[ If there's one thing Geralt has excelled at, it's sitting in silence, uncomfortable or not. He lets it build and build, only the sound of liquid sloshing in the bottle. He tips the gin back—for a few seconds longer than he should—and offers it in return: possibly the closest thing to a peace offering between them right now.
Once the last bandage has been tucked, the only thing he says is a thank you that comes flatly even for him.
Deep down, he's not angry with her. But it's easier to be angry than to admit that he wants—that he needs—anything from her. That he already misses the gentle calm of her fingers in his hair. And it's easier to let her be angry with him, too. At least that, he knows well how to handle.
He gets to his feet, ignoring the ache that's begun to build from the usual bruises that will fade soon enough. There's more liquor downstairs and since he can't fucking go outside, that's where he's headed: to gather another bottle of gin to his room, a space he hasn't often spent the night in since he's moved in.
Only a sliver of the two moons remain in the sky. Geralt parks himself on the floor by the bed. He means to try to settle his mind, but for once his attempts are met with frustration and he ends up cracking open the gin instead. Fuck it. Not like he's going anywhere soon where he needs to be sober. ]
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Once the last bandage has been tucked, the only thing he says is a thank you that comes flatly even for him.
Deep down, he's not angry with her. But it's easier to be angry than to admit that he wants—that he needs—anything from her. That he already misses the gentle calm of her fingers in his hair. And it's easier to let her be angry with him, too. At least that, he knows well how to handle.
He gets to his feet, ignoring the ache that's begun to build from the usual bruises that will fade soon enough. There's more liquor downstairs and since he can't fucking go outside, that's where he's headed: to gather another bottle of gin to his room, a space he hasn't often spent the night in since he's moved in.
Only a sliver of the two moons remain in the sky. Geralt parks himself on the floor by the bed. He means to try to settle his mind, but for once his attempts are met with frustration and he ends up cracking open the gin instead. Fuck it. Not like he's going anywhere soon where he needs to be sober. ]