"Sometimes, Hawke, it seems like it's your only recourse." Anders says it without even thinking, the counter feeling so normal for a moment. And the claim that Hawke wouldn't is almost stranger than the place they're in. It's easier to fall back on the assumption that it's nothing but casual banter. It happens regularly enough. Happened regularly enough.

Then he sits as well, leaving enough space between the two of them to be noticeable. He's too used to Hawke needing personal space, and it isn't really about Anders, even if it might seem that way. He falls quiet again, too. He really has no idea where to even start.

"A fireball?" he says, carefully. Then he shuts up again. People walking on the ceiling really is a lot easier to accept than this. He rubs at his eyes. "Hawke, you can't--"

But having seen him do it, that argument seems a little weak. "Did whoever bring us here turn you into a mage, as well?"

And it isn't possible to sound more disbelieving than Anders does in that moment. This is a dream, and a particularly cruel one. The reality is that he's on his own; he's pushed Hawke away, and for good, and he's going to make it even worse. He never had a chance at an actual comfortable friendship with the man, but even if that chance had been there, he would have lost it by now.

He'd much prefer simply dealing with reality and getting it over with.