Work Text:
Geralt tracked Kiyan to the baths after BB had come to him, hands wringing and babbling about, ‘Ser Kiyan in a rage’. He was certainly grumpy, but Geralt didn’t think he’d describe him as ‘in a rage’. He was perched on a stool, glaring at himself in the small mirror Geralt had commissioned for shaving. In one shaking hand he held a razor. Geralt moved to stand behind him. Their eyes met through the polished surface.
‘I can’t,’ he admitted, voice full of pain.
Geralt took the offered razor and gently swiped it through the uneven lather on Kiyan’s chin.
