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Adrian knew Fenris was drunk when he stopped pretending not to lean.
Not staggering.
Not slurring.
Just… leaning.
Casually, persistently, like Adrian’s shoulder was a perfectly acceptable architectural feature that had always existed for this exact purpose.
It was subtle enough that no one else would clock it. Fenris still stood straight, still moved with that infuriatingly precise balance of his. But the calculations were off. The constant, rigid self-correction had loosened just enough that his weight kept drifting—finding Adrian again and again like it was the most obvious solution in the world.
“You’re doing it again,” Adrian murmured, adjusting his stance so Fenris didn’t actually tip them both into a nearby table.
“I am standing,” Fenris replied, very seriously.
“You are occupying me.”
Fenris hummed, apparently considering this, then shifted closer anyway as his arm slid around Adrian’s waist.
Adrian exhaled through his nose.
In hindsight, something like this should have been predictable—right around the moment Adrian had optimistically declared they would stop for one drink in a dockside tavern that smelled like salt, citrus, and poor decisions.
Alright. Maybe not predictable.
What would have been predictable was Adrian having a few too many. There was precedent. Plenty of it.
Adrian had a long and storied history with bad ideas that started with just one drink and ended with apologies, property damage, or livestock.
As it stood, Adrian was on his third glass of something green and sharp-smelling that the bartender had called “refreshing".
Fenris, meanwhile, had been sharing a bottle of something—something that was still in his hand—with Isabela.
Isabela, who had since vanished.
Which, now that Adrian thought about it, was deeply suspicious.
Fenris lifted the bottle again, squinting at it. “This is… stronger than expected.”
Adrian smiled. Softly. Dangerously. “Is it? I never would have guessed.”
Fenris took another sip anyway.
That was the second sign.
The third came when Fenris turned his head, studied Adrian’s face with strinking intensity, and said, “You are very handsome.”
Adrian blinked.
“I— yes?” he said. “I know?”
Fenris frowned faintly, “No. You are exceptionally handsome.” He leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing classified information. “It is distracting.”
Adrian choked on his garishly green drink.
“Fen.”
“I am trying to remain alert,” Fenris continued, clearly aggrieved. “But you keep existing.”
“Well,” Adrian said, setting his glass down before gravity made that decision for him, “that does sound like a problem.”
Fenris’s mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close. Unguarded. Warm. He shifted again, pressing closer, his thumb rubbing absently at Adrian’s hip through the fabric of his tunic.
Adrian’s brain made a noise somewhere between static and oh no.
“Alright,” Adrian said, already resigned. “I think we’ve reached the point in the evening where you either need water, air, or to be escorted away before you do something mortifying for both of us.”
Getting Fenris moving was easier than expected.
Keeping him upright was… less so.
Fenris still moved with the muscle memory of a fighter—controlled, precise—but his judgment had clearly decided to take the night off. Every step brought him back into Adrian’s space: a hand firm at his waist, a shoulder brushing his chest, weight settling against his side.
Outside, the night air was cool and damp, heavy with salt and old wood. The dock glistened faintly under the lanternlight, slick where the tide had crept up and retreated again, leaving the boards darkened and smelling of the sea.
The Crimson Gale waited at the far end of the pier, unmistakable even at rest.
Her dark hull loomed against the water, wood polished to a dull sheen by years of salt and hands that knew how to care for her. The red sails were furled tight along the yards, bundled and bound like coiled muscle at rest rather than slack cloth. Lanterns burned low along her sides, their warm light catching on iron fittings, the curve of the rail, the familiar scuffs and scars of a ship that had seen trouble and survived it.
"You smell liek salt," Fenris mumbled.
“We live on a ship,” Adrian laughed, "I'm fairly sure that comes with the territory."
Fenris mumbelrd something, turning his head and briefly resting his forehead against Adrian’s shoulder.
The dock creaked beneath them, sharp in the quiet, and Fenris stilled—then frowned faintly, almost letting go of Adrian as if about to go looking for the source of the sound.
Adrian tightened his grip. “Come on.”
Fenris allowed himself to be guided, though he kept stopping for reasons that made absolutely no sense. Because the moon was “too bright,” reflecting too harshly off the water. Because the dock shifted beneath their feet in a way Fenris declared “suspicious.” Because Adrian’s cloak sat crooked on his shoulder, and someone could grab it if he wasn’t careful.
Each pause came with a brief, unconscious assessment—eyes tracking shadows, hand tightening at Adrian’s waist, fingers brushing the rail as if to reassure himself the ship was still where it ought to be.
By the time they reached the gangplank, Adrian’s patience was hanging on by a thread.
Fenris paused again, one hand sliding to the rail, fingers curling around the familiar wood.
His shoulders eased—not much, but enough that Adrian felt it.
Adrian half carried half pulled him.
Across the deck.
Down the steps to the private cabins.
Anders to the left.
Theirs to the right.
Steering Fenris the last few steps down the narrow companionway.
Adrian reached the door, fished the key from his pocket one-handed, and nudged Fenris back just enough to get the lock turned.
The door swung inward with a soft creak, the small cabin dim and still beyond it.
“Almost there,” Adrian murmured, more to himself than to Fenris.
He guided him inside, turned, and kicked the door shut behind them—cutting off the sounds of the dock, the water, the night.
Fenris stopped just inside the door, braced a hand against the wall, and stared at the lantern like it had personally betrayed him.
“It is too bright,” Fenris declared.
Adrian sighed, and reached past him to turn the flame down. “There. Less oppressive tyranny of light.”
Fenris nodded solemnly, satisfied—and then promptly leaned forward again, forehead finding Adrian’s collarbone.
Full-body lean.
Commitment-level leaning.
Adrian wrapped an arm around him automatically, muscle memory taking over before his brain could finish sighing. Fenris’s hair smelled faintly of salt and wine and whatever sharp citrus thing Isabela had convinced him to try. Warm. Familiar. Dangerous in the way good things always were.
“You are warm,” Fenris murmured.
“I’ve been informed,” Adrian said. “Repeatedly. By you. Tonight.”
Fenris hummed, fingers curling into the back of Adrian’s shirt.
“Sit,” Adrian said gently, steering him toward the bed.
Fenris didn't move.
Adrian gave up.
He toed off his boots, then maneuvered Fenris back until the backs of his knees hit the mattress, and let gravity finish the argument. Fenris sat—then immediately reached out again, fingers catching Adrian’s wrist.
“You good?” Adrian asked, unbuckling his cloak one-handed.
Fenris’s grip loosened. His shoulders dropped a fraction. He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded now, studying Adrian with the same intensity as before—only softer, unfocused at the edges.
“I think,” Adrian said carefully, “it might be bedtime, Fen.”
Fenris nodded once.
Then leaned forward and pressed his face into Adrian’s stomach with a quiet huff.
“…I am going to sleep now.”
Adrian snorted, brushing a hand through Fenris’s hair.
“A shocking development.”
Adrian woke to the sound of Fenris breathing as if the very concept of air had personally betrayed him.
Not snoring. Fenris did not snore. This was sharper. Measured. Like every inhale had to be negotiated.
Adrian cracked one eye open.
Fenris lay on his back, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, the other clenched in the bedsheets as though bracing against an invisible enemy. His ears were flattened, his jaw tight, every muscle tense.
Oh.
Oh no.
Fenris made a small groan.
Adrian rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
“The light is too loud.”
“That’s the sun.”
“It is hostile.”
Adrian leaned closer, delight blooming warm and unrepentant in his chest. “How’s your head?”
Fenris inhaled. Paused. Exhaled slowly.
“I believe… I am dying.”
Adrian beamed. “Really? How tragic. Should I fetch a healer? I’m sure Anders will be thrilled.”
Fenris turned his head just enough to glare at him. It was not his sharpest glare. It lacked commitment.
“You will not bring the mage into this.”
Adrian reached out and brushed Fenris’s hair back from his shoulder, gentle despite the grin he was absolutely failing to suppress. His fingers skimmed warm skin, followed the familiar lines of lyrium pulsing faintly beneath it.
“How many drinks did you have?”
Fenris hesitated.
“Too many,” Adrian translated, then grinned, “You told the sea you respected it.”
“It deserves respect.”
“You also told me,” Adrian added lightly, “that I am ‘extremely handsome.’”
Fenris made a noise that might have been a groan or might have been an attempt to sink into the mattress and vanish entirely.
“It’s just a hangover,” Adrian said, still smiling. “You’re not dying.”
Fenris frowned. “Then why does my skull feel like it is attempting to escape my body?”
“That’s regret,” Adrian said. “Mixed with fermented fruit. And the inconvenience of age.”
Fenris cracked one eye open, squinting at him. “You are enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Fenris pressed the heel of his hand into his temple. “You are never allowed to let me drink with Isabela again.”
Adrian pretended to consider this. “Counterpoint: it was extremely entertaining.”
“Do not mock me.”
“I would never,” Adrian said solemnly—then immediately ruined it by adding, “Much.”
Fenris groaned and shifted. Pressing his forehead into Adrian’s collarbone, the argument clearly no longer worth the effort.
Adrian’s laughter faded into a fond huff. He wrapped an arm around Fenris’s shoulders, thumb brushing slow circles at his back. “Alright,” he murmured, voice softer now. “Sleep it off. I’ll mock you later.”
Fenris didn’t answer.
His breathing evened out instead, tension easing, weight settling fully against Adrian’s chest.
Adrian smiled to himself and stayed right where he was.