Well, I COULD do work. Or I could write grad AU 
The realization hit him when she avoided the microphone making its rounds for the third time. It wasn't just the Spicy Antivan Sailor; he'd stopped drinking around ten-thirty, and almost immediately, so had she. She might still have a glass of port in her hand, but she'd barely taken three sips in the last half hour, watching him as often as he watched her.
His head hurt. How in Thedas was this possible?
First she'd claimed she wasn't drunk enough when Dorian unexpectedly tossed her the mic. Then she disappeared to the bathroom the second time she saw it approaching. And just now, she passed the mic off to Bram with a laugh, claiming he could do the honors of demonstrating a true Starkhaven drinking song.
Their eyes met for the fifth time in a minute--he'd been counting the seconds as the microphone approached. She looked away first, swirling the wine glass between her fingers. Then abruptly, as if following a cue, she got to her feet and headed toward the back door.
Without thinking, Solas followed.
"I don't need a chaperone," she called over her shoulder.
"But I could stand some fresh air."
She didn't object, but there was something strained her smile as they stepped into the mercifully deserted patio behind the bar. She didn't say anything, just walked all the way to the hedge at the back and leaned against the ancient iron lamppost, still staring into her wine.
Finally, Solas couldn't stand the pretense any longer. "You knew the words," he said in a rush. He waited for her to deny it, and got silence for his trouble.
"You studied music," he pressed on. "I'm certain you would sound better than Dorian's caterwauling."
Her knuckles whitened on the glass even as she chuckled. "Now there's a compliment. I studied composition, Solas, not performance."
"And?"
"And nothing." She crossed her arms over her chest. Her left foot tapped in time with the music drifting out from the half-open door.
Solas shook his head. "I would never have expected self-consciousness, from you of all people."
"You're assuming a lot from a few instrumental tracks."
He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not a fool, harellan. You take care in your craft, and you would not waste time learning elvhen if you were incapable of doing it justice." The last of the rum still warmed his veins, but he could feel it starting to ebb away in the autumn chill.
Any trace of a smile had long ago disappeared from her face. She drained the remainder in the glass and carelessly tossed it aside; it clattered to a halt on one of the rusting picnic tables, teetering over the furthest edge. "Look," she said firmly, "it's nothing. I just don't like singing in front of people."
In Solas's experience, it was never "nothing." "Nothing" didn't explain Dorian's strange silence about anything before he arrived in Orlais. Vivienne didn't exceed his expectations of ego over "nothing." And he'd opened his mouth to say exactly that when she marched right up to him, stopping only with her lips a hairsbreadth from his.
Damn her.
"Harellan." She was too close; even the softest words stirred strands of her hair. "I was making a point. You are not going to dissuade me."
The sweet, sharp bouquet of wine flooded his senses when she stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear.
"Do I look like I'm trying to dissuade you?"
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