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The fight ended sooner than Geralt thought, far too soon.
Swallow still flowed through his veins, adrenaline pumping through him. Restless energy like ants crawling over every inch of his skin engulfed him, his sensed heightened to the point where he swore he could hear the sun blazing in the sky.
The wind was too strong, the scent of the different flowers and plants assaulting his nose, the scratchy texture of his tunic pressed into his skin by his heavy armor made him want to crawl out of himself, his eyes could hardly stay open against the assault of light and colours making his head pound, but worst of all the sounds, the sounds he couldn't escape that came from everywhere.
His breathing, the leaves shaking in the wind, a river nearby, his blood pumping through him and ever animal in his general vicinity was clear as day to his ears.
He could hear every different noise at the same time but focus on none of them, constantly grasping for something that was out of reach while surrounded, mocked by noises he wishes he could either drown out or latch on to. The urge to run his sword through one ear and out the other was stronger than it had been in the history of sensory overloads, and even if he truly wanted to the shaking in his hands would never allow for it.
He wanted to scratch at his ears until they bled or bury his head in the ground, kill something to run this fucking curse out of his system until he could breathe without wishing he hadn't. Any monster of animal would do, something to focus on and spend the rest of this energy with, but nothing was around, nothing and everything at the same time, this was hell.
It wasn't often hunts ended like this, usually, he calculated exactly when he would need a potion and how long it would take to wear off if he took it. But still, it happened often enough to know exactly what he needed right now.
"Jaskier," He rasped through heaving lungs. The noise grating on his ears like stone against stone.
His legs were shaking as he carried his heavy, exhausted body out of the forest. He could barely breathe, his chest tight with every struggling rush of air into his straining lungs. His feet hitting the ground was like a thunder crack in his aching skull, and the approaching village did nothing to help his situation.
He could hear the groups of people talking, each and every separate conversation but only a few words actually registered in his brain, it made him feel like he'd lost it. Their hands against their clothes and feet on the ground were just another layer of agony and confusion as he stumbled through the roads, people staring, running away or laughing ugly, loud, horrible laughs as they watched him go by. The big strong witcher they'd hired reduced to falling through the streets with his hands pressed desperately against his ears and his eyes open just enough not to run into anyone.
The inn coming into sight was like seeing water after being trapped in the desert, Jaskier was just beyond those doors and the horrible crushing feeling of his senses turning against him would finally be over.
The thought gave him the strength to push on, his stumbling steps turned into strides as he thought of Jaskier's voice, his gentle hands, and loving eyes, everything he needed to get out of his own head.
Without him he would still be laying out in the forest, suffering silently on the ground as he waited for the pain to pass, or even worse, bringing physical pain to himself to focus his mind on something, anything, desperately gasping for relief. Jaskier had dragged him out of his lowest points in times like these, and he would always be silently thankful.
People gasped and stepped back as he burst through the door and made a b-line for his and Jaskier's room, cursing the creaky floors and hinges as he walked through the inn.
The fear of witchers was already there, but now, white skin and black veins crawling from his eyes he could hardly blame them for the looks and horrified gasps.
"Geralt! You're back- oh." He began the sentence excitedly shouting, quieting right down to a whisper the second he saw his witcher.
He was sweating, panting and shaking, barely standing on his own feet as he leaned heavily on the door.
Jaskier always hating seeing Geralt like this, it made him want to smash every bottle of that thrice-damned potion in the witcher's possession, but for now, the number one objective was to help Geralt get out of his head and focus those heightened senses on one thing to calm him down before he drowned in them.
"Okay, just listen to my voice, it's just you and me here love." He whispered at a level that would be nearly silent to the average human but he knew Geralt could hear him. He slipped into the role easily, having had to help Geralt through these more often than he'd like to, but was ready to the second he was needed.
He stepped off the bed and slowly approached Geralt, trying his best to wish his weight away so his footsteps wouldn't creak on the floor and ruin the connection he was creating between Geralt and his voice.
The witcher nodded, reaching his trembling hands out for Jaskier to take, his guard completely down in his desperation for this to end, prepared to openly ask and receive the help that he needed from Jaskier.
"Good job, just like that." He praised, grabbing Geralt's hands in a steady grip, not too tight but not light, enough that Geralt could concentrate on it, grounding the man and putting another one of his sense's focus on Jaskier.
He led Geralt to the middle of the room, slowly lowering him to the ground so he was kneeling on the hard floor, taking the weight of himself off and letting him relax as much as possible, not wanting him to collapse while they were making progress.
"I'm just going to blow the candles out, I'll be right back." Waiting for Geralt to express that he understood where Jaskier was going, he took his hands back and made quick work of blowing out all the lit candles in the room and closing the curtain over their single window while he was at it to block out as much light as he could before returning to where he was, kneeling in front of the witcher.
"There, you still with me Geralt?" He asked as he reclaimed his hands.
"Will you sing?" Geralt asked in a lower voice than he usually spoke in, trying to conceal just how much it was shaking.
Jaskier felt his heart jump into his throat, nearly choked up by knowing Geralt trusted him enough to see him like this, to finally ask for help when he needed it, and to openly express exactly what it is he wanted.
He's never been more proud of the witcher, for all the things he's done, asking for what he needs during his few moments of weakness was more than he could ever wish for his witcher.
"Of course love," He smiled, giving his hands a squeeze before quickly thinking of words to put together, not wanting to sing something he's sung a hundred times. He wanted to keep Geralt at the moment, focused on him, so something new he would have to follow along with to hear was his best bet. With his muse right here in front of him, it was hardly a challenge.
"And I know that there's friction between me and you,
I know you're uncomfortable, believe me, I do.
I know that it's hard for you to tell me the truth."
He began singing with no pre-written lyrics in mind, finding nothing else to sing of than the man in front of him who inspired him so. Especially in moments like these, where Jaskier carried the privilege of seeing Geralt in a way no one else got to see. Even if it was in truth an ugly moment he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love.
"And though your skin's sheet white
and your arms carry scars.
Your hair isn't clean much
your lungs black with tar."
So much to find beautiful, he thought as he ran one hand across Geralt's cheek and into his hair, his heart swelling in his chest when Geralt let his eyes close and leaned into the touch. God, there was nothing he didn't adore about his witcher.
"And god you like to argue
you can't play guitar.
But still, let me tell you that I love who you are.
Still, let me tell you that I love who you are."
Geralt visibly relaxed, leaning back on his heels and exhaling the least shaky breath that he had since he arrived. Jaskier smiled and continued, needing Geralt to be okay and hear just how much he was loved, even like this.
"And love, oh love, I hope you're doing well.
At least we now both have a story to tell.
And love I feel you know me better than most.
In spite of real distance, we'll always be close.
In spite of real distance, we'll always be close."
He let his voice quiet down at the end, seeing that the colour began to return to Geralt's skin, the black veins retreating once again as the potion died inside of him.
"There you are, my love." He breathed, Geralt placing his own hand over Jaskier's where it still rested on his cheek.
"You with me?"
Geralt nodded, eyes still closed, breathing carefully as he let himself come back. Once he'd have been humiliated, horrified to be seen like this by Jaskier, now all he can think of is how lucky he is to have the bard, who for some reason doesn't care for the state or the reason he has Geralt, only that he has him. Which he will as long as Geralt has a say in the matter.
"Thank you," His breath back and body no longer trying to break him down, he could finally open his eyes and drink in the sight of Jaskier. He was always beautiful, but that soft smile he had in moments like these were his favourite, they were only for him, and Jaskier was proud.
"You're welcome. Now come to bed, I know you're tired."
Geralt agreed, his body drained just like it always was after moments like this. Jaskier helped him to his feet and sat him down on the bed, removing his armor as quickly as he could before laying him down.
"Come here," Jaskier laughed softly as Geralt called for him, happy to oblige the request.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, laying directly beside Geralt but not touching yet, just in case his skin was still humming and touch would do nothing but burn.
"Better." He answered truthfully, the overload over quicker than most, and the situation now better than he ever had afterward. Never did he think he'd have a warm bed and a lover to return to after his low moments, and every other moment, he would always come home to Jaskier.
He pulled Jaskier close to himself, pressing his nose into his hair and breathing in the familiar scent of into his lungs.
"I love you," He whispered, able to find the words that Jaskier deserved to hear, finally after so long of denying it. He was unashamed to admit it, especially when Jaskier lit up beautifully every time he said it.
"I love you too," Jaskier said, softly.
And just like the bard had always hoped for, Geralt believed him.