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He should be getting to bed. It's late and he rises early, before the sun but not before most of the crew. While he works out and showers so many people who make the show possible will have already been up for hours.
Henry looks away from the window, where his thoughts wander in the darkness, and down to the pages on the desk before him, weighed down by a biro he needs to stop chewing on.
It's unlikely the scene will have rewrites. He has them memorized, each word slipped into his brain like coins into a machine. ‘Why is Geralt saying such things?’ is written in the margin. There are bullet points beneath - Henry's rationalization for Geralt’s choices - but it still bothers him.
Jaskier is a lot, certainly. He insinuated his way into Geralt’s life like a child who will not take “because” for an answer. He's loud and wriggles his way under Geralt’s armor like an insect. But he's also improved Geralt’s life materially and amuses him. Henry can imagine them around the campfire, Jaskier talking about everything at a mile a minute as Geralt watches on in silence, trying to hide a smile.
There's a whine and Henry rubs his eyes. “All right, bear, I'm coming.” He gathers up the papers and tucks them into his backpack. Kal leads him to his room that isn’t his room. He sleeps deeply and doesn't remember his dream when the alarm goes off at 04:00.
It's Joey's last day on set and Henry doesn't know how to feel about it. Joey has become… precious to him. And it isn't in the big brother way he is to Anya, Freya, and the others. He had found himself seeking him out between scenes and even takes, having to be called back because he's lost in Joey's excitement. More than once, they've gone to a local pub. Henry is eager for the companionship, for the warmth of Joey’s smile, the ease with which he jokes. He senses the darkness beneath it because he is the same; under his innate warmth and eagerness to please, buried under the confidence afforded to him by his privilege, is unease and doubt. He wonders if Joey worries himself into spirals as well. Does he lie awake in bed… no, Henry doesn't need to think about that now. He exercises, he showers, he sits in hair and makeup and he becomes Geralt of Rivia, witcher, White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, muse.
He becomes white hair and poison yellow eyes. He unbecomes Henry. There's the scene with Anya, helping her relace her costume again and again until the take is just right.
“Have you seen Joey today?” He shakes his head, draining his bottle of water. “I think he's nervous about the break up.”
“The break up?”
Her pretty smile brightens her pretty face. “When Geralt breaks up with Jaskier after he spills his heart all over him. Wait. What's your interpretation of it?”
“Geralt is under a great deal of stress. Yennefer just broke up with him so he takes his frustrations out on Jaskier.”
Anya acknowledges someone trying to get her attention and turns her violet eyes to Henry again.
“Oh, Henry. Have you been paying any attention to how Joey's portraying Jaskier?”
Henry presses his lips together in frustration. “He's Geralt’s bard.”
Anya touches two fingers to his witcher medallion. He imagines it vibrating with her magic. “Think about it like a break up. That's how Joey is.”
Henry swallows as Anya slips past him, onto the next thing.
Everyone breaks for lunch. Henry barely tastes what he brought. It's what he had the day before and it'll be what he has tomorrow.
“Mind if I join you?” Joey has never sounded so unsure before. Henry looks up to see him bathed in hazy daylight.
“Not at all.”
Henry hopes his smile doesn't look as forced as it feels. Joey sits beside him and Henry is jealous of the unrestricted food on his plate.
“Can't believe my last scene is coming up after this. Do you think Jaskier will be back for season two or is he going to drink himself to death after Geralt’s rejection?” He drowned his laughter in a long drink of water. The meat in Henry's mouth sours.
“Of course he's coming back,” he says after swallowing. “What is Geralt without his bard?”
Joey chews, swallows, shrugs. “Maybe he’d be better off without him.”
Henry put his hand on Joey's forearm, preventing him from lifting his fork to his lips. “You know that isn't true. Geralt’s just too thick-headed to realize good things are right in front of his face.”
The dark cloud over Joey's expression lifts somewhat and Henry sees the glimmer of his boyishness come through. It always makes Henry's breath still in his lungs, seeing Joey at his most unguarded.
“I was up all night working out my reaction. All that time invested in Geralt and he's so callously tossed aside but,” he continues, “his… connection with Yennefer is intense and for her to break things off must be hard to bear.”
As he finishes eating, Henry listens to Joey dissect the intricacies of Geralt’s last wish and how we unwittingly bound Yennefer to his destiny, same as claiming the law of surprise. “You've put a lot of thought into this.”
Joey pokes the last of his lunch into his mouth and hums as he chews. Upon swallowing, he says, “I need to know Geralt’s motivations in order to know my own.”
Henry wonders if this is a drama school thing.
The weather is good but breezy and Henry wants to tear off his wig because it won't stop blowing into his face. He knows it isn't that; it's merely a physical manifestation of the anxiety roiling in his gut. He wants to get this right, wants to make his interpretation of Geralt as iconic as that of the third video game.
Borch leaves and he turns away. And then Joey - Jaskier - comes along with his mundanities and the wick of Geralt’s patience is eaten up in an instant.
“Dammit, Jaskier!” It follows so quickly from there, a tumble of words. There are several takes as with most scenes. ‘Is it so easy to push away those we care about?’ Henry wonders as the wind blows Joey’s hair into his face, across his heartbroken expression.
“See you around, Geralt.”
Henry’s glad the camera isn't on him until the very end. Geralt gives away little in that final shot. He doesn't know if he will see Jaskier again, and neither does Henry.
“And cut! Perfect! Lights failing so let's call it a day.”
There's congratulations on another good day of shooting. Henry looks up to Joey and find him… stricken. His eyes are red and his hands twitch against his thighs, fingertips rubbing together. Henry realizes they haven't hugged in some time. It isn’t new ritual; Henry has always been physically affectionate with his closest cast mates but Joey's reciprocity is special. When he gets to set, his day cannot begin until Joey’s warmth is press right up against him. Sometimes, a hand clasps around his nape and his breathing changes into something calm.
“Joey!” Joey sniffs, trying to settle his expression into something normal, more expected. Henry steps to the edge of the flat area the bulk of the scene takes place on. “Joey.” He opens his arms. He can't look at all welcoming in Geralt’s studded armor but Joey doesn't hesitate, nearly stumbling down the mountainside. He leaps and Henry catches him like he weighs nothing, only needing to put a leg back to ground the shifting and added weight. Joey trembles like a leaf until he doesn't, until his breaths are deep and even as if he's asleep. If anyone is aware of this prolonged embrace, Henry doesn't notice. The world beyond them is muted until Joey pulls his damp face from against Henry's neck.
“Thank you,” he whispers and sniffs, which turns into emotional laughter. “You can put me down.” Henry loosens his grip and Joey slides down to his feet.
Henry loosens his grip but doesn't remove his arms from around Joey until they are shooed away to makeup. Joey’s mostly back to his ebullient self but when his eye catches Henry’s, something in him sobers. Stripped of his wig and make up, Henry begins to pull off his costume. There's a final flash of vivid red and he calls out for Joey one final time that day. Joey pauses, hand on the door knob.
“Drinks tonight, please?” He knows Joey is leaving soon, not sure of the particulars, but he won't let him slip through his fingers like sand. “Please,” he presses when Joey looks fit to refuse and flee.
“Sure, Henry. I'll be right outside.”
The breeze hasn't died down but it feels nice on his overheated skin. Joey is leaning against the trailer, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Our usual place?”
“Of course.”
They take a car into town and are soon deep into their pints. Something about being alone with Joey in a place full of strangers tugs at Henry’s heart.
“I’m sorry about how I reacted during that last scene. I think I might have gotten a bit too into it.”
Henry clears his throat. “You didn't. Geralt broke his bard’s heart.”
Joey thumbs at beads of condensation on his glass. “Do you think Geralt regrets it?”
Henry wonders if Geralt regrets anything. It seems like a waste of time for someone constantly on the move in order to survive. And everything happens so fast after the mountain; Destiny picks up the pace. “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for season two, assuming we get one.”
The corner of Joey’s petulant mouth lifts. “I’m going to miss this. It's been a good production.”
“It has.” Henry’s glad he fought for the role and hopes the series runs to its conclusion. “Do you have my phone number?”
Joey sputters into his beer. “Never had a need, really. We see each other on set so often. Oh.” Henry holds out his hand and Joey automatically plucks his mobile from his pocket, unlocks it, and slaps it into Henry's palm. A few seconds later, Henry's phone chimes on the bar and he passes Joey’s back.
“I want to get together when I'm back in London. If that isn’t-“ Joey puts a hand on Henry's and squeezes.
“I’d like that. Love that, really.” He bites his bottom lip and Henry wants to be the hard edge of his teeth. “Thank you for catching me today. I really wound myself up but, hey, hopefully it shines through well.”
“It was marvelous. I can't wait to see your face in it.” Joey laughs, his fingers lingering on the back of Henry's hand until they slide away to pick up his sweating glass. Henry watches his throat as he drinks. He swallows dryly and drinks his own beer.
They part soon after. Henry to Kal and Joey to sleep and packing and returning home.
The next day on set, sans Joey, Henry itches to text him but it's a full day and he falls - stumbles, really - into sleep that night. He dreams of Joey in his arms, his teeth set against that fine throat. He wakes and aches and acts.