Chapter Text
Anders rolled over, pressing his face into the soft pillow and gathering the duvet around his ears. It was cold out beyond the little nest he’d made of the covers; there was a chill on the tip of his nose, but the rest of him was warm, the bed comfortable. More than it had any right to be, given how little he actually knew the person it belonged to.
He’d met Marian last night. She was tall, with cropped black hair and a wicked smile. There had been something glimmering there in her blue eyes when she’d caught him looking from across the bar that held his attention long past the point he’d usually have given up and walked away.
She wasn't here now. At first when Anders woke and realised that he was alone and that he didn't particularly want to move from this spot, he'd thought he would wait for her. It didn’t take long after that to realise that the flat was completely silent and Marian must have left him here alone.
He wondered if she'd just needed to nip out for something. He entertained a brief fantasy of her coming back with hot coffee and a breakfast they could share together and found himself liking the idea enough to be disappointed when it didn’t manifest. He still didn’t get up, and Marian still didn’t come back, so Anders tried to recall if she’d mentioned having to work today.
The curtains she’d haphazardly drawn together the night before had begun to let in the morning light through the gap she’d left between them. They were thin enough that even without it, he’d have known he slept in later than he probably should have done in a near stranger’s bed. It was bright enough to see the details of the room he hadn’t noticed the night before, the photos hanging in a row on one wall, the books filling shelves and spilling onto various surfaces. Marian liked science fiction, he noticed. There were notebooks too. If she was a writer, that was another thing she didn’t mention. She’d said she moved furniture for a living, delivering or collecting it from people’s houses, which probably explained why her biceps were distinctly more impressive than his own.
He was having a hard time convincing himself to get up. He thought about what it would be like to stay until Marian came back, and what it would be like for that to be something that was normal for him to do. He imagined her greeting him with a kiss, making dinner together and then cuddling up on the couch to watch TV. It had been so long since he’d last been in a relationship. Even longer since he’d experienced that sort of easy intimacy with another person. He hadn’t been sure if he was ready to have that again, or if he ever would be. Thinking about it now, he couldn’t deny he missed it.
It took him too long to see the note left on the bedside table and realise that it had been left for him. Anders eyed the scrap of paper, knowing it wasn’t going to tell him to stay here and wait for her, but hoping for it anyway. He didn’t know why he seemed to be so determined not to leave Marian’s bed. It wasn’t just the physical comfort, or the cold air beyond the covers. If he left, there was a chance he wouldn’t see it again. Wouldn’t see her again, get to know more about her and what she liked and the kinds of things she wrote about in those notebooks. That was just how it worked wasn’t it? He’d done this enough times before to be familiar with the routine.
But the note was promising. Her number, perhaps.
Finally, he braved the world outside the duvet, reaching out a hand to take the note between his fingers and bring it close enough to read:
Good morning!
You looked so peaceful sleeping there I somehow couldn’t bring myself to wake you. So enjoy the lie in I guess. I’m off to work.
There are muffins in the kitchen if you get hungry before you go :)
That was it. He checked the back and read it over again but no phone number appeared. The note was sweet. It was more than he should have expected—and yet he was disappointed all the same
He sat up and rubbed his arms as the cool air hit his bare skin. His head wasn’t too bad, considering he’d been drinking the night before. Anders supposed he and Marian had been too busy doing other things to get that drunk but he still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get up and go to work while he was out cold.
It was so tempting just to lie back down and curl up in those warm covers again. He ignored the feeling, staying where he was, feeling the cold on his skin, as he took in the room from his new upright position and reality finally seemed to hit. Suddenly it seemed more important that he get up and find his clothes. It didn’t feel right to be tiptoeing naked around someone’s room in the light of day. The few other times he’d done this recently, this part always happened earlier, often without sleeping first at all.
He found his clothes; his nice trousers and shirt. He probably should have worn a jumper with how cold it was getting. His coat wasn’t in the bedroom and he dimly recalled shedding it somewhere on the way through the house, along with his boots. He looked back at the bed and arranged the covers tidily. Not that the rest of the room was particularly tidy but it seemed like the thing to do. He picked up the note from the bedside table, turning the paper in his hands as he thought about writing something back. Perhaps a thank you. Perhaps his number, so that at least the ball was in her court if she decided she’d like to do this again. Or do more than this. If she wanted.
He read the words again and wandered out of the bedroom to find the kitchen. It was tidier here than in the other room, with just a bowl and a mug and a few other things by the sink, as though she hadn’t had time to rinse them before she headed out. The muffins were in a tupperware container on the small table beside the door. Chocolate. Not what you’d call a healthy breakfast but probably more substantial than what he was used to.
He helped himself to a glass of water first, to soothe his dry throat and decided to get coffee on the way back, rather than help himself to more than Marian had offered. He took a muffin, though, wondering if Marian made them herself. That was another thing he wouldn’t have guessed about her, but she was good at it, assuming she was even the baker in question.
He was halfway through one, already wondering if he’d be pushing his luck taking a second when he heard the front door to the flat opening.
Anders nearly dropped the muffin at the sound and twisted his head to look at the time display on the microwave, wondering if it was really so late that she’d be back from work already. The ridiculous fantasies he’d entertained as he lay in bed of her coming back and being pleased to see him still here all seemed even more ridiculous now than they had earlier. Suddenly the idea of her finding him here seemed mortifying and he was panicking, wondering what he was going to say.
His thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected sound of a dog barking, loud enough that Anders nearly jumped a second time. But it was the next sound that really threw him off; it was the muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Calm down and let me get this thing off you.”
That wasn’t Marian. The voice was too deep for that.
Marian hadn’t mentioned that there was someone else living with her. In fact, she’d told him the opposite. She’d said she lived alone.
Anders didn’t have time to figure out a way of saving himself from the embarrassment of being found in Marian’s kitchen by some stranger and their very large sounding dog. There was a clatter of claws against the laminate flooring in the hallway, followed by more barking and then the dog appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, which Anders hadn’t bothered to close behind him. His blood ran cold as the dog — a mabari, some part of his brain supplied, not entirely helpfully — stopped still and let out a warning growl.
“Dog,” the voice, from the hallway, whose owner was still out of view, had taken on a deeper, more authoritative tone, “enough. What are you even…”
Finally, the man appeared in view. He was tall and broad enough that he nearly filled the doorway, with short black hair, a beard and thick, dark eyebrows that were pulled together into a frown.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Anders whimpered.
In retrospect, it was even more embarrassing than simply being caught that that was the first sound to escape his lips at the sight of the man, and his dog, and at that question. But as it unfolded the main thing on Anders’ mind was the sheer terror that the dog was about to leap at him at any moment.
Thankfully, the man seemed to realise this, right around the time that he must have realised how unlikely it was that someone had broken into Marian’s flat just to steal her muffins.
“Hey, knock it off,” he said to the dog. To Anders’ surprise, it listened. Mabari were an unusually intelligent breed of dog, supplied the part of Anders’ brain that was apparently just full of useless information today. “You going to answer the question?” His voice took on a different quality when he talked to Anders instead of the dog. Not softer, but certainly quieter.
Not taking his eyes off the dog, Anders answered, “I’m a friend of Marian’s.”
“I thought Marian was supposed to be at work.”
“She is.” Anders felt he would rather not have to explain his one night stand to whoever this man was but it didn’t seem like he was likely to get off the hook on that one. “She invited me here last night, allowed me to stay and went to work this morning. She said I could eat before I left if I wanted to.” He held the half eaten muffin up as evidence and when the man still looked doubtful, he added, “She even left a note. Right here.”
He picked up the note he’d dropped on the table just a few minutes earlier and held it out.
To Anders’ relief, when the man instructed the dog to stay as he stepped around them, it did. He inspected the scrap of paper Marian had written on and apparently seemed satisfied that it was in her handwriting. A good thing, since Anders had nothing to compare it to. When he was done, he returned the paper to Anders, saying, “Are you planning on staying long?”
Anders couldn’t entirely read his expression but he didn’t seem entirely thrilled with the situation.
“I was just leaving.”
He didn’t say ‘Good’ out loud but he might as well have done, if the small, satisfied grunt he let out meant anything. Anders shoved the note into the pocket of his trousers and would have fled immediately if not for the mabari standing in the way of the door.
“Alright, Dog, let him pass.”
The dog didn’t just do that. It approached, less aggressively than earlier but still enough to make Anders stiffen uncomfortably. He’d always been more of a cat person. It sniffed at him, and seeming to realise that he wasn’t interested in petting it, slunk off to find a more likely candidate. It went to sit beside its master, who scratched it behind the ears without taking his eyes off Anders’ face. He felt his cheeks heat up from the intensity of the stare and it took Anders a moment to register that he was still standing there, frozen in place, staring right back at him. He shook off the feeling and finally fled the room to find his coat and boots so he could get out of the unfamiliar flat.
Anders was just pulling his long wool coat over his shoulders when the man reappeared, giving Anders another fright. At least until he registered what he was holding in his hand. The chocolate muffin Anders had forgotten on the kitchen table.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast,” he said in that same, quiet voice, now lacking the edge of suspicion that had kept Anders from thinking of it as soft before.
“Thank you,” said Anders, surprised. He glanced up and their eyes met. His were a warm mahogany brown, and as Anders looked into them, those first words he’d spoken to him flashed through his mind again. “Um… goodbye.”
He left the flat with his cheeks aflame, trying to keep the foolish thoughts about the strange familiarity of those first words from his mind.
He was half way back to where he’d parked his car — far enough across the city that he and Marian had opted to take a taxi to hers last night, but close enough that he decided to walk this time, as he knew he had little else to do with his day — when he realised that he had forgotten two things. First, his neck was much colder than he remembered it being last night, because he’d had a scarf with him at some point and now he genuinely couldn’t remember if he left it at Marian’s or at the bar. Second, he never did decide whether to write his number down and leave it for Marian to decide if they should meet again. He’d been so distracted with the possibility that he was about to be mauled to death by a dog who had no business being that bloody huge that he’d forgotten about it entirely.
He could always head back, knock, or put a note through the door mentioning the scarf but after the way he’d left, the thought of returning, knowing Marian wouldn’t be there didn’t hold much appeal.
He could try next time he was in town. Then if Marian was interested, they could make a plan. If not, he could get his scarf back and leave it at that. Then he’d know, at least.
He was still thinking about it when he made it home.
Anders’ house was a thirty minute drive out of Kirkwall’s city centre, in the kind of neighbourhood that he never would have dreamed he’d end up in when he was a kid. Even when he made it to university, with the prospect of a career as a doctor ahead of him, he’d somehow never thought far enough ahead to see himself in a big old house with a garden and a view of the sea from the bay windows on the upper floor. It probably wasn’t the sort of place he’d have chosen for himself, but even now that he lived here alone, he somehow couldn’t face the thought of moving.
Anders parked on the driveway and took out his guitar from the back seat. He was at the front steps leading up to the house when he noticed the cat. It was in the flowerbed, rolling about among the wilting fuchsias.
Placing the guitar case on one of the steps, Anders lowered into a crouch. “Hey there,” he said quietly, while stretching out his hand, hoping the cat would be enticed by the prospect of being petted. At first he only froze, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. But as Anders kept still and tried to appear as nonthreatening as possible, he inched slowly forward, until it came to sniff at his outstretched hand. Then, seeming to approve, he bumped his head against Anders’ fingers, making him smile.
“Hi,” he murmured as he petted the cat’s head. “Oh, you’re just lovely, aren’t you?”
He was an orange tabby, small enough that he must still be fairly young. Anders wondered if he had a home. He wasn’t wearing a collar so he supposed it was possible. He tried to think of what he had in his cupboards, if he had anything that would be suitable to feed to a cat. Even if it didn’t want to stay, he wouldn't mind encouraging the cat to visit more often. Maker knew Anders could do with the company.
The cat pushed its head up into Anders’ palm and he ran his hand down along its back, smiling wider at the loud purr he was starting to emit. “I’m happy to be friends if you are,” he told him. “I always wanted a cat.”
They were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up in front of the house and Anders was left disappointed as the cat startled and ran. He looked up at the sound of a car door closing and found a familiar figure looking quizzically at him from the bottom of the garden path. “Anders? What are you doing down there?” Jowan asked.
Anders sighed and pushed himself up from where he was crouching. “There was a cat. You scared it away.” His voice came out sounding somehow both accusing and slightly whiny and probably entirely deserving of the raised eyebrow Jowan was giving him.
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” Anders sighed again. “I didn’t realise you were planning to come over today.”
“I was, um, just in the neighbourhood,” said Jowan, which Anders had long understood to be code for ‘you haven’t been answering my messages and I wanted to check you were still alive’.
Anders picked up his guitar and pulled the house keys from his coat pocket. As he pushed open the door, he turned back to Jowan, saying, “Come in. I’ll make some coffee.”
“Are you just getting home?” Jowan asked, following Anders into the house.
Anders placed his guitar on the floor, against a wall so he wouldn’t trip over it later and slipped his coat onto its usual hanger. “I stayed in the city last night.” He tried not to make it sound like it was a big deal but Jowan latched onto it anyway, seeming understandably puzzled, as it wasn’t like Anders had many other friends these days.
“Who with?”
“Someone I met at the Hanged Man.”
Jowan was halfway through hanging up his own coat when Anders’ implication registered and his eyebrows shot up and he turned to look at him in surprise. “Oh. Wow. Uh… are they nice?”
Anders snorted, but he thought of the note, still crumpled in his pocket and the chocolate muffin he’d finished eating on the walk back to his car. “Yeah… seems that way.”
“That’s great. Do you think you’ll see them again?”
Anders shrugged. They reached the kitchen, which probably wasn’t in a fit state for guests but Jowan was more than used to Anders’ mess by now. He busied himself filling the kettle and grabbing mugs for coffee.
“Don’t you want to?” said Jowan, tentatively, when a few seconds had passed without Anders elaborating on his shrug.
“Maybe… I don’t know how likely it is to happen. She didn’t give me her number. I thought about leaving my own but I, uh, forgot.”
He fumbled for a moment as his mind conjured up warm brown eyes beneath serious dark eyebrows. Stupid… he thought for the hundredth time as his face heated up at the memory.
As he turned back with a steaming mug in each hand, he caught Jowan looking at him with interest. Feeling awkward, he handed Jowan’s mug over and carried his own through to the living room.
"Do you remember back in school this one time we were all round at Surana's place? We did that weird... ritual, I suppose you could call it."
Jowan was clearly thrown by the question, not that Anders was surprised. It had been years since he'd thought about that day. The more surprising thing was probably that he'd even remembered it after so long.
"The soulmate thing?" Jowan asked doubtfully as he took a seat at the other end of the couch from Anders.
"Yeah," said Anders, almost regretting even bringing it up because it really was so stupid that he was even thinking about it. "We called upon the spirits or whatever to tell us—"
"What our soulmate's first words to us would be. I remember. Wow, I haven't thought about that in a while."
"Do you think it was real?" He felt embarrassed just asking but he was fairly sure Jowan wouldn't mock him for it the way Surana would.
"Wait," Jowan's eyes widened. "Was it her? The woman you stayed with?"
"What, Marian? No. No it was... someone else. Someone I doubt I'll ever see again."
"Oh." Jowan seemed disappointed by that. It was sort of sweet, how genuinely invested he seemed in Anders' happiness.
"And it's not as though I believe in all that," he said, as though it hadn't been his idea to even try the stupid ritual back then. "It's got to be a coincidence. It just got me thinking."
He remembered it clearly, even after more than fifteen years. Anders had been so sure he knew what the words would be, that he'd already met the person he was meant to be with. Then the board had spelled out something different, the same words that tall bearded man had spoken to him: 'who the fuck are you?' and his friends had dissolved into peals of laughter as Anders' heart deflated because Karl was sweet and shy, and the first time they'd spoken had been when Anders had dropped one of his exercise books on the way to his maths lesson earlier that day. Karl had called him back, not wanting him to get in trouble with Ms Rylock, who had a real knack for making her students cry over that sort of thing. He had the prettiest blue eyes Anders had ever seen, and he'd been convinced it was love at first sight.
It had to be a coincidence, or a joke Surana had played on him, because it was a common enough phrase, and because it was exactly the sort of thing Surana would do.
"I don't think it can be real," said Jowan with an awkward laugh. "If it was, it would make my soulmate Surana."
"Wait, what?"
"Yeah." He laughed again. "I don't know if she was pretending not to notice back then, or if she really didn't remember but we both got each other. They were the first words we said to each other."
"And you're sure you and Surana aren't...?"
"Is that a serious question?" Jowan laughed. "I mean, she barely puts up with me."
"You've been best friends since you were five."
"Which is exactly why it would be weird. Like marrying my sister or something."
Anders supposed he had a point. The idea of them together had certainly never occurred to him before now. Back then it had always been Solona he’d seemed more interested in. Funny how that had worked out. Or sad. Really, really, fucking sad. And then he’d met that girl Lily and they'd been engaged for a while, until that all blew up in smoke.
Anders lifted his mug to his lips, sipping the hot coffee and hoping none of that sadness was actually showing on his face. They both fell quiet for a moment after that and Anders hadn’t even noticed that he was probably making Jowan feel awkward with his weighty silences until he finally spoke up, "So, um, speaking of people we went to school with... did you hear that Karl was going to be in town pretty soon?"
He hadn't.
It wasn't as though they were regularly talking to each other these days. Or ever talking to each other. Anders didn't have his number and the only social media Anders had, he tended to avoid more often than not. Karl might have been the reason for that. Finding out about his first love getting engaged through a photo posted online had just been depressing. Maybe it shouldn't have mattered, but Anders was too used to being pathetic to be surprised about it when the post had sent him spiralling into misery and self-pity, despite it being over ten years since they'd broken up. It was fairly hypocritical too, given that Anders hadn't waited half that time finding someone else and rushing into marriage himself. He and Solona hadn't bothered telling anyone about the engagement. There had barely been time for that. They had simply made a decision and then gone ahead and done it.
Of course, he hadn't told Jowan about any of that. The regrets over Karl, that was, not the wedding. They'd all found out about that sooner or later. Jowan was probably under the very sensible assumption that Anders had moved on. And he had, mostly. It was just hard not to think of the good times and be sort of miserable about how far away they all seemed now.
"Huh," was all he could think to say.
"And Surana said she'd be about then too so we were thinking about meeting up. Going out for food or something."
Anders couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less. But what he said was, "Maybe."
"It could be fun. It's been ages since we've all seen each other. Not since—" He blanched as he clearly realised that the last time had been the funeral. The one that had been the catalyst for this rekindled friendship between them now. Because if Jowan hadn't been the only one who realised that Anders had needed someone back then, he was certainly the only person who had decided to follow through on it. "It will be good to meet under happier circumstances, don't you think?"
"Sure."
"You don't... um, you don't sound terribly convinced." Jowan stared helplessly at him for a moment before adding, tentatively, “You are allowed to do these things, you know. You can have fun once in a while.”
“I know,” said Anders, a touch too impatient. Even as he spoke he knew it wasn’t fair to Jowan, who was only trying to help. He took a breath and tried to explain, “I sort of feel like I burned my bridges with all of them a long time ago.”
“That’s not true! We became friends again, didn’t we?”
Anders nodded. It didn’t seem fair to point out that he’d never been close with Jowan the way he had with Surana and Karl, and that’s why he suspected it had been easier for them. That and Jowan actually living in Kirkwall. He had come after being fired from a tutoring job with some rich old Fereldan family. Unfairly accused of being a corrupting influence on the child he’d been hired to teach, he’d moved overseas, hoping his sullied reputation wouldn’t follow him here. He’d been here for years before he and Anders had finally reconnected.
It wasn’t about the guilt. Though the feeling had never left him, he’d made progress in learning how to keep it from holding him back. Not vast progress, but enough that he had started playing music again, playing regular gigs at pubs and bars, occasionally going home with people he met there. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he deserved to move on — or that he wasn’t at least trying to convince himself to believe that. He didn’t know why the thought of seeing them all made him feel so awful. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe something more complicated. He didn’t think he was about to figure it out now.
“I know they’d like to see you,” Jowan said softly. Anders must have given him a doubtful look because he insisted, “They told me they wanted to see you.”
Anders sighed. It was one evening, he thought, even if it was awful, he’d get through it and be back to his usual solitude before he even knew it. Thinking about it like that, it didn’t feel like he was in any position to decline. “Alright. I’ll go.”
“You will?” Jowan’s face brightened. “That’s fantastic. I’ll let the others know.” Which Anders supposed was a relief. He didn’t particularly want to be the one to reach out to people he was half convinced hated him anyway. Even if Jowan seemed to think that wasn’t true.
He didn't stay for much longer, only long enough to catch up over coffee, Anders telling him about his gig last night (Jowan had been the one to get him started with those, telling about a bar that had been looking for a regular performer, so he was pleased Anders was keeping up with it) and Jowan filling him in on the latest from his job at the local primary school (his class had guinea pigs now. Their names were Roger and Teacake.) They said goodbye after that. After waving his friend off, Anders closed the front door and with that last click, the house fell quiet.
His hand came to rest above his trouser pocket, where he could feel the note still inside. He thought of the scarf he’d left behind and how at least that was a reason to go back. If he was going to change something about the way he’d been living these past few years—the way Jowan seemed to think he needed to—then maybe this was the place to start.