Chapter Text
"Geralt." His breath stuttered in his lungs as he caught sight of the Witcher.
It's been months since he'd last seen the man and still, seeing him again was striking a nerve that had been exposed sine Geralt had turned his back on him for the last time.
When he climbed down that mountain he realized what it all had meant, when he decided his life was to take place at the side of a witcher. Twenty-two years of his life spent following one man like a lost pup, building up his name on Geralt's.
But that's not what it meant, the years of his life spent at his side weren't for fame, sure the songs were a good bonus, he's become a well-known bard across the continent, his songs were played by bards everywhere. It was all he'd wanted since he left Oxenfurt, but that wasn't why he stayed.
There was a pull to Geralt since the moment he set eyes on him, all those years ago in that tavern in Posada. He saw him brooding in the corner, staring at the wall and nursing an ale.
At first glance, he looked threatening, happy to break the legs of anyone who thought it fit to interrupt his drink, but beyond the anger and irritation radiating from the witcher, there was an underlying sense of loneliness.
He was always good at reading people, had to be able to read crowds and reactions to keep himself safe and keep his pockets full. That's what had drawn him to Geralt, how lonely he looked.
It was a sort of loneliness that the person themself would have no idea that they were, in fact, lonely. Something that had stretched so long that it was normal to the poor soul who suffered from it.
Jaskier had known that type of loneliness when he was younger before he'd run off to Oxenfurt and been stuck in Lettenhove. He felt more like a prisoner than the son of a noble family.
No one saw him for who he was, it sounds a bit dramatic but it was true, he was a pawn in his father's plan on raising up in the world, apparently unable to accept the level of nobility that he had was low at best. He'd tried to raise the perfect little son, Julian of Lettenhove, to be married off the second he was of age to a higher ranking family so that his father could have the power he craved.
Shaping the perfect son was like a job to him, he couldn't care any less about his sons well being or what he wanted for himself. All he cared for are appearances, his son getting all the lessons and tutors that were available to them. He was taught to fight, to ride a horse, dining etiquette, courtly manners, and rituals, all things that bored him out of his mind and made him miserable.
His father wasn't above teaching lessons of his own if little Julian didn't act how he was meant to.
He was too loud, to flamboyant, too feminine, too musical, too much, and not enough all in one. His father's only son and greatest disappointment. That was the loneliest time of his life, of course, he didn't know that until that part of his life was over.
When he'd gone to Oxenfurt and met people who spoke to him like he was more than a tool in their lives, people who had such passion in them that matched Jaskier's. When he was first hugged, kissed, made love to it was all at Oxenfurt.
He could be whoever he cared to be there, and he took this as a challenge some would say. He'd never been louder, more flamboyant or musical, embracing all his oddities and letting them reflect in his music. He could and did cry at the relief of it all, every single day when he woke up and was still there instead of back in Lettenhove.
Freedom made the air taste so much sweeter.
That kind of relief that he could tell the man in the corner never felt.
If anything he wanted to show that he wasn't doomed to a fate of being lonely forever, that people were still out there that would let him be who he wished to be. Maybe just sitting down and being willing to talk to him would show that the world wasn't against him.
And, being perfectly honest it was no hardship for Jaskier, the man was incredibly hot.
So, he'd thrown caution to the wind that day and left the little that he had behind to figure out all that he could about Geralt of Rivia, unwind that endless knot of a man, learn what he liked, what he disliked, how he relaxed, how he let off steam after a tough day, anything and everything that there was to learn about Geralt he wanted to know.
It began with seeing a man in need of help, to a fascination with him. He was a puzzle just asking to be solved, an unopened book with locks and ties to get passed before he could even attempt to understand the unknown language inside.
Then it turned to more, he was in awe of Geralt after the first week.
He's selfless in a way that he had no need to be. People spat at him, refused him payment and shelter in return for safer towns and living live-stock. He had rocks thrown at him, slurs and hate tossed with reckless abandon and he never fought back. And yet he saved them time and time again, without cause but for the coin that he claimed it was all for.
Jaskier had taken it upon himself then to be thankful enough for all of the ungrateful piss-poor excuses for people that Geralt served.
He would pamper Geralt after hunts, patch him up with soft, gentle hands, take care of the injuries in a way Geralt never did, lessening his scar count and making post-hunts as comfortable as he could.
He'd memorized each of Geralt's potions and what they did, what they looked like, and exactly when Geralt needed them, even memorized the ingredients to a few when Geralt would share the information with him.
He read up on monsters, every creature he could think of to learn more about taking care of Geralt, learning which venoms did what, which of these witchers were immune to and which he would need to treat.
He visited healers and doctors, learning how to suture wounds, which herbs and salves he could stock up on, and treat Geralt with when needed.
He'd become something of Geralt's personal nurse.
But he didn't stop there, he told the stories of the hero that Geralt was, people paid him more, fewer taverns turned them away, more aldermen were willing to speak with him instead of simply ordering him to kill the thing terrorizing their towns.
Geralt never thanked him and didn't give any reason to believe he'd even noticed the difference since Jaskier joined him, but he didn't mind, he wasn't doing it for the pay-back.
He did it because at night Geralt stopped harbouring tension in his shoulders, he stopped growling at people approaching him in villages and didn't reach for his sword when he saw a group of people walking towards him.
He let Jaskier sit next to him and talk his ear off, he indulged Jaskier in stories and recollections of fights and didn't hold back. He even talked to him sometimes by his own will, he was opening up without realizing it.
But Jaskier could see, he'd grown from who that lonely man was back in Posada.
And somewhere along the way, he'd fallen in love.
That's what it had always been about, what twenty-two years meant. He had fallen hopelessly, hard, and irreversibly in love with Geralt of Rivia, and he wouldn't trade that love for all the peace of mind or reprieve from heartache the world had to offer.
Even now, seeing Geralt again after he'd been tossed out like he had been nothing to the man for all those years, he loved him and it hurt worse than all the crossfire he'd been caught in beside the man.
"Jaskier,"
Gods, he hated to miss the way Geralt said his name. He was furious at the man, he had no right to have said what he'd said and then abandon him on that god-forsaken mountain where he could have been killed without the witcher at his side on the way down.
But he couldn't deny that he missed him.
"Can we talk?"
Jaskier almost wanted to laugh, Geralt, asking him to talk? That's a moment for history books.
But now he only feared for the context. Of course, Geralt felt guilt, would probably apologize without meeting his eye then move on as if all is forgiven, his conscience lighter and path peaceful once again. Lonely, but it's not like he would notice anyway.
Instead, he nodded, tilting his head to indicate the direction of his room and beginning the trek to privacy, Geralt couldn't have people seeing him at any sort of disadvantage, apologizing to a lowly bard.
Geralt himself didn't care for appearances, but the last thing Jaskier wanted to paint him as after all these years is weak. (By other's standards, of course, Jaskier saw nothing weak in words, no matter where they came from or what emotion they held).
"What is it?" He asked, crossing his arms the moment the door was closed behind the two of them, trying to fight back the feeling of familiarity that the scene raised in him, knowing Geralt would leave and tear open a freshly scabbed wound as he left. No point in letting hope build up when it was only set up to be knocked down again.
"I've been looking for you," He said, not meeting Jaskier's eye, just as he thought.
"Why? I thought you wanted me out of your life, seeking me out seemed to put a damper on that goal, and it certainly makes it harder to avoid you Geralt."
Geralt sighed, his hands were twisting at his sides, thumbs tucked into his fists as he applied and released pressure to the appendages, he was clearly uncomfortable.
Let him be, Jaskier thought, it was the very least he deserved for the suffering he'd brought Jaskier.
"I didn't think you'd leave." He spoke after a moment, finding the words somewhere in that muddled brain of his.
"That's usually what happens when you tell someone that the greatest blessing life could offer them is their absence in your life." He replied, he wasn't being fair but he had no need to be, Geralt needed to see the wrong of his ways, maybe feel a bit of the hurt Jaskier felt that day and for so long after. It truly never stopped.
"But it's you, Jaskier."
"Just me?"
"That's not what I meant." He squeezed his thumbs tighter, Jaskier feared for the structural integrity of the bones but didn't let his eyes linger on his fists lest Geralt notice the nervous habit.
"It is, though. You thought you could say anything and shout any horrible thing at me but I'd stay because I'm just Jaskier. I follow you around and shovel shit apparently, and come back because I'm not but the annoying bard that won't leave you alone. There are lines even you can step over Geralt."
Admitting his habits made them sound far more pitiful than the intentions were. He never followed Geralt because he felt lost, quite the opposite actually, he felt at home with Geralt. How much more wrong could he have been.
"No, damn it Jaskier don't say that." He tightened his jaw and turned his head, glaring at the floor on the left rather than the right of him.
"What should I say then?" He asked, beginning to grow restless standing in front of Geralt. He hadn't realized how tired he was after the mountain, it was all coming to a culmination now and he was afraid to lose the control he had over the situation.
"Why did you do it?"
"Leave? I think we covered this,"
"Why did you stay?" He looked up, those golden eyes unwavering at they met Jaskier's. His heart tumbled in his chest as he was met with all the reasons he stayed over the years. One overlaying reason that he didn't know if he could admit while those eyes were on his.
"If you'd wanted me gone earlier you could have said, you didn't exactly make it obvious that I wasn't wanted-"
"That's not what I'm asking and you know it," He growled, Jaskier heard a slight pop as Geralt cracked his fisted thumb.
"What do you want from me Geralt? I thought I was doing the right thing by coming with you, I thought I'd felt safe, accepted maybe? But I was wrong. I was wrong and I'm sorry for the hurt I caused you but I thought I was doing the right thing." He answered, feeling his throat begin to tighten.
The last thing he needs now is to cry in front of Geralt, there aren't many more lows he can reach but that is one he will not allow.
"The right thing? How could that have been the right thing?"
Jaskier had never known Geralt to be cruel, but the way he looked at him now was horrid. Like Jaskier was delusional to even think Geralt had been anything near home.
"I thought I was helping you, but maybe I was only helping myself." He muttered, now lowering his own eyes, unable to meet Geralt's gaze.
"I never asked for your help."
"You never had to. I wanted to help you because you looked like you needed it, I'm sorry, how much more do you want to take from me!"
"I haven't taken anything from you that wasn't freely given. It wasn't my choice for you to stay. That was you, Jaskier."
Cruel, Geralt was becoming something in Jaskier's eyes that he'd never wanted to see, he hurt without remorse, without cause. Below it he looked scared, this isn't what he'd wanted to say but he never could control the things he didn't understand.
"I never asked for you to get hurt for me."
"How could I have known!" Jaskier shouted, surprising himself and as it would seem Geralt as well.
"That you were the one for me?"
Geralt's eyes widened and he released his thumbs from the prison of his hands, slackening his jaw, the shock doing wonders for the tension he carried with him. Jaskier may have found his expression humourous if he weren't throwing away the very last chance of continuing a doomed friendship with the man he loved.
"What are you talking about?"
"How could I have known, that you were to be the air I breathe when you don't believe in love? I didn't ask to be hurt Geralt, there was no way I could have known that I'd love you."
He could feel tears escaping his eyes, his view of Geralt's confusion blurring at the edges as he did nothing to fight the flow of tears, deciding he couldn't get much more humiliated anyway.
"You don't-" He stared, but Jaskier couldn't let him begin, he wanted Geralt to hear that he was loved, even if he hurt Jaskier beyond recognition, he had been capable of love if only he had seen more in the man that fell for him.
"I thought if you'd only come back I'd not let you down again. But I guess I never really stopped." He laughed bitterly at himself thinking he could have been redeemed by Geralt, that he could ever be someone Geralt saw anything in.
"How could you allow me to love you so, it's cruel Geralt, there's no way you didn't notice how I'd fallen and you let me hold onto hope when you hated me all this time. That wasn't fair." His voice cracked as his throat fought to keep the words together.
The tears in his eyes nearly tricked him into thinking Geralt looked hurt.
"I guess I could have been, a better man." Geralt spoke quietly, the anger that had raised in him distinguished by Jaskier's words.
"You guess?" Jaskier laughed. Again, he knew it was unfair, Geralt was a good man, it wasn't his job to protect the heart that he didn't ask to own.
"But how could I have known?" He threw Jaskier's words back at him. God, Jaskier had no right to say Geralt knew he'd fallen. Geralt never understood his emotions, how was he to understand someone else's?
"Looking back, I can be cold. I shouldn't have asked you to leave. I'd hoped you knew I wanted you to stay."
It took a lot for Geralt to say that Jaskier knew, it wasn't easy for him, and yet he craved more than that.
"I never felt the way I do now," Jaskier hoped that wasn't as close to an apology, maybe a confession that he'd ever get, but somehow he could breathe easier knowing that Geralt had felt for him, still did if his words could be believed.
"You hurt me Geralt, I feel more than you can know. I could drown like this, out in the cold. Gods dammit." He wiped the irritating tears off of his face, hating how he sounded dependent on Geralt.
"I could have tried a little harder but I see comfort in being alone. How could I have known?"
"I'm sorry," Jaskier managed before he lost the fight inside, his throat constricting and heart-aching too much to be shown in any other way. He felt weak on his feet, crying openly as he stared at the ground, hands covering his face to save him even a scrap of dignity.
"I'm sorry," He felt Geralt begin to walk towards him, doing nothing to stop it, only breaking more when he felt Geralt hesitantly wrap his arms around his back.
He fell forward, clutching the back of Geralt's tunic in white-knuckled fists, sobbing into his shoulder. If this is the last time he sees Geralt he may as well suck all the comfort he can out of it.
Hesitance gone; Geralt pulled Jaksier closer, resting his cheek against Jaskier's head. He let out of wobbly breath, moving his hand into Jaskier's hair grabbing at Jaskier's back as if the loss of a proper grip would mean Jaskier would leave again.
It hurt to know the amount of pain he's caused Jaskier, for how long he's been putting him through it without knowing that he was hurting him. All Jaskier's ever done is help, try to if not actually help. He loved him, the only person to ever be able to love him so openly, without cause or hesitation, and he'd hurt him, sent him away.
"I'm sorry," He repeated it like a mantra, hoping one day Jaskier would believe him. Hoping against all odds that if he just holds Jaskier close, he won't let him go again.