For all of his composure and dedication to the cause, Anders finds himself lost when it comes to this hot, burning feeling inside of him.

It started off gently. Hawke teasingly flirting with Isabela at the Hanged Man. Sultry smiles, hearty compliments to that damned ex-Antivan Crow that Isabela once knew.

Then came the hellstorm that is Tallis.

Lofty flirting, giggles and cheesy pickup lines.

He knows Hawke means nothing by it. It’s innocent teasing and lacking any true intent. They’ve talked it over, and he knows, yet it does nothing to quell his jealousy.

Jealousy. Protectiveness. Possessiveness? Whatever.

When they arrive back at the estate, Anders is being a bit clingier than normal. Holding Hawke’s hand, a small press against the Champion’s lower back as they ascend the stairs to their room.

When given a questioning look, Anders almost frowns.

“I was within a breath of throwing a fireball at that elf,” he huffs, “do you know that?”