[ danger, fighting, running - those are easy. those are aspects of their lives that yennefer and geralt are both experienced in. some could say comfortable with, to a degree. she does not have to be who she knows she can be, who she knows the brotherhood molded her to be and who she becomes with focus and attention and perfect detail, when it's needed. the only issue, in this instance, is that for so long she'd thought it was needed. for how long she clung to that image, thinking it was the best she could provide.

it feels like a weight being lifted, a costume being peeled away. layers and layers of lies and warped views, pooling at her feet. except that geralt has very much not begun to pull away at her clothes, a fact that yennefer is very much aware of, and very much is intending to change.

because for all that is left unsaid, all that is not quite forgiven but is healing, mending, they are still somehow them. always found, always brought back to the here. geralt's lips tilt and his mind crafts, images that feel like they could be someone else, save for the distinct feeling they leave still on her skin. her eyes close briefly, letting her mind live in the sensation of it all, in that seaside inn, in the sun pouring through the open window, the smell of the water and the waves. yennefer breathes in, breathes him in, and somehow it lessens the lingering smell of fish in the air. ]

The wine was shite, at that inn, but the sunsets were worth the coin. You'd just healed from your previous hunt, and this- [ she moves her hands down to his side, her fingers slipping up under the fabric of his shirt, finding one particular scar along his side and running her fingers along it. she smiles, letting herself stay for just a bit longer in the memory, ] -was particularly sensitive.