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Geralt doesn't think much about the trials anymore. Occasionally, someone will ask about his eyes or his hair and he'll mention it in passing, but never long enough to consider what happened to him or think too deeply about it. It wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all himself. So he pushes all those memories down and forcefully forgets about them, about the life he could have had, the boy he used to be.
But you can only push for so long before things start pushing back.
It's been years since Kaer Morhen has known the screams of its students, so the break in the silence is heart-stopping. For Eskel, it's a sound that's all too familiar and it breaks his heart to hear it again after so many years.
He crawls out of bed, quickly adjusting to the dark of the room and crossing to the door. He's made this trip more times than he can properly remember, but he doesn't remember ever feeling this hopeless. Carefully, he pushes his door open, stepping out into the corridor and counting the doors like he used to. It's a calming tactic Vesemir taught him years ago, but it works now as well as it did then.
Geralt's door is the fourth down from his own and he pushes it open carefully, bracing himself against what he might find inside. He remembers going into Geralt's room that first night and finding a shock of white hair on his pillow. He remembers how it felt under his fingers; still soft but completely devoid of colour. Just one more thing stolen from him by the trials.
Geralt is still asleep in his bed, sheets tangled around his legs. His face is pinched in discomfort.
Eskel forces down a burning anger that threatens to overtake him and crosses to sit on the edge of the bed. Geralt was always the softest of their group - of most of the boys who undertook the trials - it's a wonder he's as well-adjusted as he is. He reaches out, gently brushing his knuckles against Geralt's cheek. He stirs but doesn't wake up and Eskel leans over him, resting on his elbow. He curls his hand around Geralt's arm, rubbing his thumb in soft, soothing circles and eventually, Geralt's expression relaxes a little and he blinks up at him.
There's a terrible fear in his eyes and Eskel's chest tightens at the sight of it. It's times like these that he understands Lambert's fury. He wants to destroy them all, to tear apart anyone who had a hand in causing Geralt this pain. But of course, they're all gone and just the four of them now remain, left to live with memories they'd sooner forget.
"It's okay," he breathes, settling down next to him, "just a dream." Geralt's hands are on him in an instant, curling in his shirt and tugging him close. Eskel goes easily, fitting himself up against Geralt's chest and winding his arms around him.
"Hey," he whispers as Geralt's breath catches, "I've got you." Geralt mumbles something that even Eskel can't hear and shuffles closer to him.
After a while, he relaxes, but Eskel doesn't let him go. He dips his head, pressing a kiss into Geralt's matted hair and Geralt nuzzles against him, evidently drifting off again. It's amazing to him how, after all these years and everything they put Geralt through, they never managed to take his softness.
"Geralt?" he asks and when all he gets is a muffled grumble in return, Eskel smiles softly against his hair and shuts his eyes. At least he can offer this. If he can't take Geralt's pain away from him, at least he can be here to soothe him when it returns.