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"...Are you all right?"
Dorian did not turn to face her, at first. He lingered at the casement a little longer, staring out at the gathering storm clouds.
"No. Not really." He finally turned to regard Evelyn, the woman who had accepted him when all others spat at him, who had orchestrated the meeting with his father. "Thank you, for bringing me out there. It wasn't what I expected, but... it's something."
He studied her face as she came over to help him prop up the bookshelves. Maker knew they seemed to be leaning an awful lot.
"Maker knows what you must think of me, now," Dorian murmured, crossing his arms. He studied Evelyn out of the corner of his eye, taking in the gentle curve of her round cheek and the horizontal scar on her forehead. She looked incredibly young, all of a sudden, and he was abruptly reminded of exactly how young she was. He cleared his throat. "After that whole display..."
Evelyn was silent for a long moment. She would not meet his gaze. Finally, she licked her lips and opened her mouth.
"...I think you led me on, actually."
Dorian stared at her for a short eternity as shock suffused him. Was she...? Could she really mean that...?
One look at her downcast eyes, the downward turn of her pretty, pink lips, and Dorian knew. Evelyn loved him, and not as a sister loves a brother. She loved him as a woman loves a man. Guilt welled up in him. He had seen the signs, but had taken them simply as harmless flirtations on the part of a girl who seemed relatively inexperienced in the world. He had forgotten that she had been destined for the Chantry, before the Breach, and had lived a relatively cloistered life despite learning to fight. Still, he had not thought that she had put any real stock into their interactions.
It seemed he had been wrong.
"Ah," he murmured, guiltily. "The flirting." He licked his lips, feeling the scrape of his mustache against the tip of his tongue. He needed to shave, soon. "You're a remarkable woman, Evelyn. I mean that in the best way."
Evelyn's gray-green eyes drifted up towards him, and Dorian's heart broke at the sight of the tears that she was trying so hard to hold back.
"In another life..." Dorian trailed off when she closed her eyes and turned her face away, and he knew she was crying. He wrung his hands, helplessly, and chewed his lip. He never meant to cause her pain. She was the woman who meant the most in the world to him, and it was true: in another life, had he been other than what he was, he would have happily married her, and never would have let her out of bed again.
"I meant no offense," he offered weakly, and touched her softly on the arm. "I'll desist, if you prefer."
Evelyn snorted, and reached up to scrub at her face.
"Desist?" she asked, and then, suddenly, her lips were upon his.
Dorian gave a little grunt of surprise, but did not push her away. He would have felt appalled, were Evelyn other than who she was. As it was, her lips were petal-soft where they caressed his own, feather-light, and chaste as a Chantry mouse, respectful and longing all at once. It was actually rather pleasant, in a purely physical sense, but that was all it was: physical. There was no romantic connection there, nothing that could herald anything more than friendship.
He could taste her tears before she pulled away to give him a sad, regretful smile.
"Don't you dare," she ordered. With that, she gave him a shaky wink and ran her thumb across his lower lip, removing the faint remnants of her lipstick where it had transferred from her mouth to his.
Dorian pressed his lips to her forehead, and hugged her tightly with a soft chuckle. "I stand so instructed."
Evelyn's echoing laugh was heartbroken, but also warm. Dorian had no idea how she managed to convey such contradictory emotions all at once, but the smile Evelyn gave him was courageous and sad and beautiful at the same time.
"In another life, Dorian," she said, tenderly stroking his cheek. "We would've been wonderful, together."
Dorian smiled, not at all off-put by the fact that his best friend had just kissed him.
"In another life, Evelyn," he agreed, "yes, we would've been." He pulled away, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow before turning toward the stairs. "At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It's been that sort of day." His hazel eyes met her grey-green, in invitation. "Join me sometime, if you've a mind."
Evelyn held onto him a little bit tighter.
"Let's go have that drink, Dorian."