#anyway okay i'll fucking shut up now skjflksdjflsd i hope you enjoyed this i guess maybe it's a little all over the place

[trvelyans-archive]

this is not how celandine expected her night to go.

well, she probably should have expected their date to hold many surprises when hawke pulled up to her estate in a clunky cream-coloured van with a faded mabari painting on the driver's side door. he was dressed better than his car looked, however, in a beige tweed suit jacket with a navy blue and gold striped tie, an outfit entirely unsuspicious to the guard detail at the gate. though the fact he looked handsome wasn’t a surprise to her.

he met her at the door, smiling widely, his face bare and freshly shaven and his normally unkempt curls swept away from his forehead to reveal a warm stretched of tanned, slightly wrinkled skin.

"good evening, lady trevelyan," he greeted with a genuine smile and a faux orlesian accent, holding his arm out for her to take. "you look stunning, as per usual."

she rolled her eyes, pretending not to be pleased that he had noticed the calf-length navy blue dress she wore specifically because it matched the blue of his tie. (which wasn't unexpected on her behalf, since she asked him to send her a picture of what he was wearing on their date earlier that day for this reason.)

"now," he said after clearing his throat, dropping the accent, "where exactly am i taking you? because i tried to look the restaurant up, but..."

"you wouldn't be able to find it," she informed him matter-of-factly, giving a curt wave to cullen's second security detail on the lawn as she stood aside to let hawke open the passenger side door. "i didn't give you the orlesian name for it."

"ah. i see." she slid into the car and pulled her purse onto her lap as he ducked his head inside to look at her. "you wanted to keep it a mystery, then?"

"maybe," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips.

he returned the gesture. "good tactic," he said quietly. "a little bit of mystery is pretty sexy. though..." he made a conscious effort to look her up and down. "i doubt you could get any sexier."

the door closed and he sauntered around to the other with a wink, leaving her alone in his car, thankful for the darkness that hid her furious blush.

it smelt faintly of alcohol and wet dog in the van, with an underlying smell of hawke's peppery cologne beneath it that only grew stronger as celandine turned around to look in the backseat. there was a black and white crochet blanket thrown over the patchy brown leather cushions, and a guitar case studded with stickers nested on a pile of empty water bottles with labels faded and peeling away. a few of them rolled onto the floor as the car jostled when hawke climbed in beside her.

"you're going to have to give me directions," he said as the car started. "it's a fancy place, right?"

"yes," she responded, glancing out the window as he buckled himself in, smiling to herself. "you wouldn't know it."

"ouch," hawke said in a voice that lacked any sort of pain. "you've really hurt my feelings, there, celandine."

"will it help you feel better if i pay?" she asked.

he snorted a laugh as the car pulled away from the curb. "oh, i thought it was sort of unspoken that you were paying anyway," he said. "after all, i am providing transportation, free of charge."

"so selfless," she murmured in an awestruck voice. "though you should be paying me for making me sit in this heap of -"

"don't you dare diss this car," hawke interrupted, though she could hear the amusement in his voice. "he's been with me through too much for that. you'd hurt his feelings."

"fine," she replied. "but only because you asked nicely."

he shook his head but chuckled anyway, trying not to look too much like he was enjoying himself as they drove through the gate and onto the wide neighborhood road, his hand coming to rest comfortably on her knee.

getting to the restaurant was an ordeal in and of itself, starting with hawke nearly speeding through three stop signs on celandine’s street that were shrouded in dense shrubbery and ending with hawke grumbling about the valet as the greeter ushered them into the building. "who does he think he is?" he muttered into celandine's ear. "my car is fine. old and dirty, i guess, but it's fine."

"then why does it matter what he thinks?" she says to him over her shoulder, words quiet to blend in with the almost eerily silent atmosphere of the restaurant. "i like your car."

"you were complaining about it earlier!"

"yes, but i like it because it's yours."

it wasn't enough to shake his frown, but it was enough to make his eyebrows un-furrow as they took their seats.

as she requested earlier that week when she made the reservation, it was a table well-hidden from the front windows but still visible to the other patrons. even so, celandine couldn't help but shift nervously. she had seen more than her fair share of journalists tailing her around the city for the past few days with the elections coming up, and the last thing she wanted was to be spotted. she hadn’t even thought about it until now, but she hadn’t been leaving her mansion for a reason.

hawke was looking over the menu with a hand finger-deep in his hair, the small orange light hanging above them making his curls look like a smoldering fire. "do you eat stuff like this often?" he asked, sounding disgusted and a little unsettled as he moved to wipe his forehead with the back of his wrist.

"like what?" she replied.

"like..." he cleared his throat. "chili pepper coated chicken breasts with a topping of baked nug skin and garnished with elfroot puree. wow."

his eyes flicked towards her. "is this what your chefs will make if we eat dinner at your estate next time?"

"you think this is going well enough for there to be a next time?" celandine teased.

hawke rolled his eyes and gave her a humorless chuckle. "yeah, yeah," he muttered. "very funny."

he reached across the table for her hand, brushing his knuckles against hers before intertwining their fingers together. it was something he had only done a few times before on their previous date when they attended a gala together, but that was at least a month before, and the action should've still felt special.

it should’ve, but it didn’t. she had barely even realized that he had done it - she was sitting stiffly in her chair, back straight and rigid, keeping an eye out for anyone with a camera pointed at her.

hawke tugged on her hand to get her attention.

"are you okay?" he asked sweetly and with enough worry that it made her teeth ache.

"yes," she responded, turning herself fully towards him. "yes, yeah, i'm just... looking for any journalists. they've been hounding me everywhere for days with elections in just a few weeks."

he frowned. as much as she wouldn't admit to it, he looked cute when he was concerned. too cute for his own good, probably. "why is that so bad?"

celandine heaved a sigh, looking down at their hands, at the curl of hawke's fingers against her palm, at the old scar running up the side of his wrist. "i just don't... i can't explain it, hawke. you wouldn't understand."

"try me," he invited warmly. "maybe i'll surprise you."

she was about to answer when his face fell, like something unpleasant had dawned on him. "oh," he murmured, voice and gaze suddenly distant. "is it... are you ashamed to be seen with me?"

celandine's eyebrows shot upwards. "no, hawke, of course not!" she hurried to say.

he interrupted her before she could finish, however. "it's okay," he said to her assuredly, almost nonchalantly, talking as if it had been so incredibly obvious this entire time. "i get it. i would be too if i were you. after all, i'm..."

his chin dropped to his chest as he looked down at his clothes. celandine leaned across the table to hook her forefinger under his chin and drag his eyes back up to hers.

"you're handsome and smart and sexy and talented," she finished for him. "it's not you, hawke, it's everyone else. i don't want anything or anyone to intrude on our time together. we don't have much of it today, after all."

he looked more than relieved after she finished speaking, adjusting proudly in his seat, holding himself a little higher. maker. he had no right to make her feel better so easily, especially with her stomach doing somersaults the way it was. "now, celandine," he began in a low voice, drawing her out of her thoughts only to see a pair of dark eyes glittering at her, "is that the type of thing someone who wasn't planning another date would say?"

she flushed profoundly until she was a shade of red that surely matched that of the velvet chair she was sitting on. "you're lucky you're handsome," she commented, pulling her hand out of his and smiling at whimper he let out as she reached for her wine cup and sipped it.

a tense silence followed in which hawke never managed to tear his gaze away from her. it felt like minutes - hours, even - but it was really only a few seconds. finally, when he cleared his throat and spoke, it was like resurfacing to warm summer air from beneath the surface of water so hot it was steaming. "can i be so bold as to suggest other plans for our evening?" he said.

celandine looked upwards toward the stained glass sun roof in the ceiling above them, noting the darkening of the sky that she felt had happened far too quickly. "if you're going to suggest taking me out to the country to see the stars, you hopeless romantic, i'm afraid to tell you that i do not think your car would make it."

"again with the car!" he said in exasperation, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up. "the mabari mobile is a perfectly formidable vehicle -"

"the mabari mobile?"

hawke's face burned a brilliant shade of pink.

"now are you ashamed to be seen with me?" he whispered miserably.

"slightly," she answered with a smirk.

he sighed and propped his elbows up on the table, dropping his head into his hands. “what i was going to say before i humiliated myself was that you should... uh... come watch me sing tonight?” hawke said quietly. “there’s an open mic night at this bar called the hanged man that i go to all the time, and varric texted me and told me that there weren’t many acts tonight...”

celandine’s nose wrinkled. “if varric’s there -”

“he’s not,” hawke hastened to say, reaching across the table to grab her hand again. “he’s not. he just left a few minutes ago to go play cards at our friend aveline’s house.”

she blinked at him. “your friend, hm?” she repeated, trying to sound casual about it. 

he gave her an indignant snort. “my very married friend,” he clarified. “and i didn’t take you for the jealous type, celandine.”

“i’m not,” she shot back. she was the jealous type when something mattered to her, but she’d never confess that on a third date. or a fifth date. or even a tenth date, probably, because she’d never reached that with anyone before and couldn’t know for certain until she made it. “anyway, continue what you were saying earlier...”

there was a grin on his face as she squeezed his hand to try and coax the rest of the explanation out of him. “so i was going to go play at the bar,” he said, “after we were done, of course, or if you... wanted to do that, instead?”

she glanced around the restaurant, letting out a wary sigh. “i don’t know, hawke,” celandine murmured.

“i know you probably had to reserve this table weeks in advance, and i know the food here is definitely way better - if a lot weirder - but...”

he trailed off, expression hopeful, gaze soft.

“it’d mean a lot to me for you to be there,” he confessed. “i know you’ve heard me preform before, but i’ve been working on some new stuff that i think you’ll really like...”

biting her lip, celandine took another look around the restaurant before her eyes settled back on hawke’s face.

“okay,” she said.

and that’s how she wound up in hawke’s car again, except instead of driving her home, he’s driving her in the opposite direction towards the hanged man.

every third streetlight is burnt out; every fourth is flickering. dogs bark at rickety bikes that speed past their fences even though the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon and groups of tipsy people talk and laugh as they make their way down the street that’s, for the most part, lined building-to-building with bars and restaurants. celandine leans her head back against the headrest of the passenger seat, her thumb tracing circles on the back of hawke’s hand while she stares out the window.

“where is this bar?” she asks.

he flips on his turn indicator and pulls down a road that’s lit even less than the previous ones have been. “you wouldn’t know it,” he tells her with a hint of shyness. “it’s near my uncle’s old place, and he lives next to the docks. well, next to the factory district that leads to the docks, anyway.”

“are you going to take me to meet your uncle afterwards?”

he lets out a bark of laughter that’s a little too loud. “definitely not,” he responds. “never.”

“oh.”

silence follows, and then hawke does a double take. “oh, not because - celandine, not because of you,” he clarifies. “my uncle is a disaster. and he’ll probably have something to say about your politics, and frankly i don’t want to get my hands dirty tonight if i have to kick the shit out of him.”

she giggles - giggles, like some sort of school-aged girl - and lets her eyes flutter shut. “i can handle myself,” she informs him playfully.

“oh, i know that,” hawke replies. “i’d just do it for myself, really. him being an ass to you would just be a convenient excuse. but not tonight. maybe another time, if you’re lucky.”

like a broken record, she’s giggling again, and hawke holds back his own laugh by raising their entwined fingers to his lips.

it only takes a few minutes for them to reach the hanged man, which celandine can see from down the block because of the yellow neon sign of a man being strung up from the rafters by his feet (that is a little more than alarming), but it takes the same amount of time for them to find parking. apparently, the bar isn’t going to be as empty as varric said. they eventually find an empty patch of grass in a poorly lit back alley.

hawke opens the door of his van and slides out. celandine moves to ready herself for him to come over to her side and help her out, but she stops when he doesn’t shut the driver’s door behind him. she doesn’t have time to ask him what he’s doing when she realizes that she’s taking off his suit jacket.

“what are you doing?” she asks.

he throws it into the back seat. “if i show up wearing that, they’ll think i’m a douchebag,” he tells her as he undoes his tie. “this, too. your dress is fine, though. everyone’s just going to be distracted by how good you look.”

the tie lands on top of the jacket and just dangles over the edge of the seat, and by the time celandine’s looked back towards hawke, he’s unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. “what are you doing now?” she asks.

he’s stripped himself down to his undershirt with the dress shirt open on top and the same suit pants on the bottom, though they’re hanging a little lower on his stomach. he’s right - the new look will fit in a lot more with the bar scene, she suspects. and he looks... well, more handsome than he did before, if she’s being honest.

but she’d never admit it.

“can you get my - no, nevermind, i’ll get it.”

she watches as he clambers back into the car and fishes out his guitar case, accidentally smacking it against the ceiling light before pulling it out into the cool night air. despite how uncoordinated it seems, the thought of him doing this every night or once every few makes her smile, “come on,” he says warmly. “they won’t bite. hopefully.”

he probably doesn’t even have enough time to notice her rolling her eyes as she pushes the door open and follows him outside.

it’s a different part of town than they were in before, as she expected, but the air still feels slightly uncertain. it’s the only the thing that’s stayed the same the whole night. despite the fact that, deep down, she knows no one would ever find her in a bar so crudely named, she’s still scared that someone is going to ruin their night. especially now that hawke is in such a good mood.

he loops his arm - the free one that’s not toting a massive leather guitar case - around her waist and pulls her close to him. “thanks for coming, by the way,” he murmurs in her ear. “i think you’re really going to like the set.”

they’ve reached the doors, and yet, when hawke moves to open the door, she stops him.

“i don’t want to ruin it for you if someone recognizes me,” she says nervously, wringing her hands together out of guilt as she stops on the sidewalk in front of the blinking open sign. “you don’t know how many times people have stopped me recently. i was in the grocery store the other day holding a box of tampons when someone tried to get an interview.”

hawke slings the guitar case over his shoulder, returning to her with a frown. “okay,” he starts. “so... what do you want to do, then? we can leave if you want to, of course...”

“no, no, we can’t,” she tells him - she insists. “you want me to be here, and i want to be here for you. it’s just...” a sigh escapes her lips. this would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so kind and she wasn’t trying so hard not to say something that might hurt his feelings. “is there a v.i.p booth? or can i... hide behind the bar? or -”

“hang you from the ceiling?”

“as long as no one can see up my dress.”

he snorts, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to think of a suitable solution. “well,” he begins, “i’m not sure about v.i.p booths, but...”

and then his face lights up, eyes crinkling at the edges as he flashes her a dazzlingly white grin. “i have an idea,” he says, swinging his guitar case down from his shoulders and passing it to her. “give me one second.”

he disappears in a flash, and she’s left standing on the sidewalk in front of the bar, awkwardly holding onto his guitar case and rocking back and forth on her feet as she nods at other people entering the building. 

she doesn’t get nervous. ever. and she can always handle the press - well, not when they’re harrassing her while she’s trying to buy tampons, but no one can do that. and yet she’s nervous for this. and she doesn’t really know why. she can convince people to stop making a scene with a snap of her fingers if they decide to start; she’s bribed people more than once to get them to stop talking. if someone decides to make a fool out of her during hawke’s show, she’ll have no problem doing either of these things.

but she doesn’t want anyone to do it in the first place. that’s what’s making her so antsy. she just wants to be here with hawke for a few hours. she likes him too much for her own good.

the sound of him running up behind her snaps her out of her trance, and she greets him with a sort of panicked expression like he stumbled onto her secret pile of treasure. still, thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. as he tries to catch his breath, he holds something out to her, smirking.

“a pair of sunglasses?”

“yeah!” he straightens up and licks his lips, taking them from her and unfolding them. “they’re not that big on me, but i think they’ll be almost comedically big on you, so no one should be able to recognize you, anyway, if that’s what you’re worried about. plus, everyone in there is drunk or trying to be, so...”

he eases them onto her face, missing both of her ears and stifling an affectionate laugh as he realizes.

“yes, it’s very funny,” she grumbles, taking them off and adjusting them until they’re sitting comfortably on her face. “such a comedian, hawke. are you sure you don’t want to do stand-up, instead?”

he swings his guitar case up onto his back again and takes her hand, pulling her close until they’re chest to chest. “the only person worth making laugh is you,” he tells her softly, reaching up then to tuck a strand of dark golden hair behind her ear. “and since you never laugh at my jokes, i’ll stick to music, thanks.”

she must look like a lovestruck idiot, standing there with a pair of his scratched up sunglasses on her face, fingers latching absentmindedly onto his waist as he cups her face with both hands and rests his forehead against hers. she can’t help it, and she can’t bother to try and pretend otherwise. “you look cute wearing those,” he comments quietly.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he replies. “i like seeing you wear something of mine. i’d like to see a whole lot more of it...”

celandine feels her breath hitch in the back of her throat as he brushes his lips over top of hers -

and then he draws away, arms falling down dramatically by his sides, an evil look in his eyes. “but we should get inside,” he tells her. “don’t wanna miss it, now do we?”

she can barely believed he managed to trick her so easily - she’s left gawking after him as he turns on his heel and cuts a straight line towards the front door of the bar, walking with too much confidence for a man who isn’t normally so cocky. and who shouldn’t be, frankly, because she could get the better of him just as easily. and she’s going to.

she hurries after him until she’s practically stepping on the backs of his heels. “hawke?” she asks,removing the glasses to see him better.

“wha -”

the word disappears in his mouth as celandine presses her own to his. he kisses softly, at first, slowly; whatever game they were playing, they both lose, because while she winds her arms around his neck he combs one hand through her hair and lets the other linger on the small of her back, and even though he’s the one who makes a noise first - a loud, hungry groan - she feels one of her own soon follow. she can’t even tell if she makes it, however, because all of a sudden hawke’s walked her backwards and is caging her body with his against the wall of the bar. 

he just started teasing the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip when she abruptly pulls away, looking at him as innocently as she can manage. 

“you’re going to miss it, hawke,” she says in a voice as soft as silk while batting her eyelashes in his direction. “and you wouldn’t want to -”

he kisses her lips once more and then plants another three kisses beside her mouth before grabbing her hand and pulling her inside without so much as another word.

most of the room is packed, but there’s a few seats up front that are empty, and celandine luckily manages to snag a whole table to herself while hawke deals with the sign-up for the open mic backstage. there’s a few acts in front of him - some juggling for some reason, some rap, and a few decent covers - and then finally, when he takes the stage, she’s already beaming ear-to-ear at the sight of him, sliding the glasses further down on her nose to see him properly. he looks a little sweaty, she thinks to herself, his curls in a reckless halo around his head like they almost are.

maker. he’s so handsome.

the crowd must recognize him, because the instant he’s comfortable in his stool and looks up at the audience, they let out a chorus of drunken whoops. “thank you, everyone, thank you,” he chuckles good-naturedly. “i’m actually going to be singing my own song tonight, and it’s for... well, it’s for someone who’s really special to me.”

celandine bites her lip, watching him and holding back a breath as he meets her eyes. suddenly, she’s glad that the sunglasses are big enough to hide the blush on her cheeks. if he knew he’d flustered her again, he’d start laughing, and...

well, she wants to hear his song. it’ll definitely be better than stale wine and stuffy waiters. though it definitely won’t be as good as kissing him. nothing she can think of really is.

---

kind of inspired by this and this