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It wasn't love at first sight. That wasn't even something he believed in. It had to feel the same, though, he thought.
It had to feel this jarring, this gut-wrenching, this breathless to do something as reckless as falling in love at first sight. No, it hadn't been love at first sight; but it had come on all at once.
All of the "too cold" nights spent holding each other close.
All of the extra care taken to be sure he was safe, kept well out of harms way.
Every look that lasted just a moment too long, every good and warm feeling that he only felt when he was with him.
It all suddenly-violently-came to him as he sat alone, staring into the fire he hadn't needed to make, but did anyways.
It had been 2 weeks since he had yelled at Jaskier-snapped at him and said things he had once thought he meant. He knew better now.
The silence was deafening ever since Jaskier had left. Even Roach, bless her, hadn't been her usual self. She certainly wasn't as talkative a traveling partner as Jaskier had been.
Sighing, he looked over at her now. Tied up loosely to a near tree, she seemed to know he was looking at her as she turned her head and stared back at him with big brown eyes that seemed to say "It’s your own fault, dumbass" She then snorted and looked away.
Well, see if she got any extra grain at the next town. (She would)
Geralt frowned even deeper and stood up to stomp out the fire. He hadn't needed it to cook with-his appetite had been mysteriously missing as of late, nothing to do with missing Jaskier though-and the night wasn't cool enough to justify sleeping with a fire. He would never admit that he was just so in the habit of making a fire for Jaskier, because he enjoyed them even if they weren't necessary, that he had continued to do so in a fleeting hope that he might somehow stumble out of the woods and join him next to it.
He sat back down on his bedroll, leaning back to lay down and look at the stars. He was not excited for another night of staring at them until the dawn broke.
His thoughts began racing again. He didn't want to admit what he now knew. Didn't want it to be true. Because if it was, that meant he had lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place.
He was in love with him.
The fucking bard.
Jaskier.
Making a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a growl, he threw his arm over his face and decided that he would stay here and try to rest. Mostly for Roach, though he supposed he was in need of sleep soon too.
In the morning, he was going to have to face what he had done and what he had inadvertently thrown away. What had been staring him in the face for however many years Jaskier had been following along behind him for.
He didn't know exactly which "too cold" night, which too long glance, which instance of good feelings had been the one that turned the tide from "companionable" to "something more".
It hadn't been love at first sight.
But it had always felt right.