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"If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands!"
The words sunk into Jaskier's kind slowly, trying to make sense of everything, trying to convince himself that it wasn't true, that Geralt was angry and letting it out onto the easiest target.
But even then it hurt, after most of Jaskier's life spent at the witcher's side, he's still nothing more than a punching bag, an easy outlet for the emotions he claims not to have.
Leaving Geralt will hurt, and he'll be lost for months after trying to create some semblance of normal on his own again. Even so, he won't go just because Geralt told him to, he's too stubborn for that, damn the Witcher's pride.
"Even after all this time, this feels right. It's not fair but it's true. I know that I can be too much, that I can be unfair, thick-headed, annoying, and selfish, I know. It's easy to tire of me dear, I understand. But I will not, and have not tired of you."
He wants to be angry, gods he wants to be furious, to bite into the witcher, and leave with bloodied teeth. And yet, all he can see is the pain behind Geralt's anger, his words. He doesn't deserve what Geralt had said, but still, the man deserves Jaskier's kindness. He's the only person willing to give it to him any more.
"You opened my eyes to the world, I was eighteen when I met you, do you remember?"
He didn't wait for an answer, nor did he receive one. Geralt only stared over the edge of the cliff, stone-faced as ever. There was no reason to believe he was even listening, but it was only fair he get a word in now.
"It turns out that nothing is fair. Your wish, you blessing? You can have it, you can leave me if you wish my love. But I'm not going anywhere."
His throat burned with the effort to talk through the hurt. Stabbing pain from knowing his first confession to the man he's loved for two decades is a single word in an almost goodbye.
"But, please don't hurt me, love, I am a fragile one and you are the white in my eyes."
It was awfully poetic, he couldn't help but think. Among other things, pathetic, weak, just to name a few. To beg for mercy from the man who had just told you your death would be the greatest gift the world could offer. But Jaskier was never one to hide.
"Please don't break my heart I think you've caused enough pain to last the rest of my life."
Geralt's hands tightened into fists, shifting the weight between his feet.
So he was listening.
"You worry me Geralt, you always have. It's hard not to be worried when your frie- when the man you've fallen hopelessly in love with runs into danger every other day, without a second thought to what he'd be leaving behind if he didn't come back. For as much as I worried I never asked you to promise me you'd return, you never had to, I'm afraid I still would have died for you the second you needed me. And I know, I know you don't need me Geralt, you say you don't need anyone, we both know that's horeshit but you never needed me."
He let the tears fall, if this is his last moment with Geralt it will be true, even if Geralt doesn't care, if he hates him still, at least Jaskier will never have lied to him.
"I would have kill just to watch as you're sleeping, and I hoped you'd let me in time. I couldn't have been more wrong about that one huh? I was never going to be called yours, my love, but damn it I'm calling you mine."
Finally, like the sun breaking through the clouds at the call of the rains end, Geralt turned to face all that he'd almost lost. Jaskier nearly lost all the remaining control it was taking to stand and face the man when they met eyes. He'd never seen the witcher without his walls so clearly, his eyes spoke more than all the books in Oxenfurt ever held.
He looked scared, above all, terrified even. He looked just like Jaskier felt.
He took a steadying breath in, closing his eyes for a moment sending more tears down through the already clear paths down his face, and walked down from where he stood until he was directly in front of the witcher.
Geralt wouldn't meet his eyes this close, couldn't force his gaze up from the dirt on his boots.
He had never felt like this, to be so ashamed of oneself while having everything you didn't know you needed right in front of you. It's a whirlwind of emotions that takes over and spins around your head until you're too dizzy to see straight.
But Jaskier had always been the calm in the storm, his hand meeting Geralt's cheek was enough to bring him down to where he was.
He raised his gloved hand to cover Jaskier's, holding it to his face, begging him to stay there.
"Hey," He spoke softer this time, using his touch to raise Geralt's eyes to his, he almost regretted compliance, Geralt never wanted to make him cry.
"I will not tire of you."