[ it is different, and yennefer feels it too. feels it in the way she opens up for him and feels it how he seems to respond in kind. she is not sure what it is about this place that has them both able to be here. not sure what it is about it - if it's thorne, if it's the horizon, if it's ciri - holding them together. she doesn't know, and frankly, she's not sure she cares. not sure she wants to care. because geralt leans against her, fills the space she's realizing how she had been holding onto for him and him alone, and it's. gods, it's almost too much - but then again, yennefer has to think back to a time when geralt wasn't too much. when this feeling between them didn't feel like it was threatening to drown her.
there were times where she despised this feeling - after the wish, after the mountainside. where she would be haunted by the image of him, the feeling of him, thoughts and dreams and impossible things. but yennefer can't lie to herself now how much she missed it, how much she missed him. how much of him had been on her mind, those last nights in sodden, faced with her own (possible) end.
the thought, for a brief moment, has her tightening her hold around him. a slight, but needed, squeeze. a breath she makes and a stutter of a heartbeat that he can probably hear, that he does hear, especially with how close he is to her. she knows it doesn't matter, in the end, because she survives sodden - she has to, if she is to teach ciri of her chaos. but that hole, that darkness that had crept up into her, that fear - she is sure some of it will linger, even now, in these softer moments. even as she feels the muscles in his back loosen, relax.
at some point she does find herself sitting - either with him on the chair or settled onto his thigh, somewhere where she doesn't quite let go of him, doesn't have to. she feels her breathing match his own, feels a kind of comfortable silence neither of them need to break. not for a good while, at least, where they simply sit with each other. with each other, in turn. she does not apologize, does not offer words of explanation, not for this - but she also does not shy away from it. there is an understanding between them for that. in turn, she lets him take the time he needs. if he wishes to pull himself back together, if he wishes to let himself fall to pieces, she does not care which.
yennefer, some time later - she does not know how long, doesn't care to count the seconds or minutes or more - adjusts where her face had been buried in his hair. turns it, so it is her cheek pressed to the top of his head, as she huffs something of a small laugh. quiet, warm. ]
You can change your entire appearance in this place, everything about it your own choice, and yet you still manage to smell so much like Roach I would think her here.
[ there is a familiar warmth in her voice at the words - a connection, a history, them. she does not pull from him and suspects that she won't until he does first, but she does shift as she holds him. does let her fingers thread down through his hair, a hand splayed out across his shoulder.
( it feels too good, even in this imaginary place, to touch him again. part of her is scared if she let's go, she might not get another chance. ) ]
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there were times where she despised this feeling - after the wish, after the mountainside. where she would be haunted by the image of him, the feeling of him, thoughts and dreams and impossible things. but yennefer can't lie to herself now how much she missed it, how much she missed him. how much of him had been on her mind, those last nights in sodden, faced with her own (possible) end.
the thought, for a brief moment, has her tightening her hold around him. a slight, but needed, squeeze. a breath she makes and a stutter of a heartbeat that he can probably hear, that he does hear, especially with how close he is to her. she knows it doesn't matter, in the end, because she survives sodden - she has to, if she is to teach ciri of her chaos. but that hole, that darkness that had crept up into her, that fear - she is sure some of it will linger, even now, in these softer moments. even as she feels the muscles in his back loosen, relax.
at some point she does find herself sitting - either with him on the chair or settled onto his thigh, somewhere where she doesn't quite let go of him, doesn't have to. she feels her breathing match his own, feels a kind of comfortable silence neither of them need to break. not for a good while, at least, where they simply sit with each other. with each other, in turn. she does not apologize, does not offer words of explanation, not for this - but she also does not shy away from it. there is an understanding between them for that. in turn, she lets him take the time he needs. if he wishes to pull himself back together, if he wishes to let himself fall to pieces, she does not care which.
yennefer, some time later - she does not know how long, doesn't care to count the seconds or minutes or more - adjusts where her face had been buried in his hair. turns it, so it is her cheek pressed to the top of his head, as she huffs something of a small laugh. quiet, warm. ]
You can change your entire appearance in this place, everything about it your own choice, and yet you still manage to smell so much like Roach I would think her here.
[ there is a familiar warmth in her voice at the words - a connection, a history, them. she does not pull from him and suspects that she won't until he does first, but she does shift as she holds him. does let her fingers thread down through his hair, a hand splayed out across his shoulder.
( it feels too good, even in this imaginary place, to touch him again. part of her is scared if she let's go, she might not get another chance. ) ]