrugged. “Classroom shit isn’t for everyone, you know; no shame you failed out on the first –”
“I aced the practical portion,” Fenris snapped, then hunched over the steering wheel. “And I didn’t technically fail the written portion. Just ran out of time. Because I can’t… read quickly. Listening and reading at the same time helps me practice. So I pass next year.”
Anders stared at him until his tongue started to feel funny from his mouth hanging open so long. He rubbed his sleeve across his face, then grabbed a bottle of water to twist open and closed repeatedly. “I didn’t know.” Dumb thing to say, of course I didn’t.
“No one does,” Fenris muttered savagely. “And it won’t be an issue long enough for anyone else to find out. Right?”
He leaned back in the seat. “Find out what? I’m just listening to this history book and you’re talking over it, asshole.”
That earned him a relieved chuckle as Fenris tapped the chapter select button. “Apologies.”
“The history of Seheron is one of bloody conflict. Many nations claim to have its best interest at heart, but if the locals are asked, the vast majority of them wish simply to be –”
Maker, it was boring. It was so so so bloody boring. Anders dozed off within minutes, only waking when Fenris stopped at another gas station for a bathroom break and another coffee. It was strange to be in a car so full of noise and silence all at once. Strange, yet nice. Anders had spent his whole life trying to be too big or too small, but Fenris, the bastard, never gave him the satisfaction of reacting to either. Denied an audience, yet still stuck in a car with him, Anders was left with no recourse but to be himself.
He woke again when Fenris prodded him for directions to the hotel. It took another half hour of navigating to find it, then Fenris dropped him off at the lobby entrance while he went hunting for parking. Anders had just picked up the room keys when he reappeared, one bag on each shoulder.
“Alright, we're on the fourth floor,” he said as he held out the keycard. “Nate's paying, so we can hit the restaurant on his tab or –”
“Anders, is that you?”
Oh no. He turned toward the voice slowly, forcing his expression into pleasant neutrality. “Varel? Here for the wedding too?”
Nate used to complain that the seneschal of the Howe estates had been born middle-aged then frozen that way with magic, and, looking at him now, Anders had to agree. He had the same silvery-grey hair, though it was longer now, the same proud nose, and the same gruff but easy smile. There were more wrinkles near his eyes and mouth, but they were laugh-lines that crinkled perfectly as he grinned and gathered Anders into a crushing bear hug. “Nate said he'd hoped you were coming, but I confess, I wasn't sure you'd make it.”
Fuck, it was good to see him, but it created a myriad of complications. He'd been a better father to Nate than anyone else, so of course he'd be here. “Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Anders lied, trying to find anywhere to put his hands that wouldn't make this worse, or give him away. Varel had been a father to Nate, but, for Anders, he'd been… something else. A missed opportunity, perhaps. Or a narrowly avoided scandal. Did he remember the night he'd driven Anders home? Or the way Anders had drunkenly begged him to stay?
His hands shook slightly, almost as if he was afraid Anders wasn't real, but his voice was steady and guileless. “It's good to see you,” he said, echoing Anders’ thoughts. He let go reluctantly, and took a step back. “I'm forgetting myself. Who's your friend?”
For a moment, Anders was completely baffled, then he remembered Fenris. Seeing Varel again had thrown him completely off his game. “I… yeah,” he stammered, then reached for his fake boyfriend's hand. “Varel, uh, this is Fenris.” Why did I think this would work? “He's… well, I mean, we're –”
“We've been together for… two years. Pleasure,” Fenris said with a curt nod. He patted the bag on his shoulder. “Varel, is it? I don't mean to be rude, but it was a long drive, and we'd like to put our things down and get settled.”
Varel waved his hand agreeably. “Of course, don't let me keep you. Are you attending the rehearsal? It's really just dinner; Elissa reserved a table at the restaurant on the top floor.”
Anders hesitated. He should go. He wanted to go. He wanted to see Nate and tell him he was happy for him and mean it, but this was more than Fenris had agreed to. “We can try?” he offered.
“Nonsense, we didn't come all this way just to stay in our room and read.” Fenris squeezed his fingers. “What time is dinner?”
“Six-thirty.” Varel patted Anders’ shoulder. “See you then.”
Everything felt like a dream. He nodded his goodbyes as he was gently pushed to the elevator, feeling like a balloon on a string, then stared at the ceiling, the plants, the wall sconces, and everything else that wasn’t Fenris until it dinged to let them on, then stared at the floor until the doors opened to let them off.
Once they were in the room, Fenris dropped their bags and leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Well?”
“Well what?” Anders ducked into the bathroom to rinse his face. The fact that it delayed looking at him or answering was pure coincidence.
“Well, am I your damn boyfriend or not?” Fenris demanded. “This was your idea, and you choked the minute we ran into someone.”
He grabbed the complimentary lotion and rubbed a bit on his hands. He decided he didn't like the smell and washed it off. He dried them, then looked for something else to dither with. There weren't any options. “I just… I wasn't ready yet. Shit, I'd just woke up, remember? And it was Varel.” Maker's balls, this was going to be complicated. “Silver fox, through and through.”
“And?”
Anders sighed and threw himself face first on the bed. A king, he noted distantly. Nate didn't stint on the accommodations. “He's – okay so, Nate's the one that got away, right? But Varel's the one I… yeah. Didn't try. Well, I did, but, uh, wrong place, wrong time. He was nice about it, but –”
“And now, it's a different place and a different time,” Fenris finished, sounding irritated. The mattress shifted as he sat down on the other side, then, less roughly, he asked, “Anders, do you ever fall for attainable people?”
“First, ow, and secondly, not on purpose,” he grumbled into the pillow. “Married or moving away, that’s apparently my thing.”
“And which one was Varel?”
Anders rolled over. “Sober. And I wasn’t. He said to call him if I meant it, but it was right after Nate called it off and I was leaving in a week anyway and that was the whole reason we’d broken up and I, I just didn’t.”
Fenris stood back up abruptly. “I’m going to take a shower. Figure out what the fuck I’m doing here before I dry off or I’m driving back first thing in the morning.” He grabbed his bag and stalked to the bathroom, shutting it with a shade more force than strictly necessary.
What the void was that about? Anders rubbed at his face with the crook of his elbow as he listened to the water and considered his options. One, he could call the whole thing off. Admit to Nate that he’d made it all up and leave him even more worried than he’d sounded on the phone last week. Two, stick with it. Grin his way through the dinner and the wedding and the reception while missing out on the second chance he never thought he’d get with Varel.
Or perhaps there was a secret third option. One that kept the facade intact and didn’t call Varel’s integrity into question.
It was absolutely batshit and Fenris would never go for it. But if he didn’t, that would basically look like the same thing. Right?
He slid off the bed to start unpacking, and when Fenris emerged, glowering but fresh-faced and smelling unbelievably good, he tilted his head to the side and offered a cheeky grin. “How about we stage a fight?”
“This is stupid,” Fenris muttered for at least the sixth time in the past hour as he straightened his tie. Tomorrow’s wedding would be casual, but the restaurant upstairs looked a bit too fancy for jeans and a band t-shirt. “This is childish and stupid and all for what? Some Fereldan silver fox who used to be your ex’s live-in babysitter?”
Anders waggled his lint roller at him triumphantly before trying yet again to remove all evidence of Ser Pounce-a-lot from his slacks. “So you admit he’s hot!”
“Your words, not mine,” he reminded him sourly. “Venhedis, how did you talk me into this?”
Maker, cat hair sticks to everything except what it shouldn’t. Anders picked a wad off and threw it in the trash. “Full curated tour of the Antiquities Museum including the private displays. Also a gallon of those Orlesian candied almonds of when we get back. And you can probably blackmail me into more shit later.”
“Give me that.” Fenris yanked the roller from his hand. “Isn't your cat orange? Where is all this white fur coming from?” He found himself spun around and pressed to the wall as the roller was roughly dragged over his sides and back. It felt like the way he’d always imagined a cat would feel if brushed the wrong way, and had to bite back a suggestion that if he was going to be that rough, he may as well go for the gold and spank him. How does he know Pounce is orange? Does he actually listen to me talk?
He owed Fenris enough favors already, so he kept his damn mouth shut and tried to imagine it was Varel. That was a much nicer thought than getting manhandled by a man wielding a lint roller like a weapon. Would Varel be gentle? Or was all that kindness hiding some deep dark violent passion? He rested his forehead on the plaster and took a deep breath. Soon. Hopefully. Maker, I hope he didn't get married.
“Done.” The lint roller clattered to the sink. “Let's go.” Fenris radiated agitation, so much so that Anders had the strangest urge to hug him, but an angry “boyfriend” was exactly what he needed.
They took the elevator up to the top floor, and the sight of the gold filigree doors made him feel underdressed. Nate was standing next to them, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as neared, and smiled in obvious relief.
“You made it!” That gravelly voice of his seemed less rich and deep than Anders remembered, but it was still warm and welcoming. He started to spread his arms, flicked a hesitant glance to Fenris’ scowl, then reached for Anders’ hand. “How was the drive?”
He shook it mechanically, despairing at the formality of it. What had the world come to when Nate knew what his ass tasted like, but wouldn't even hug him? “Fine. Boring. Who all else was able to make it?”
“Lissy’s brother, Sigrun, and Velanna. And Varel, obviously. And Liss, of course.” Nate shifted from one foot to the other like he was waiting for something then offered his hand to Fenris. “Anders said it was your anniversary? How long have you been together?”
Fenris paused before grasping it once and squeezing hard enough to make Nate’s eyes tighten in a faint wince. “Too long.”
Nate waited half a second for some kind of follow up to take the sting out, but none was forthcoming. He glanced at Anders worriedly, then pulled the door open. “Private room in the back. Liss went all out. In her own way.”
Of course she did. Anders headed in, wondering if he should try to hold Fenris’ hand. Nate hurried around them to lead the way, putting as much distance between them as quickly he could. He kept his voice low and didn’t turn his head. “You don’t have to be an asshole.”
“I do. In fact, that’s exactly what you wanted,” Fenris hissed back.
It was a difficult point to argue with. He followed after Nate, and turned the corner to see him whispering into Elissa’s ear. Her pale brown eyes were narrowed in annoyance, but she plastered a nearly-genuine smile on her face when Anders walked in. It would've fooled him if he hadn't caught that split second flash of anger.
When she stood, Anders hid the smirk of satisfaction at Fenris’ sharp inhale. Elissa towered over everyone but Anders, all six feet of her built to gorgeous Renaissance proportions. She’d redone her hair recently, and the undercut of her bob-length hair was barely more than scalp-colored fuzz. “Anders, we're so glad you could come at the last minute.” Unlike Nate, she did hug him, and with a spine cracking embrace that left his eyes watering.
“Yeah,” he croaked as he extracted himself and rubbed the tears off. “Liss, this is Fenris. My boyfriend.”
Her gaze frosted again when it fell on him, but she hugged him too, much to Fenris’ surprise. “Any friend of Anders is a friend of mine.” It came out hard. Threatening. What the fuck is going on here?
“Pleasure,” Fenris said coolly as he stepped back, then looked around. “So. Who is everyone? And how many guests are you expecting tomorrow?”
Elissa shrugged. “This is pretty much it.” She pointed at the two women still at the table. “That’s Sigrun, that’s Velanna, and my brother Fergus is playing bartender somewhere. A few others are flying in tomorrow for the ceremony.”
Sigrun was at the far edge of the table, feet propped up on it, and she twiddled her fingers in greeting, then winked at Anders. “Hey Andy!”
“Andy? Really?” Fenris asked snidely.
Velanna glared at him as she put a protective hand on Sigrun’s elbow. “Inside joke. You had to be there.”
“I’m certain I’m glad I wasn’t.” He sat down at the opposite corner of the table, as far from them as possible. “Is there a menu?”
Anders wanted to shrivel up and die. It was what he’d asked for, what he’d begged for but, it was like being around Fenris the first time all over again. Every word was a barb, and every arched eyebrow was like sandpaper on his skin, grinding him down, making him feel small and stupid. And he had to just take it, or the entire plan would fall apart.
Nate slid a laminated page about the size of a postcard across the table wordlessly. Fenris picked it up, then put it down. “Is this all?”
“Catered selection,” Elissa snapped. “Five courses, with a choice of three options for each one.”
“Hm,” was the only response as his ears reddened slightly.
Anders grabbed a card from the stack. The typeface was elegant, flowy, barely-legible, and full of traditional Antivan recipes. Oh shit, he can’t read it.
He dropped in the chair next him to try to help by pointing, or at least, reading out loud under the guise of musing on it. This close, Anders could feel the tension in his body, as if it took an effort of will not to run from the room or jump out the window into the canal.
“Cacio e pepe, paella, gnocchi, churros?” he laughed, loud and slightly hysterical, as he tapped each word. “Damn, Elissa, you’ve gone native.” He circled his selections on the card and handed the marker to Fenris, who squeezed his knee twice with the other hand as he circled his own choices, but the pulse in his throat slowed enough that Anders couldn’t see it. Glad I could do something right.
Elissa poured a glass of wine then sat back down, pointedly ignoring Fenris. “It did occur to me to run away and never come back, but I think Varel would hogtie us both if we left him running the estate more than two weeks.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Varel said affably as he walked in, followed by a man who could only be Fergus; his hair was as dark as Elissa’s was blond, but they had the same nose and the same eyes and he carried a cardboard box that clinked with every step. “You and Nate just get in the way.”
“And you like it like that,” the other man said with a nudge and a grin. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.” He put the box down on an empty chair, and pulled out several small glass bottles. “Pick your poison, everyone. The drink prices here were outrageous, so I brought my own. Not a full bar, but close enough.”
Nate gathered up everyone’s order cards to drop off somewhere outside while Fergus mixed drinks. Anders nearly asked for a double of whiskey to settle his nerves, but too much alcohol had been the whole fucking reason he’d never managed to get to the fucking last time, so instead he plucked a cider from the cooler next to the chair.
Once the drinks were passed out, everyone settled at the table, with Varel to Anders’ left. Elissa sat at one end, and Nate on the other, to Fenris’ left. Sigrun and Velana hadn’t moved, and Fergus sat across from Fenris.
It was very possibly the one of the most uncomfortable dinners of Anders’ life, and the first course hadn’t even arrived. The conversation flowed like a partially-dammed river, smoothly until anyone tried to include Fenris, then one sneer or grunt stuttered everything to an awkward halt. When the hors d'oeuvres arrived, he thought it would be a relief. No one could ruin a conversation while everyone’s mouth was full, right?
Wrong.
To his horrified fascination, Fenris picked each crumble of goat cheese off and ate only the bread. Then, he ate the goat cheese anyway with a fork.
Anders jumped up with a half-mumbled excuse, caught Fenris by the arm, and dragged him into the hallway. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed.
“You wanted a fight, right?” Fenris answered coolly while slapping his hand off his elbow. “You wanted a disagreeable ass of a boyfriend to show off to all your friends then dump him and be the victim and hero all at once.” He headed for the stairs. “Happy anniversary. Don’t say hi to Varel for me while you’re sucking his dick.”
Then he was gone.
Anders went back inside. This was what he wanted: a boyfriend so he wouldn’t look quite so pitiful to Nate, and a fling with Varel. Having his cake and eating it too. He hated that proverb. If I’m eating the cake, I have it.
This was what he wanted, so why did he feel like a shit?
Sweet Andraste, why couldn’t Fenris have agreed to a damn script?
You’re a terrible actor. If you’re waiting for it, nothing is going to look or sound real.
Maker, had he planned this whole thing?
Nate was suddenly there, one arm around his back. “Anders, you look terrible; what happened?”
“I… I think I just got dumped,” he mumbled. Somehow, it didn’t matter that it wasn’t real, that there wasn’t a relationship to have a break up in the first place. Fenris had done this for him, not to him, but it still hurt. Still felt like he’d lost something. Respect? Dignity? Whatever it was, it was gone or broken or both.
“Shit, just now?” Nate shook his head. “Nevermind, of course it was just now. Was… do you want to talk about it?” He took a hesitant breath. “Has he always treated you like that? From where I’m standing, you’re better off without him.”
How to answer that? Maker, why did I think this would work? His mind was scattered across the entirety of the Free Marches in pieces. “No. I mean, we didn’t get along when we first met, but that was years ago.” What did it matter? They’d never been close, or even friends, just two guys who happened to run into each other a lot and decided constantly sniping at each other was too exhausting. A fake break up wouldn’t change that. Would it?
The drive here had been more than “not unpleasant.” It had been genuinely enjoyable, relaxing in a way he'd never expected. Fenrus didn’t give a shit so much that Anders had nothing left to lose by no longer pretending to be something he wasn't, but then he'd dragged him into them both pretending for everyone else.
“How’d you get together then?” Nate guided him back to the table and sat down in Fenris’ chair. Too close, too concerned.
We didn’t. We aren’t. “It just –” Anders swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn’t fair, how much Nate gave a shit now. “I should go. Sorry. I’ll be at the wedding tomorrow, promise.” Probably.
He drained the cider as he walked out, then leaned on the wall outside. What the void was I thinking? The lean turned into a slump, then a slide, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the floor, head resting on his knees. Maker, why did I even want this to work?
“We have to stop meeting like this.” Varel’s voice was just above him.
Anders looked up, startled and mortified. “Sorry?”
“You, on the floor, pining and moody.” He crouched down and touched his shoulder gently. “But this time, you haven’t had the chance to drink half a bottle of port, have you?”
Fuck. Fucking fuck. He does remember. But that had been the whole bloody stupid point the point, wasn’t it? Embarrassment aside, if Varel hadn’t remembered that night, if it had all been another moment like any other, Anders wouldn’t be here and certainly wouldn’t be like this. “It’s the city for it, I hear,” he muttered. “And the night’s young. Who knows what I can get up to and still look respectable tomorrow? I sure don’t.”
“This is the city for brandy, not port,” Varel chuckled, then stood up and held out his hand. “But with that attitude, I think you need some company either way.”
He let himself be pulled to his feet. “What about dinner?”
“What about it?” Varel shrugged. “They don’t need me there, but I think you do.”
Anders blinked at him a few times. Was this really working? “You’re ditching them for me?”
Varel tsked. “Such a loaded term. I very kindly informed them that they should continue to celebrate and I’d worry for your welfare so they wouldn’t have to. Besides,” he added, “I don’t relish another round of Fergus’ terrible college stories that always come out after a few drinks. Two birds, one stone.”
“And if I tell you to bugger off?” he asked mulishly as he stared at the ground. Why am I pushing this? I wanted to be alone with him.
He tilted Anders’s face up by the chin and peered at him, searching for something, then patted his cheek. “You don’t want to be alone any more than I’d like to see it, but even if you did, you’d hate to upset Nate.” Varel steered him to the elevator. “Let’s get something in you that’s more than a few goat cheese crackers and a cider.”
“How about a dick?” It slipped out before he could stop it. Anders winced and held his breath, readying himself for a slap or a scolding. What is wrong with me?
Varel’s hand stopped halfway to the elevator button. “You’re not that drunk, Anders.” It wasn’t the revolted chastising he expected. In fact, it sounded… longing. Sad? Whatever it was, it was heartbreaking.
“I wanted to call you, you know,” he blurted. “After last time.”
He didn’t answer as he pressed the button. Didn’t seem to react at all. Did he not believe him?
“I did,” Anders insisted. “Been kicking myself for years over it.” He fumbled out his wallet. “See, I even – Maker, this is embarrassing – I still keep the damn napkin with me.” He held it up. The ink was faded and had bled a bit at the creases, but it was still Varel’s number, in Varel’s handwriting.
The doors dinged open. Varel glanced at the napkin, shook his head, and walked inside. “Why didn’t you?”
Anders tucked it away as he leaned against the opposite wall of the elevator. “Worried I didn’t remember right. Worried you didn’t mean it if I did. Worried. Just worried. Then I was in Kirkwall and it wasn’t like I could just pop over or casually show up. Then later it was ‘what if you got a new number?’” He sighed and hung his head. “And now it’s… now. Sorry.”
Varel shifted his weight a few times. “Anders.”
He didn't want to look up and see pity. He didn't want to do anything except go to his room and hide. Possibly forever.
“Anders, I want to show you something. You don't have to – please, just hold out your hand.”
Curiosity made him do it. A folded bit of paper was pressed into his palm. He opened it.
I may be drunk, but I still want to see you.
-A
His own number was scrawled at the bottom.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered. “How long have you had it?” He knew the answer. The memory slapped him in the face with perfect clarity. Varel had given him his number at the bar and told him to reach out if he needed anything, but Anders had been drunk and stupid and tried to kiss him. He’d told him he was in no condition to be out in public, and hustled him to the car. Anders had been convinced he was about to get laid, but instead, Varel drove him home and helped him inside, fending off several more clumsy attempts to kiss him, then settled him on the couch so he could put on the kettle. And since no man makes a nice cuppa just before railing another one into incoherence, Anders had shamefully slunk into the bedroom and locked the door, but not before leaving that damned note sitting on the coffee table.
Varel snorted once. “I’d say I’ve had it about as long as you’ve had that napkin, give or take an hour. And didn’t do anything with it either. I thought sure that you were just looking for something to make you forget about Nate. Or get back at him. He sent me to check on you, did you know that? After he dumped you. Always wondered why he asked me, of all people.”
“He didn’t dump – okay, it was his idea, but I agreed with him.” He handed the paper back over as he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now though. Elissa’s better for him than I ever could be.”
A thumb stroked his wrist for the barest of moments. “She’s not better,” Varel said gently. “She’s different. Good for him, certainly. But you were too. He was a fool let you go.” He paused. “But, about Fenris.” The shift in topic startled Anders into meeting his eyes. Varel looked uncomfortable in a way that he’d never seen before. “Are you going to be safe in your room tonight?”
“Safe? My what?” The question made no sense.
Varel winced. “I’m not questioning your judgment, but men like that… even if they end it, they can often –”
The elevator shuddered to a halt on the sixth floor, and a whole family of tourists poured in, arguing about dinner. Anders flattened himself against the wall as a headache started to build behind his eyes and tried to parse out Varel’s words. Safe from Fenris? From Fenris? Why? He hadn’t been angry, not really, and certainly not mad enough to do something about it.
“What happened to your face?”
He looked down. One of the kids was staring at him and chewing on a fingernail.
“My what?” Maker, I’m a broken record.
“Kel, hush,” the kid’s mother or aunt or something tugged them away. “Sorry, sorry, we’re still teaching them to mind their own business. Hope you feel better.”
He pulled out his phone and flipped to the front-facing camera, then suppressed a groan. The make up was smeared, and vibrant purple stretched from the bridge of his nose to his cheek. All the pieces fell into the stupidest pattern imaginable. They think he hit me.
He felt sick. The moment the doors opened, he ducked out, not waiting for Varel, not knowing what he could possibly say to try to unfuck any of this. The courtyard was no place to hide, but it was quiet, at least.
He sat on one of the stone benches behind the fountain, back to the door. Footsteps echoed behind him, and then Varel cleared his throat. “Anders, I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through. But if I can help, if any of us can help, we would. We will. Do you need money? A place to stay?”
Waves of guilt flooded him, whirling like a hurricane in his chest, battering his heart and lungs. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? Why did he ever think this would work? He took a deep breath. “Varel, he's not my boyfriend. Never was. I made it up,” he whispered, then pointed at the bruise. “And he didn't – I ran into a door. It sounds like nugshit, but that's really what happened. I didn't want Nate to think I'm, think I'm like, like… well, like I am. Pre-med drop out working a dead-end job. A loser.”
“Never a loser.” Varel sat down next to him. “He's not your boyfriend.” He said it slowly, testing each word. “He’s not your boyfriend,” he repeated. “You’re not seeing anyone?”
“Not… more than once,” Anders sighed. “Never works out. Causal turns into serious, serious turns into casual. Nothing I do is right.” He barked a mirthless laugh. “I mean, look at you. Look at us. I fucked that up years ago too.”
A hand brushed his knee, and something about that light touch soothed the maelstrom in Anders’ chest. “Did you? Our wallets suggest otherwise.” His voice wrapped around him like a blanket, warm and comfortable, but tinged with a questioning edge.
Anders wanted to scoot closer, but how could he dare? He'd just confessed to lying to everyone, and after all these years, after all that, Varel was still interested? Impossible. “I… you can go back upstairs. Spend the rest of the evening with friends. If you want,” he offered lamely. “I won't do anything stupid. Anything else stupid,” he amended.
“I see them all the time,” Varel chuckled. “You, significantly less. I’d like to balance those scales, if I may.” His hand hadn't left Anders’ knee. The same one Fenris had squeezed so gratefully during dinner.
Don't think about that. Think about Varel. Think about those arms and that chest. Think about them pressing you into the furniture. Anders covered Varel's fingers, and they twitched, like they wanted to grab his leg. Fuck it. He leaned sideways and rested his head on Varel’s shoulder, feeling the tension change from apprehension to anticipation. “I think I'd like that. Nate's going to kill me anyway for all this, but I can at least have something nice before I'm found floating facedown in the canal. Something I've been wanting for years.”
He turned slightly, lips brushing Anders’ hair. “Something or someone?”
“Something with someone. A specific someone. Very specific,” he murmured. “Come upstairs, and I’ll tell you about it?”
Varel’s throat made a tiny noise, one Anders never could’ve heard from further away. “It does seem prudent to discuss in private.”