[ it is unsteady ground, trying to open up a space for someone who is not used to talking, to talk. it's a balance between wanting to give them the time they need to find the words and the push, or jumping-off place, to start talking about it. it's even trickier, sam knows, when you're close to the person - because you want to jump in. you want to fill the space. you want to offer up words that might be it just so that they don't feel pressure to come up with them on their own.
but he doesn't want to speak for geralt. he doesn't want to put words in his mouth. whatever it was that happened was more than just the gruesome lashes down his back and a battered body - sam saw it in the distant looks he'd catch geralt making, the quiet, complicated silences that followed him. it's strange, to think he has now known geralt for long enough to know there is a difference in those silences, but at the same time, not that strange at all.
so sam waits - looking patient and comfortable where he's standing. he could stand here all day, if geralt wanted to wait that long. he hopes he doesn't.
it is some time before geralt speaks, his voice annoyed at the very concept. I can't fucking sleep. and sam nods - not because he's noticed it himself, not because he's well aware of geralt's restless, long nights. but more so because he gets it. ]
Nightmares? [ he asks first, with a kind of casual acceptance of the concept. ] Or can't turn your brain off?
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but he doesn't want to speak for geralt. he doesn't want to put words in his mouth. whatever it was that happened was more than just the gruesome lashes down his back and a battered body - sam saw it in the distant looks he'd catch geralt making, the quiet, complicated silences that followed him. it's strange, to think he has now known geralt for long enough to know there is a difference in those silences, but at the same time, not that strange at all.
so sam waits - looking patient and comfortable where he's standing. he could stand here all day, if geralt wanted to wait that long. he hopes he doesn't.
it is some time before geralt speaks, his voice annoyed at the very concept. I can't fucking sleep. and sam nods - not because he's noticed it himself, not because he's well aware of geralt's restless, long nights. but more so because he gets it. ]
Nightmares? [ he asks first, with a kind of casual acceptance of the concept. ] Or can't turn your brain off?