That first night, Anders lays his head on Hawke’s chest and is almost overcome.
He’s felt for pulses with steady, elf root stained fingers and listened to the sound of his own heart roaring in his ears when Templars get too close. The memories of being in a body that wasn’t his and wasn’t alive makes it hard to ignore all the signs of life around him. Too used to silence and stillness to not marvel at the differences sometimes.
But none of that compares to now, listening to the steady, slow beat of Hawke’s heart, skin warm and soft beneath his own. There’s life, and that’s beautiful on its own, but this is more. This is the life of the one he loves, perfect and protected.
It is, he marvels, the most beautiful song in the world.