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It was something of a running joke among the instructors at Kaer Morhen - where Eskel went, there went Geralt, and vice versa. “They’ll grow out of it,” the older witchers joked, “Formed their own little wolfpack already,” and “It’s a game.They’re still boys.” Eskel heard them and knew Geralt did too, though the slighter boy never said anything. But that was just... Geralt. In class, Geralt would answer if called on but otherwise was quiet, saving his words. The other boys in their group didn’t understand, Eskel thought, didn’t know. Geralt was aware of everything, tracked everything, felt everything, but preferred to keep his silence. And then they’d all been taken. Fed the toxins that would make them Witchers for real, not just trainees. Out of thirteen, four had come back until the mages had taken Geralt again. Eskel was lucky he thought, because Geralt had come back again. All skin and bones and missing his hair, but faster, stronger , than the rest of them.
Now, months later, Eskel perched on the wall overlooking the training field, watching Geralt finish trouncing Gascadan under the watchful eye of Master Vesemir. It was Midaëte, one of the few holidays they celebrated here at the keep, and after training ended for the night, they’d be at liberty for two days and nights.
A thump on his shoulder jarred him out of his thoughts, and Eskel twisted to growl at Gweld, who’d finally finished his run on the course and come up behind him.
“Hey,” Gweld said with a laugh, hands up. “Not my fault you’re trying to out-brood Snow White down there.”
Eskel rolled his eyes at the name. “You know he hates that. It’s not like he asked for his hair to fall out and come in like that.”
“Wouldn’t know,” Gweld corrected, flopping down on the edge of the wall. “He hasn’t said. Could call him Puffball, looks like one o’them too, right now.”
“Told me he hates it,” Eskel retorted.
It was Gweld’s turn to roll his eyes. “ When ? You two share the dorm with me’n Gascadan.”
“You just suck at listening,” Eskel grumbled, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and nodding slightly as Geralt knocked Gascadan on his ass again.
“Whatever, Bear.” Gweld hopped down from the wall, heading over to where Vesemir was showing the red-headed Gascadan what he’d missed.
Geralt, having been dismissed, was carefully racking his practice gear. But Eskel caught the flicker of gold eyes (real gold, like the ring his mother had worn on a necklace) as he followed Gweld off the wall, his eyes catching Eskel’s for a moment before pale lashes shuttered them as he turned back to finish putting his things away. They don’t get it , the glance said, along with the fingers straightening the last of the belts.
Eskel caught up to the group in time for Master Vesemir to sigh and wave a hand at them, dismissing them. “Remember, no White Gull, and stay away from the Bastion these next two nights. You aren’t ready for the wraiths there. You slip out and go up there, and it’s on your heads. We won’t be rescuing you.”
Gweld whooped, and he and Gascadan took off at a jog towards the great hall. Eskel waited with Geralt as Master Vesemir vanished through a different door, likely headed to whatever gathering the adult Witchers were up to. He kept half an eye on Geralt and smiled when he saw the other boy relax, letting out a little sigh.
“Yeah, they’re kinda a lot, huh? Puffball is worse or better?” Eskel asked and reached out to lay his arm across Geralt’s shoulders.
His answer was a huff, a roll of those golden eyes, and a lip curl exposing a fang, and Geralt leaned into Eskel’s side as they started towards one of the old towers. They’d been squirreling away supplies for the weekend for most of the week. Eskel was planning on raiding the dinner once it was laid out, but they could make the most of an early end to training for now.
“Mm, I’ll talk to them again,” the bigger boy said, opening the door into the ruined tower. It had a roof for two stories, then nothing, so they could climb up and watch the stars. They planned on sleeping up above, later. “So, snacks? Nap?”
Geralt pulled away with a grin and held up a scarf, a little tattered on the ends, which was why he’d gotten it from the older Witcher that had initially acquired it.
Laughing, Eskel held his hand out for it. “You know, I think they’d approve of our additional training in blind fighting.”
Huffing a quiet laugh, the slight rasp he’d come back from the mages with evident in even that quiet noise, Geralt relinquished the scarf and went to shut the door. Eskel lifted it, covering his own eyes, and tied it behind his head, taking a slow breath in and out once he’d done so, and set his other senses loose, hunting for Geralt. They’d done this before, first with Geralt blindfolded, then Eskel, when it turned out that removing one of Geralt’s senses didn’t do anything to slow him down. Eskel was getting good at it now, and the last few times they’d snuck away to play, he’d been able to catch Geralt, much to both of their delight.
A near-soundless exhalation from behind made him turn quickly, and his fingers grazed along the rough fabric of Geralt’s sleeve, startling another raspy laugh out of the other boy, and the game was on. Using signs was cheating, but Eskel had always been more in touch with his chaos and had recently realized he could sense it in others when they were close enough. It felt like a small vibration in the air, prickling along his skin, and he twisted again, fast, fingers finding and catching in fabric again, this time keeping hold of Geralt as the thinner boy tried to twist away. Grinning, Eskel got his other arm up and around, pinning Geralt against him, only to yelp as Geralt knocked his feet out from under him, and they both went down in a tangle of limbs.
Laughing, still blind, Eskel wrestled with the squirming form under him, managing to get back the upper hand, hearing Geralt’s soft laugh as he finally gave up trying to get free and relaxed. Leaning down, Eskel touched his face to the body below him, finding the hollow of Geralt’s collarbone. Smiling, he shifted carefully, getting his knees under him without letting go of Geralt’s arms, and leaned up. His lips found jaw, then the side of Geralt’s mouth and the pale boy sighed, turning his head to meet Eskel in a kiss. Lately, any play-fighting had ended like this, whoever had “won” claiming a kiss as a reward. Eskel figured the older Witchers knew and didn’t care. Geralt was of the opinion the Witchers thought it was just hormones.
One of Geralt’s legs shifted, the one Eskel wasn’t basically straddling, knee bending so he could press against Eskel’s hip, and the bigger trainee hummed into the kiss, finally letting go of Geralt’s arms. Pulling back a little, Eskel tugged the blindfold off, blinking in the suddenly bright room while his eyes adjusted. Below him, Geralt was smiling softly, gold eyes dark.
“Hey, Wolf,” Eskel said softly, using his free hand to cup the side of Geralt’s face, brushing his thumb over one sharp cheekbone.
“‘Skel,” Geralt rasped and leaned up to kiss him again, one hand curling around the back of Eskel’s neck, the other resting flat over his heart.
As always, the sound of his name on Geralt’s lips made Eskel’s heart thump, almost painful in its intensity, and he groaned quietly, kissing back for a moment before he pulled back. “I...I want to tell you. In words ,” he insisted, “even though I think you already know. I love you, Geralt. Always gonna. I got your back, here, on the Path. An’ even if we have to split, walk alone like they say, always gonna come back to you.”
Golden eyes closed for a moment, then opened, the emotion in them intense, and the hand on the back of Eskel’s neck slipped around to cup his face, the way Eskel was still holding Geralt’s. Eskel smiled, leaning in a little, only to be stopped by the hand on his chest.
“Geralt?” he asked, puzzled.
“In words,” the other boy said, raspy voice soft and full of emotion. “Love you, ‘Skel. Always.”
Eskel shuddered slightly, then leaned in and kissed Geralt sweetly, pulling back to murmur against his lips, “Always.”