[ The silence is welcome. They sit in it together and when she reaches for his hand, he offers it to her, squeezing gently. He wishes she didn't feel both of their emotions so strongly. It can't be pleasant, and right now, he has no idea how to hold back the tide of it.
As agitated as he grows with every burst of fear and pain, he stays with her as promised. It's fucking hard. The itch to do something grows every hour; he flips the invitation around, studying it for something else they might be able to use in between downing the bottles of liquor that come his way.
In the end, exhaustion is their saving grace: even he can't keep awake after all the shit that's happened. By the time the sun begins to crest the horizon, he's passed out somewhere—either against Yennefer or sprawled on the rug by the dying fire. ]
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As agitated as he grows with every burst of fear and pain, he stays with her as promised. It's fucking hard. The itch to do something grows every hour; he flips the invitation around, studying it for something else they might be able to use in between downing the bottles of liquor that come his way.
In the end, exhaustion is their saving grace: even he can't keep awake after all the shit that's happened. By the time the sun begins to crest the horizon, he's passed out somewhere—either against Yennefer or sprawled on the rug by the dying fire. ]