Anders whirls at the sound of his voice, and the sensation of his heart physically leaping in his chest isn't actually a dramatic exaggeration, he's fairly sure it palpitates. His eyes are wide and afraid, like he's scared that this will be taken away from him in the next second.

"Hawke," he rasps, watching him shift and move like he's woken up as Anders is going to work on any normal morning rather than after so long unconscious. Swallows hard against the tide of emotion burning its way up his throat. Honestly, it's probably a good thing that Hawke does start to fiddle with his drip, because it at least snaps Anders out of his reverie and makes him realize that no, this is happening.

"Stop that," he says, coming over to Hawke's bedside and swatting at his hands, tone at odds with the way he can't seem to stop his mouth from beaming. His eyes are all crinkled with happiness and kind of damp — it's possible he's actually about to cry, but first he leans down and kisses Hawke properly, heedless of what died in his mouth. Pulls in a long, shaky breath through his nose as he draws back, trying to steady himself. "Good morning, love." Is it morning? Who cares. "I'll take all your tubes out in a bit."