Cullen sighs, practically purrs, at Hawke's fingers carding through his hair, nails scrapping at his scalp. It anchors him to this present, out of the nightmares at the edges of his reality.
That insult wrings merriment out of him, a giggly half-snort he's unable to suppress quickly enough. "No, I..." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. The Gallows again, but this time not an unpleasant memory, but rather a happy one, in hindsight.
Knight-Commander Meredith, showing off her red lyrium sword to the Champion. Oh, how obvious that she wanted to unnerve Hawke, cow him into submission. But the Champion stood strong, unflappable as he fired off a cheeky retort that, despite its lack of physical violence, eviscerated Meredith in front of the entire Kirkwall Templar Order:
"It seems a lot more sword-like than I remember."
And then, as now, sudden, piercing levity caused Cullen not to disapprove but to laugh, wring out of him that self-same half-snort giggle. Meredith hadn't heard it, caught up shaking in quiet rage at this apostate's continued defiance, her, "I WANT HIM DEAD!" louder than everything. Hawke hadn't either, more preoccupied with what was sure to be a horror show—the same red lyrium that had driven Varric's brother insane, now in sword form, pointed at his throat.
"I love you," bursts forth from Cullen as if a quiet prayer, devotional, and a statement of fact all in one. "I..." And Meredith's face, distorted by her madness, no longer has power over him, the fear replaced by the ridiculousness of the situation that bore it. "I think I've loved you for a long time, actually. Since the Gallows, probably. When Meredith tried to intimidate you with her red lyrium sword, and you just..." Another snort, crow's feet crinkling in amusement, "Maker, I shouldn't have laughed. But I did. I did. And that's...that's what I want. Someone who can look at death's door and smile, laugh, and make me smile and laugh too."
"I...you don't have to..." He pauses, suddenly unsure by the weight of the epiphany hitting him like the Holy Smite he took to the face, the source of his lip scar, during the battle at the Gallows. "Likewise, you don't have to give me anything either. I just want to be around you, bask in your presence, and remember it's okay to laugh once in a while."
"I love you. I...I hope that's okay." I hope it's not too fast, too much. That I am not drowning you. But what is Cullen if not a man meant for soul-crushing devotion?