Anders kisses his cheek while his eyes are closed, and then rolls back out of the bed, real world coming back to him like a rake to the face. He has days worth of responsibilities, weeks, that he's been putting off, and they'll have to wait a while longer until he's certain Hawke is better.

The water is a dull colour, and bright with cold; Anders fills the biggest tin he has as a cup and brings it back. "Sit up," he coaxes. "Drink this. Small sips. Are you hungry?"