It's not long before Hawke appears around the corner of the house. His hair is tousled and he's dressed in muted colors, though more appropriately for the weather than the night before. Black jeans and a green Henley, unbuttoned at the top, with his fur-collared anorak over it. He strides over and climbs the short steps up to Chris. Or intends to, anyway. He stops short with his foot on the porch but the other still on the step below, looking up at his friend with deep-seated worry and not a zero sum of undirected frustration.
"'Presumptuous'? Really? 'Misconstrued'?" His expression turns wry and he leans against the short rail, folding his arms. He keeps himself that step below Chris, looking up at him and not crowding because if he does now he might not ever let go.
It occurred to him, in a handful of seconds it took him to get here and around the back of the house, that Chris still called him Wolfe in that message. It's a silly thing to notice, maybe sillier to hang meaning on, but if Chris is still willing to call him Wolfe then nothing feels unsalvageable.
He lets out a long breath, visible in the afternoon air not because of his stress but simply for the ambiant cold this time.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Not besides trying to clam up." He examines Chris' expression, trying to see past the turmoil and the tiredness into what he can do to actually help. What does Chris need that he's not saying? Denying himself out of a sense of Maker knows what. Pride? Shame?
Frowning, he walks the rest of the way onto the porch and goes to wrap his arms around the cleric, telegraphing the movement obviously not so Chris can escape, though he does run that risk, but so he knows it's coming. "I don't know why you think a kiss is going to get between Amelia and I, but I need you to drop that notion. She and I have our own things to work through, but affection for and from other people isn't one of them. Stop borrowing worries, Heart. You've enough of your own."
If allowed, he kisses the side of Chris' head. He doesn't know if he should but right in this moment he does not care.
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"'Presumptuous'? Really? 'Misconstrued'?" His expression turns wry and he leans against the short rail, folding his arms. He keeps himself that step below Chris, looking up at him and not crowding because if he does now he might not ever let go.
It occurred to him, in a handful of seconds it took him to get here and around the back of the house, that Chris still called him Wolfe in that message. It's a silly thing to notice, maybe sillier to hang meaning on, but if Chris is still willing to call him Wolfe then nothing feels unsalvageable.
He lets out a long breath, visible in the afternoon air not because of his stress but simply for the ambiant cold this time.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Not besides trying to clam up." He examines Chris' expression, trying to see past the turmoil and the tiredness into what he can do to actually help. What does Chris need that he's not saying? Denying himself out of a sense of Maker knows what. Pride? Shame?
Frowning, he walks the rest of the way onto the porch and goes to wrap his arms around the cleric, telegraphing the movement obviously not so Chris can escape, though he does run that risk, but so he knows it's coming. "I don't know why you think a kiss is going to get between Amelia and I, but I need you to drop that notion. She and I have our own things to work through, but affection for and from other people isn't one of them. Stop borrowing worries, Heart. You've enough of your own."
If allowed, he kisses the side of Chris' head. He doesn't know if he should but right in this moment he does not care.