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He still hasn’t moved.
He has lost count of the minutes that have passed since when he first woke up, surprisingly well-rested and surrounded by someone else’s scent, and yet he hasn’t found the strength to move.
Yennefer is still asleep, her head against his shoulder and her arm and leg possessively thrown over him, her grip solid in spite of how peacefully she seems to be resting. He is positive that she wasn’t there when he fell asleep, and the thought of her curling up next to him tugs pleasantly at his chest.
He runs his fingers through her hair, as delicately as he knows how to, letting out a slow breath and thinking that he really should leave while he still can. That he isn’t sure he can face her once she wakes, that it’s probably best to leave with the memory of her peacefully sleeping than of her bidding him farewell.
In spite of how his thoughts keep stubbornly circling in that direction, he doesn’t move, and when she stirs her eyes open to meet his.
She seems surprised and disoriented for a few moments, like she too is way too used to waking up alone, and his first, foolish thought is that he would like to lose that habit alongside her, waking up like this every morning and seeing her last every night.
As her face clears, the surprise leaves room for a small smile, as she pushes herself up on her elbow and lets her fingers trial up and down his shoulder and arm. “Good morning,” she says, playfully. “You look rested.”
He hums. “I slept well.” Better than he has in an unbearably long time.
She raises her eyebrows, amused. “Was this floor so appealing?” she teases, and he gets the feeling that he knows what she’s fishing for.
“It was probably the good company,” he says, and he means it.
The smugly pleased curve of her mouth makes his stomach take a leap, and for a moment he’s overwhelmingly grateful for whatever it is that kept him there when he meant to leave.
“Flatterer,” she reprimands, not sounding mad in the least.
“It’s the truth,” he only shrugs, letting his eyes close again as a welcome sense of peacefulness washes through him.
“Hey now, are you going to fall asleep on me right in the middle of a conversation? Again, I might add?” she says, giving him a slight and playful shake that prompts him to open his eyes again, if only to see if there’s a smile accompanying the teasing note in her voice – there is, and it’s beautiful.
“Did I do that before?” he asks, frowning as he tries to piece the memories back together. He thinks he was probably out in a matter of seconds soon after Yennefer climbed off him. He certainly was tired enough for it.
“Yes, you did,” she snorts, shaking her head. Her smile lingers for a few moments, then she slowly grows sombre. “I asked you what your third wish was,” she says, carefully. “So—what was it?”
Oh, right. That.
He takes a breath, trying not to show how prominent his fear that she’ll just run is. “I just wished for our destinies to be bound—it was the only thing I could think of, to ensure that it wouldn’t kill you—a djinn cannot kill its own master, right?”
Yennefer seems to freeze, staring at him with huge eyes. They are not filled with horror yet, just shock, but he figures that will come too.
“You—you did what?” she exhales, emotions flashing on her face too fast for him to even begin to guess what any of it means. “Are you insane?” She doesn’t give him time to answer. “You don’t even know me!” she all but yells, pushing herself to sit straighter and a little farther from him. It makes his stomach ache. “And you bound us together!”
“I understand—” he begins to say, unsure if he wants to try to explain that in that moment he was only thinking of saving her, not really of the consequences that would come after, or if he just wants to let her know that he gets why she’s horrified and he won’t hold her back if she wants to leave, but she interrupts him.
“You—you condemned yourself to me!” she adds, disbelieving, and maybe a little horrified too, this time.
Those words stop all of his thoughts on their tracks.
He blinks at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, trying to reconcile how she might think he did himself a disservice with that wish, how it doesn’t seem like she wants to run from him, more like she expects him to realize what he did and leave instead.
“Yen,” he says, slowly, and it comes out much gentler than he would have hoped. “I don’t think I am the one who is condemned here.”
She stares for a few seconds, taken aback, before bursting into a bitter laugh. “I don’t think you know me very well, witcher,” she says, and there is no joy in the slight smile twisting her lips, but he thinks it might be a little sincere anyway.
She isn’t looking at him in the eye, so he spares a moment to take a gulp of air before he pushes himself to reach out, setting every doubting thought aside as he grabs her hand and catches her attention.
“Maybe I’d like to,” he offers. Her hand is limp in his own, and he already attempts to brace for rejection.
Instead, she seems to search for something in his eyes for a few moments before she smiles, squeezing back. Her lips part slightly, but nothing comes out, and he wonders if he should find something else to say.
He feels gentle prodding, like someone knocking at the doors to his mind and waiting to be let in, and it’s a bit of a relief, to know that he won’t have to find the words for himself. He lets her see, or feel, he isn’t sure, just how much he means it, that he’s so drawn to her and he’s more than happy that he made that wish and that he’s always been condemned, but right now he finally feels like he isn’t. She is a blessing, not a curse, and if he can’t tell her he’s grateful that she can find out for herself.
She nods, pressing her lips together in a small smile and blinking away the wetness in her eyes. “I think we can arrange that,” she says, softly.
For the first time in a while, the future seems bright.