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"You know, sometimes I wonder..."
The scintillating fire and the fading song of cicadas in the early autumn night were the only sounds breaking the silence that had settled between them after Geralt laid down on the ground in an attempt to fall asleep. Not even Jaskier's lute dared to accompany him to sleep, not even for dreams sweeter than the monsters their eyes faced while awake. And anyway, the witcher had once again trouble sleeping for the past few days and the last thing Jaskier wanted was to be scolded at any given chance. Though he would not be, ever. Not anymore. Yet again, the force of habit.
Still, Jaskier knew Geralt was not sleeping. He knew it by the way his breath escaped his lungs in frustration and almost forced and by the tightened shoulders that didn't seem to relax. He was pretty tired himself and yet, his eyelids didn't flutter close, not even a bit. Spread sleepless on the ground as they were both, a few words wouldn't go to waste.
Geralt didn't answer immediately. Actually, he didn't answer at all. He just moved his head to a new position that struggled to face the bard behind him, encouraging him to go on but was too lazy to complete the attempt. Jaskier knew who he was talking to though, and even if he didn't, that never stopped him from talking anyway. He raised his eyebrows, facing the night sky.
"Sometimes," he said in a voice barely heard, "I wonder how many miles have I walked by your side." He chuckled and glanced beside him with the corner of his eye. "Especially the times I had to keep up with a horse's gallop."
He paused as he heard a silent snort and Geralt's shoulders shook for a moment. Jaskier's lips curved into a loving smile, fond at the sound of his witcher cheering up. Then he swallowed and shifted in his place, his body starting to ache in the same position. He considered that momentary pain for a second, not for more, yet he shivered slightly at the thought. He felt the soft grass tickling the tip of his nose and rested his hand on the ground passing his fingers through it. He chuckled once more, as if to hide behind his own playfulness, but now with a hint of bitterness in his tone.
"It has to be a damn lot of miles until now, for my body gets more easily tired." He shrugged, seemed to enjoy his still one-sided conversation. "And well... It's been years, you see..."
A muffled and admittedly confused hmm was heard from the other side and Geralt moved abruptly, laid on his back, and then fixed his clouded amber eyes on Jaskier frowning. The bard raised his eyebrow and laughed with content.
"There you are! Why I love looking into your eyes when I talk to you!"
"What years?"
"Excuse me?"
Oh, that bastard was bloody entertained. Geralt growled slightly at the laughing bard and repeated slowly:
"What years?"
Jaskier huffed and rolled his eyes.
"Give or take, it's been almost thirty years since we met. Right now I'm more of an old man than you will ever seem to be, Geralt!"
The smirk playing on his lips almost drove Geralt insane. This whole conversation, the thought of it even drove him insane. He snorted shortly. He'd seen many monsters in his life, yet Death was not one of them and chances were he still had plenty of time until he met him in person. Still, he had always been pushing the thought of losing Jaskier back in a dark corner of his mind and it was devouring him bit by bit, year by year, silently but without ever leaving. And yet, alas, Jaskier was still here, always here, walking by his side, colouring his trips with songs his ears never got bored of hearing. He swallowed, his eyes never failing to stare at him. Old man! The corner of his lip trembled in a tender smile.
"You haven't aged a day since I met you, Jaskier." His voice was low and a bit hoarse, his words painting a faint blush on the bard's cheeks which he could gaze upon forever. Jaskier shook his head astounded.
"Then you must be bewitched! Even I'm discerning the crow's feet by now. They're wrinkles, Geralt, and I seem to be way more acceptant of them than you are." He was laughing now and his eyes were shining like a thousand suns. Geralt let his lips form a grin as he stared at him. Wrinkles, indeed. Yet, lining only specific parts of his pale face and if he didn't know better, Geralt would swear they had always been there. But he had realized the first time he had discerned any kind of change in the bard's face was when he met him again a year after he had sent him away. His heart pounded in his chest with a sudden feeling of rage towards himself but disappeared immediately as he looked at Jaskier's joyful expression. Indeed. Wrinkles under his eyes and crow's feet formed when he was laughing, faint lines around his mouth visible when he smiled or sung. But when did he not?
Geralt rested his head on his hand and his fingers slowly traced Jaskier's face, rough against smooth, as Jaskier kept smiling brightly at him. His thumb trailed around his mouth, up to his cheeks. He sighed.
"Those lines..." His voice quivered in his throat as he came closer. "I love every single one of them. Because they're yours."
And then he leaned over and placed a gentle kiss in the corner of Jaskier's eyes. Then dragged his lips down the corner of his mouth. And then he pressed their lips together softly, as though they would break, kissing each other until Jaskier couldn't help grinning flustered with every part of his youthful face. Geralt drew an inch away and gazed lovingly into his eyes. The bard could speak all he wanted, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that works of art could never grow old.