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Jaskier knew that the witcher would break his heart, he knew it the first time he saw the white haired man brood in the corner of the tavern, the only man in the place not hurling abuse at Jaskier’s singing. He tells Geralt that that’s the reason he walked up to him but really Jaskier knows he approached him was because he felt drawn to him, he felt that Geralt was his destiny.
Geralt still is Jaskier’s destiny, even if Jaskier hasn’t seen the man in weeks. Even if the words last spoken between the two have been swimming around in Jaskier’s head for days, picking and prodding at every bit of sadness that his brain has even conjured. He’s sat in the common room of some random inn, picking at flaying piece of stitching on his lute case, Jaskier hadn’t performed today and he knows it’s because he misses the witcher and he knows how pathetic that is. Jaskier wonders if Geralt misses him, or if perhaps he’s too busy slaying monsters and fucking women to spare a thought for his bard, much less the consequences of the words thrown at him.
The saddest thing is, Jaskier knew following the butcher of Blaviken around would only end in tears for him yet he still did it willingly. Because who wouldn’t be compelled to follow Geralt of Rivia? If Jaskier considered himself a man with better self-preservation he likes to think he wouldn’t have. The problem, Jaskier concludes, is that it’s hard to forget all the good things, all the time Geralt had smiled fondly down at him when Jaskier provided himself useful during an adventure, all the times he had heard the mighty witcher whisper softly to Roach, all the laughs and Geralt warming up to Jaskier’s endless chatter and singing, all the stolen kisses under the night sky, stars reflecting in Geralt’s molten eyes.
There’s soft commotion from the other travellers dwelling in the room and Jaskier knows it’s Geralt before he’s even looked up from the table, after years with the man he’s recognise the gasps and whispers that follow the witcher entering the room anywhere. When Jaskier finally does look up, he sort of wishes he hadn’t, Geralt is looking directly at him, because of course he is, and as soon as gold meets blue Jaskier feels his body fill with a type of warmth that he hadn’t felt since the mountains where the dragons laid. Geralt, as always, looks amazing if not a bit worn down as if he’s just finished a long trip and he’s walking towards Jaskier’s table and sitting across from him before the bard even has the opportunity to run.
“Jaskier.” Geralt speaks, gruff as ever.
“Geralt,” Jaskier begins, and just because he’s certain he’s no longer Geralt’s friend doesn’t mean he can’t make small talk, “I didn’t know there was any monsters to be slayed in this town.”
Jaskier knows that for a fact because he’d avoided any towns with postings for witchers like the plague the past few weeks.
“There’s not.”
“I see,” The bard says, “Then what are you doing here, oh mighty witcher?”
Geralt looks at the table for a split second, before raising his eyes back to Jaskier’s face. And then lightly clears his throat.
“I’m here for you, Jaskier.”
“Oh.” Jaskier replies, sort of dumbfounded. Not once in their years of travelling together had Geralt been the one to seek out him, it had always been the bard gathering clues on where Geralt was to be next and then acting surprised when they ran into each other.
“Are you finally silent?” Geralt says, a slight smirk playing on his lips, and Jaskier doesn’t even know how to reply.
Geralt had said horrible things to him, had made Jaskier question if it truly was all his fault before coming to the conclusion that no, it wasn’t and that it wasn’t his fault that Geralt was emotionally constipated and ready to take his anger out on those who don’t deserve it. And yes, maybe Jaskier had sworn the night after it had happened that he wouldn’t forgive Geralt and he certainly wouldn’t be dragged back into the mess that is a witcher's life but now looking across him where Geralt sat, uncharacteristically nervous, Jaskier knows all this is about to go out the window.
“No,” Jaskier breaks the silence, “Just surprised.”
Geralt nods, calculating, before speaking again, “Do you have anywhere less filled with people staring at me as if I am the only man in the room?”
Jaskier takes a quick look around the room and true to Geralt’s word the whole room has their eyes on them, which is not unusual for the witcher but is even more exaggerated in small towns like this.
“Yeah, I have a room upstairs.”
~
The room is small, Jaskier had only intended to stay in it tonight and by himself, but they’ve stayed in smaller together. Not that Geralt is necessarily staying, Jaskier reminds himself. They’re both standing close together, but not close enough that Jaskier is reminded of before the mountains, and the room is filled with a sense of awkwardness that he hadn’t felt since the first time Geralt had gripped his head and pushed their mouths together.
“Jaskier, I-” Geralt finally speaks, and then stops, “Why don’t we sit down.” he finishes, whilst gesturing to the single bed.
“Sure,” Jaskier says, walking to the bed and sitting on it, feeling the mattress dip as Geralt sits next to him. It feels familiar and forigen all the same. “So, uh, how’s things been? Any stories I need to know to write songs about? Any new compan-”
“Jaskier, stop.”
Jaskier four weeks ago would have carried on nonetheless, but Jaskier four weeks ago wouldn’t have been filling uncomfortable silence with nervous chatter.
Geralt opens his mouth as if to speak but then groans, and runs a hand through his hair. Hair that Jaskier used to braid flowers into when Geralt was in a particularly grumpy mood, hair that Jaskier used to grab onto as Geralt did sinful things to him. Hair that now brings a sharp bout of pain through the bards heart.
“I’m sorry, Jask.”
Jaskier can’t help the startled laugh that leaves him because Geralt of Rivia is many things but he is never sorry . Jaskier only feels bad for his reaction when he sees the older man’s eyes flash with the tiniest bit of hurt. Jaskier wonders if his own mirror the hurt.
“You’re sorry? For what?” Jaskier speaks, and he knows it’s kind of a stupid question because what else is there to be sorry for but the moutains.
“For what I said to you Jask, and for taking so long to come and say it to your beautiful face.” Geralt replies, voice and actions gentle as he reaches out to place a hand on the bard’s cheek.
“Oh.” And with that, Jaskier feels his final bit of resolve crumble as he leans his head into the witchers palm.
“Oh, indeed.” Geralt murmurs, but he looks worried in a way that Jaskier has never seen him look before, a different worried from when the djinn attacked his throat and a different type of worried than when a hunt doesn’t go to plan. Jaskier’s sadness is doubled by the fact that he could have caused that worry.
Jaskier’s heart is beating like a startled horses and he knows Geralt can hear it, but he can’t bring himself to care, because the witcher is here. He’d came and found him, and to apologise no less.
When Jaskier still doesn’t speak, Geralt carries on, “I know what we spoken between us was my fault Jaskier, and I know I shouldn’t have said it. I was angry but it still wasn’t right of me to blame you, not only have you not caused any of the shit in my sorry life but you have been the best thing to happen to me in my decades, Jaskier. I’m fucking sorry, I should have come found you sooner.”
Jaskier can’t help the little sniffle that he lets out, nor can he be blamed for the tears gathering in the pools of his eyes. He never claimed to be an emotionless man, and Geralt knows that.
“It’s okay, Geralt,” Jaskier chokes out, “I mean, I’m still mad at you. You really fucking hurt my feelings you bastard.”
Geralt hums, and moves his hand up from Jaskier’s cheek to rest on his head and slowly stroke his soft brown locks.
“You’ve every right to be,” Geralt says, looking guilitingly into Jaskier’s wet baby blues, “In all honesty, I’m not sure I deserve someone like you, bard.”
Jaskier scoffs, of course the ‘emotionless’ witcher would believe himself not worthy of Jaskier’s perhaps foolish unconditional love.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Jaskier says, bringing his own hand up to tangle in Geralt’s soft part of his armor, “I annoy you more than anyone.”
Geralt tenses slightly, the hand in Jaskier’s hair stilling as he gives his bard a determined look.
“No, Jaskier, you don’t. You’re the only person in this world that doesn’t annoy me. I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”
Jaskier smiles as a small tear dribbles down his cheek, smiling even more as Geralt softly wipes it away with his thumb.
“I guess I have to try harder, then.”
“Yes,” Geralt agrees, “and you’ll have years by my side to do so.”