imagine the first time Anders has to heal Fenris; likely on the battlefield with Hawke, soaked in the blood of their enemies, a time when Fenris does not explicitly call for his help, but Anders shoots a healing spell over anyway.
imagine the first time Fenris does call Anders for help; he’s out of breath, unable to stand, and the blood he’s wearing this time is his own. His vision blurs and everything is too hot and when he sees Anders reaching for him, he can’t remember why, only that he’s in agony.
imagine the first time Fenris wakes up in Anders’ clinic; his stomach is already thrown from battle, but as he grits his teeth and pulls himself into a sit, realisation hits him harder. He’s quick to dismiss Anders’ complaints about rest and even quicker to leave. He wishes he was quick enough to forget the small gratitude he feels as he pushes himself past clinic doors.
imagine the first time they’re drunk together; it’s Hanged Man night and everyone’s had a little too much to drink - even Anders, for once - and when Isabela calls Anders’ card bluff, Anders’ poker face is too weak to hide his lie. He tries despite his history, all squinty eyes and flushed cheeks and pressed lips, and for some reason it’s the most ridiculous expression Fenris has ever seen him wear, and he laughs generously at the mage despite himself.
imagine Anders never forgetting that deep, rumbling laugh, feeling confused and stupid when he lies awake at night thinking he’d been drunk and it wasn’t like it’d been the first time he’d heard the damn elf’s laugh anyway.
imagine the first time one of their arguments leads to Fenris calling Anders by Anders and not just mage.
imagine Fenris making excuses to ‘pass through’ Darktown, as though it were actually on the way to Hightown and he was definitely in the sewers by happenstance, dropping off unnecessary supplies.
imagine the first time Anders touches Fenris’s hands; gauntlets off. He finds they’re calloused and weathered, but strong and powerful, and very, very sensitive. Imagine him asking Fenris permission to touch, to trace those lyrium lines only so that he may link their fingers together. Imagine the vulnerability Fenris feels, heart beating loudly against his ribs, but he stays. This time, he stays.
imagine the first kiss they share; Anders is the first one to act, but Fenris meets him halfway, lips and tongues as eager as their fingers and hands. And they both know it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, probably shouldn’t have happened like this, but here they are, and here is somewhere, and, Anders jokes between soft kisses, “that means we must have agreed with each other somewhere along the way after all.”