“I think you might be my best friend,” Jaskier slurs at her one evening, drunkenly resting his head on her lap as he does so, and Yennefer rolls her eyes, but doesn’t push him off. She sits there as he closes his eyes and falls asleep, and remains there for minutes and hours after, until the first rays of sunlight hit the tiny window of their cramped little room.

“Isn’t that sad,” Yennefer mutters, and gently strokes her fingers through his hair.