It's difficult with his mind beginning to race, but Adalwolfe lets Anders talk, pulling the blanket slowly over his lap as the words pour into him, suddenly feeling very silly and underdressed.

I wait a lot when I think I'm not right for wanting something. Isn't that the truth? Three years of pining before they'd ever even kissed. But that old frustrated amusement flees as Anders explains further, citing Hawke's disappearance, how he was left alone, came here alone, the ring a solitary band of a set that was supposed to...

Supposed to...

He can't form the thought. It's so deeply buried, something he hasn't touched in years because looking at it too often had become a practice of self-flagellation for how much he wanted yet could not have.

Thought he could not have.

But Anders puts the ring in his hand and he can't even look at it, staring instead at the healer's face, slack jawed and barely breathing.

"Anders..." Dumbstruck. There's no other word for it. He could choke on the lump in his throat and his eyes sting but it all seems distant for the rushing in his ears, the racing of his heart, and the immeasurable weight in his hand.

Almost five years from when he'd last asked, and Anders finally said yes.

He doesn't know what to do with himself.

"...Your gift is much better than mine..."