#vxngerberg

The half of it fell on the floor and she looked at the broken handle in her hand with a sigh, resigned. Her knuckles were white from gripping it too hard.

Behind her, a huff. “Yen.” It was always like that. Yen, Yen, and she would turn around and look at him and melt, and his voice was so gentle, so annoyingly attractive that she had to keep her head high, lest her heart ran ahead of her, and spoke in her voice.

She didn’t turn around. Not yet. “What is it?” and her voice sounded normal in her ears, but she knew it wasn’t. She knew he could understand. When, when had she let herself be so visible?

Geralt took a deep breath and walked away from the window after what felt like centuries. At least, she thought. At least she could make him stop complaining all the time. He approached her, stood behind her and met her eyes in the mirror. Softly, he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Listen,” he said, know-it-all, and she swallowed. “I know you don’t like family gatherings and that kind of stuff but…” Another sigh. When he was being dramatic, she loved him a little bit more. She hated him all the same. “I want you there, Yen. It’s not the same without you.”

She wanted to laugh. Of course, he knew, she didn’t like family gatherings, and that was the problem, of course. His hands on her shoulders were warm, firm in a way that made her shiver, made her crave these fingers over every inch of her skin. She huffed, humourless, and glared at him through the mirror. She hoped the glass would hide the weakness. “You want me there as what, Geralt?”

He frowned. Lowered his look, perhaps to avoid her. His voice came out almost confused, almost as though he didn’t want to understand. “As a friend.”

And then she stood up, abruptly, and faced him. “That’s nice,” she said and her voice was dangerously calm, dangerously piercing so as not to shake. “Is that your final decision? Lovely of you to inform me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Yen…”

“Don’t!” Burning. She was burning whole and she didn’t know if it was rage or longing, she didn’t know anymore. “I’m not your backup plan, Geralt.” She shook her head. “And I won’t be here forever.”

She wouldn’t. No matter how much she wanted it, no matter how much she missed him every time she wasn’t looking at him. She wouldn’t always be brave.

Suddenly, she was tired.

Clenching her fists in a final attempt to keep the flood of helplessness from pulling her to the bottom of her longing, she turned to leave the room.

“Wait.” A hand was wrapped around her wrist, tightly, as though afraid, and she spinned at its tug, faced him again. And damn if his eyes didn’t make her knees weak, ready to give in. She wanted so badly to give in. Geralt smiled at her.

The music pierced her ears, covering the thumping of her heart beating to escape her chest.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt Geralt’s hand moving down to clasp hers, fingers entwined together like puzzle pieces fitting together. She swallowed, eyes fixed at him, at his stupid, hesitant smile. Then, a hand on her waist. A shiver. “What are you doing?”

“You’re right,” he muttered and it was so sudden, so unexpected. Of course she was right. As if on instinct, her hand moved on his shoulder and he grinned wider, and started swaying them around in a parody of a dance, just like their attempts to bond together. His voice was quiet now. “Dance with me for a bit.”

It was tight, his grip. Stable, and for the barest of seconds, she hoped, and danced. Idiot, idiot man. His face was close, so close that they breathed together and she didn’t dare move away, lest her breath was cut and she had no air to breathe in that he wouldn’t share. He didn’t stop staring at her, and it burned, seething fire, but she was never one to lower her eyes. Instead, she smirked. And as they twirled, she stepped on his foot.

“Ah, fuck.” He tripped, stumbled and almost fell on her as she laughed loudly and pulled him up before they both hit the ground. He squinted at her as he limped. “Alright, you got your point through,” and his voice was so light that she wasn’t able to stop smiling, so light that it fell upon her heart like a thin lace veil and wrapped it in the warmest embrace.

In just a few moments, he found his footing again. She raised an eyebrow. “Glad to hear it.”

Slow, the music was slow and she didn’t remember hearing this song ever before, but it was probably because she never listened closely. Slow, their limbs tangled and untangled and Geralt smiled at her and outstretched his hand, pushing her in a twirl. She wanted to giggle like a little child and for once, however silently, she did. It was nicer than she remembered, the world twirling around her and she always wanted to be in the centre of it, and in the way Geralt looked at her as though he lived under her sight alone she thought that maybe, maybe for once, she actually was the centre.

Nicer and enchanting, and she twirled again and in the mirror saw a little girl twirling along alone in her room, and getting dizzy and falling on the floor. The room turned around her like the fake snow of a glass snowball, and for the barest of seconds she lost her footing and fell.

Geralt caught her.

He was warm, and now he held her tighter, forever smiling at her. She didn’t fall often, not anymore. And if she did, she never showed it, rushed to get up. But now she realized she didn’t have to hide anymore. If she fell, he would be there to catch her.

Her voice came out breathless, his touch alone kicking the air out of her lungs. “When did you learn to dance?”

“You taught me,” and his eyes shined golden under the dim light and warm, so warm that she felt she would melt. She wanted to melt.

A huff, then. “You don’t mean…” She had taught him, yes. But they hadn’t worked it out then, and she never thought they would. “We were drunk then,” she said instead, because they were, but a timid voice inside her head whispered that it was not the only problem.

“Perhaps.” Tighter, tighter still he holds her, until her heart rests upon his and their bodies breathe into each other. “But we aren’t now.”

Yennefer didn’t answer. She only stared at him, as though deciding if she should be convinced, if she should hope. They wouldn’t lose their footing now, even if they tried. She decided, then. And slowly, as though her doubt was gripping at her hair, she let her head fall on his shoulder, and felt his arm creeping upon her back, keeping her close. And they danced.

It terrified her. “It won’t work,” she whispered and yet, and yet she wouldn’t even step on his foot, he wouldn’t even trip, and the music went on and on and it was like a dream, from the ones she had given up on having long ago. Traitorous, she thought, traitorous heart. And yet.

She heard Geralt chuckling silently, almost agreeing. Almost, because he knew, of course. For the first time she found that it didn’t bother her that much, being the one not to know. Being the one held. He chuckled and ever so softly, he kissed her hair. “We’ll make it work,” he said, honesty dripping like honey from his lips, and rested his cheek on her head, right above the spot where he had kissed her. To seal a promise.

Unwillingly, she smiled to herself. She knew he could see her. She smiled and, letting her guard down, she closed her eyes. Maybe, this time, maybe they would. Somehow, she wanted to try either way.

She wanted to try not being the friend anymore, but the partner, just to see the smile on Geralt’s lips when he would introduce her, just to feel her heart sing in her ears rather than wail. Just so she would lean to his ear during dinner to whisper I love you, only to see him choking, only to laugh. Just so she would love him. Just so she would be loved.

Too long they had spent dancing around each other, and her feet were starting to feel sore. Too long, and now it was comforting, having somewhere to rest her body, to share the weight of her shoulders. Now they danced, together, and like a bird finding its nest after searching for days, she settled in his arms, and belonged there, finally, even if he still tripped sometimes, just to make her laugh.