"I know," Hawke hauls himself up the beach too, though he crawls just barely beyond the surf and simply lays down on his back under the slowly brightening clouds. "Maker only knows I understand the urge, after everything we've been through recently."

He holds one hand up, arm extended so the light catches the new scars then drops it back into the sand with a pomf sound. "Can I ask that you please not drown yourself, though? The Arena, maybe, or even just something else structured, but I can't-"

He cuts himself off in his own frustration, making a distressed noise under his hands covering his face for a moment before moving them away again. "Can we just lay here for a minute?"

It's uncharacteristically vulnerable and he's so bloody tired of being uncharacteristically vulnerable. Of having his heart in his throat or in his stomach, of not having control over anything. "If you want to. Its fine if you're not in the mood."

It's not but he makes a good effort towards sounding at least like he doesn't mind. He's not forcing anything knowing Chris has been squirrelier than normal about touch.