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Hawke wouldn't stop fidgeting.
The others hadn't seemed to notice, but Merrill did. It was hard not to notice Hawke, especially when he was being so distracting.
They were at the Hanged Man for a night of Wicked Grace, but Merrill had decided not to play. Isabela said she needed more practice. Hawke wasn't playing either, too busy trying not to shift too much in his chair to even join the conversation, much less the game.
Merrill stands and walks around the table to stand behind Hawke.
"Are you alright?" she asks, and he freezes, but only for a moment before he's back to fidgeting. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep scratching your arm like that."
"Fine. Thanks," he grunts, and Merrill strikes that as odd; Hawke wasn't usually so curt with her.
"Well, if it's not too much trouble, would you please walk me home?"
He nods and stands, walking towards the exit stiffly. Merrill says goodbye for the both of them before hurrying after him. Even as uncomfortable as he seems, Hawke offers his arm for her when she catches up. Merrill giggles and only blushes a little bit as she takes it, and the two head out into the night together.
It's not a particularly long walk to her home, but Hawke continues to fidget the entire time. Merrill just squeezes his arm and comfort and waits until they're at her door to ask if there's anything she can do for him.
"I- um," he starts, then seems to forget his words. Merrill waits as he hums in frustration, knows that he has a hard time getting what he means to say out. "It's complicated. It's- no. Um. It's weird. You might not want to help."
"I like weird," she says, and she smiles gently as she leads him into her home, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wants.
He doesn't.
"Where-"
"Bed."
"Oh," she exclaims, definitely blushing now. When she looks up at Hawke, he's blushing too.
"N-not, um," he mumbles, looking away. "Not like that. Not that you're not, um..."
Merrill giggles and Hawke seems to grow redder. She pats his arm, endeared, and leads him to her bedroom.
"I have to, um- this isn't-" Hawke hums in frustration, but unlike before can't seem to find his words. Instead, he turns from Merrill and takes his shirt off.
"Oh!"
Underneath his shirt, bound with cloth to keep them pressed to his back, were a pair of wings. They were dark like his hair and beautiful. Merrill had never seen anything like this before and she so wants to touch them. Before she can ask, Hawke is stripping the bindings and stretching them out with a sigh.
They're massive, stretching from wall to wall and then some. Hawke seems to stretch them out as far as he can and then he shivers, shaking his wings out just a bit. He then tucks them against his back again before turning. He seems nervous, and won't quite meet Merrill's eyes.
"Hawke," she breathes, stepping towards him slowly. She reaches a hand out behind him, and when he doesn't try to stop her she pets one. Hawke shivers again and whines. Merrill is quick to pull her hand away. "I'm sorry! Did I do something wrong?"
"No!" Hawke nearly yells, grabbing for her hand. He holds onto her one small hand with both of his large ones and Merrill can't help but giggle, delighted. "They're just... sensitive. It, ah, it doesn't hurt, exactly, but they... Carver or Bethany used to help, but now..."
"Tell me what to do, Hawke," Merrill whispers, and Hawke finally looks at her. She smiles and he smiles back and Merrill thinks she just might be in love.
So Hawke gestures to the bed and the two sit. He turns his back on her and tells her how to care for his wings, how to groom them and keep them from irritating him like tonight. When she's finished, he doesn't bind his wings again or even put on his shirt. They just lay in her bed together, Hawke's wings spread behind them, and enjoy the intimacy of sleeping with one another.