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( WE KEEP ALL THE HURT YOU NEVER KNOW )
[ the first time geralt returns from travelling for a job, yennefer ensures to give him a wide berth at kaer morhen. she pretends that she doesn't give a shit that he's decided to return with monster guts in his hair and smeared over his face. at least roach appears to be in better and cleaner condition. she allows the witchers to fuss over him in their own ways (which doesn't seem like any of them give a fuck at all that he'd been bleeding from the hand) and does nothing to stop ciri from taking her place beside him and bullying him into cleaning himself up before he chooses to sit down and get drunk.
yennefer doesn't get involved.
it's easier to remove herself from the room whenever he's in it, especially when she's not needed. she has no place in kaer morhen other than to be by ciri's side, and once the magical lessons are over, yennefer has no place to go. she remembers the pressure of the blade at her neck. truly, she thinks it should've bitten her, but geralt's a soft heart even when he's as hard as stone and the callouses on his hands.
it's easy to avoid him when others are in the room. it's fucking awkward to ignore the gravitational pull she experiences tugging at her gut like she's some young, foolish girl head over heels in love with the dumb boy who smiles at her when she's left alone with him.
the second time geralt comes back from taking a job a good village or two away, no one is there to greet him. it's in the very early hours of the morning. the world is quiet and dark, and yennefer sits in the great hall with a tankard between her hands. the hall is still in disarray; most of the tables are no longer upturned, but the giant tree remains grounded and ugly as a feature none of them seem to have the guts to hack down.
she thinks to leave, but she doesn't stand. she's too tired, her bones feeling heavy. when sleep chooses to find her here, all it brings to her are nightmares. so, she sits in the dark when no one seems to be around. it's easier; it's become her solace.
she watches him from the corner of her eye before she remembers who she is. she's unafraid of a witcher, even if she's afraid to turn to geralt and have him see right through her. yennefer hasn't been invisible in a long, long time—and she doesn't wish to be to him, even though she knows it's what she deserves.
resting her chin on the top of her hand, she smiles, though it lacks a lot of her usual mirth. ]
You look like shit.
yennefer doesn't get involved.
it's easier to remove herself from the room whenever he's in it, especially when she's not needed. she has no place in kaer morhen other than to be by ciri's side, and once the magical lessons are over, yennefer has no place to go. she remembers the pressure of the blade at her neck. truly, she thinks it should've bitten her, but geralt's a soft heart even when he's as hard as stone and the callouses on his hands.
it's easy to avoid him when others are in the room. it's fucking awkward to ignore the gravitational pull she experiences tugging at her gut like she's some young, foolish girl head over heels in love with the dumb boy who smiles at her when she's left alone with him.
the second time geralt comes back from taking a job a good village or two away, no one is there to greet him. it's in the very early hours of the morning. the world is quiet and dark, and yennefer sits in the great hall with a tankard between her hands. the hall is still in disarray; most of the tables are no longer upturned, but the giant tree remains grounded and ugly as a feature none of them seem to have the guts to hack down.
she thinks to leave, but she doesn't stand. she's too tired, her bones feeling heavy. when sleep chooses to find her here, all it brings to her are nightmares. so, she sits in the dark when no one seems to be around. it's easier; it's become her solace.
she watches him from the corner of her eye before she remembers who she is. she's unafraid of a witcher, even if she's afraid to turn to geralt and have him see right through her. yennefer hasn't been invisible in a long, long time—and she doesn't wish to be to him, even though she knows it's what she deserves.
resting her chin on the top of her hand, she smiles, though it lacks a lot of her usual mirth. ]
You look like shit.