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    Summary

    “Please don’t do this, Yennefer.” She leans back.

    “Do what?”

    Jaskier swallows hard, bringing one knee up and pressing his forehead to it, his arms wrapped loosely around his leg. His voice, when he finally speaks, is soft, pain clear in his tone.

    “Don’t give me hope.” He tells her, swallowing hard after he says it. “I can’t do it again.” He turns his head to look at her from beneath his fringe. “I spent decades hoping, Yennefer. And it got me fuck all besides the dressing down of my life on top of that fucking mountain and a fun little session of torture later.”

     

    (Jaskier hoped that he could have more with Geralt once, and all it had gotten him was abandoned on a mountain. He won’t make the same mistake twice.)

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