The chirping of birds outside the window didn’t rouse Geralt, nor the warmth of your body curled against his. It was the sun.

After days of dreary rain, the golden light streaming through the curtains was a shock to his senses. He lay there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling, letting his eyes adjust to the warmth replacing the usual gloom.

For a fleeting second, the unfamiliarity of the room made his heart race. But then he felt you beside him—the rise and fall of your breath, the warmth of your body against his. The tension in his chest eased, and the surroundings became clear.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy white hair, unwilling to disturb the calm between you.

Your face was peaceful, unguarded, as if the weight of the world wasn’t on your shoulders. Geralt watched you for a moment, his amber eyes tracing the curve of your features. The light caught your hair, glinting softly against the pillow. He lingered on the sight of you—still, serene, and so unlike the strength you usually carried.

He wasn’t used to calm like this. It felt foreign, something to hold onto, even if just for a while.

Your hand rested near his chest, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. He resisted the urge to touch you, unsure of what it meant. Instead, he let his hand rest gently on the bed, close but not quite touching.

For a while, he simply watched you sleep. His medallion shifted slightly with each breath, a reminder of the life he couldn’t escape.

But for now, he let the quiet fill the space. Just him and you, the soft sound of your breath and distant birdsong. The world outside didn’t matter, not while he had this rare moment of peace.