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"Isabela!" Hawke's voice rings through the apartment, reverberating off the unfortunately bare walls. Hawke has told her on multiple occasions that she needs to stop slacking on decorating. I will, Isabela told her, when work gives me hours that don't make me want to dive off the docks. (So helpfully, Hawke supplied that she doesn't work remotely near the docks. Isabela rolled her eyes and popped open the liquor cabinet at that—something she had furnished beautifully.)
She wasn't actually aware Hawke was going to be here when she got home. It isn't as if Isabela didn't give her a key for a reason, or that she minded what most people would call intrusions, but she would have at least liked to know she could have brought home more free drinks from work and had an excuse for it. Excuses were always nice. To her credit, Hawke has already made herself at home, reclined on the unnecessarily large sofa with a glass on the coffee table. There's a moment of silence as Isabela sheds her purse and shoes, and then: "Hey, I'm trying to get your attention. If I keep waving my arm, it's going to fall off."
Isabela turns at that; Hawke is still waving, though Isabela now sees she's holding a game controller. "Funny," she starts, settling on the far arm of the sofa, "I could have sworn I didn't have anything that would hook up to last time I was home."
"You didn't." Of course not. "I don't know how your TV works, and I can't connect anything to it without it giving me static of a blank screen." Hawke's tone is screaming, this should be obvious, and Isabela can't help but laugh. Hawke's brow furrows as she rights herself, arms folding over her chest. "I figured I'd be bored while I was waiting for you."
This has to be the most ridiculous exchange they've had in at least two days. "Ah, I can see it now." Putting on her best Hawke Impression, which she and Varric agree should be trademarked, she continues. "Maybe I'll just stay at mine until Isabela gets home, and entertain myself there until it's time to bother her. Oh, no, that's far too reasonable; what was I thinking? I'll just bring an outrageous number of electronics with me, and maybe that'll stave off the unbearable ennui that encroaches whenever I have no-one to distract me." Isabela's slid off her perch somewhere around outrageous, and has her head near Hawke's lap, an arm slung over her forehead dramatically. Unfortunately, Hawke does not find this nearly as amusing as it clearly is, and doesn't miss a beat.
"You've been talking with Varric too much."
"There's no such thing. You of all people should know this." The arm over her eyes is draped off the edge of the sofa now. Isabela stares at Hawke's face, knit brow and pursed lips and all, and sighs. "Oh, come on, surely you see my point. Besides," she drawls, and now she's got Hawke's attention, "there are far more gratifying things we could be doing besides me helping you hook up wires and plugs." They're both sitting up now, and while Hawke still looks perturbed, Isabela knows that look. She's listening. With each word, she trails her fingers up Hawke's arm, a self-satisfied grin plastered on her face. "Like—hooking—up."
Hawke's fingers drum a slow pattern on Isabela's hip. "Can you really call it that if we're dating?" A reasonable question, Isabela supposes, despite Hawke ignoring her appropriately atrocious pun work, but she shrugs.
"I don't think there are linguistic rules about it, Hawke." She opens her mouth to say more, undoubtedly pressing the issue too far, but Hawke holds up a hand to cut her off. Instead, Isabela settles for slinging a leg to the other side of Hawke's hips, resting her arms around the other woman's neck. There's no helping the laugh that escapes once Hawke resumes her usual half-glare.
"Shut up," she bites out, burying her face in Isabela's neck. A quick bite follows a moment later; Isabela knew she was right about the look. "Just—shut up, you're impossible."
"You like it," Isabela counters, and Hawke grunts, because she does. They know every step to this dance by now. In this particular sequence, though, they don't move from the sofa. They like it.