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“What the fuck is that?” Valdo glares up from his page, getting half-blinded by the stark sun for his troubles. Jaskier’s silhouette stares down at him, over his shoulder and at his sketchbook.
“You know,” he starts, “for someone that hates me, you’re awfully interested in my every move.” Jaskier scoffs and takes a seat on the step beside him. Oxenfurt bumbles around them, and Valdo leans back on the grand stone stairs to the art museum.
“That’s not a real creature.” Jaskier glances at his sketchbook again. “May I?” He sounds more curious than obnoxious. It’s a rough sketch anyway, and if his crush-rival decided to be a jackass, he’d only lose a bad drawing.
Valdo tears out the page and hands it to the bardlet; he stuffs his sketchbook safely into his bag, away from Jaskier. Unpredictable, his love. Valdo’s still torn on him, confused despite how deeply he loves him and how deeply Jaskier seems to hate him.
“Wow,” Jaskier mutters. His thumb gently smudges one of the charcoal lines before he hands it back. “It’s cool. Not real, though, which is quite subpar in my opinion.” Valdo stands, a small grin on his face. Maybe he can impress him with this, with the mystical creature he’d found at the small pond by the edge of the back grove.
“I’ll prove it to you then, darling—”
“Then let’s get a move on, doll ,” Jaskier sneers. Valdo rolls his eyes, hiding the flutter in his chest. He’s heads over heels. His parents would be so disappointed, would say he deserved better but there’s something about Jaskier that won’t leave him. Something about his behavior that doesn’t add up.
A puzzle for later. Right now, Jaskier’s taken hold of his hand to get up and has forgotten to let it go.
Valdo runs them through the streets, imperfectly even cobblestone digging into their soles as they go. Jaskier holds his hand harder as they rush through crowds, and Valdo barely keeps himself from tripping as he looks down to their joint hands. Jaskier’s got a flush on his face.
They slow as they near the copse; Jaskier jerks his hand away, expression unreadable save for the sour twist of his lips. Valdo leads him towards the edge of the last trees, where the small pond ripples with the occasional falling leaves.
Jaskier peers into the depth of the water, fancy breeches muddying as he squats at the edge. The blue reflects onto his face, shimmers in his eye. Valdo finds himself wishing for his brushes as he hangs up his bag on a branch. Jaskier is so beautiful, eyes open in wonder and curiosity despite the disbelieving scowl on his face.
“You have to wait. Get your hand out of the water, you’re scaring it, d—” dear. Valdo curses himself.
He's a minute too late. Valdo reaches out as Jaskier trips over the pool’s edge, falling into the unsuspecting depths of the waters. The bard catches Valdo’s foot last second and he finds himself toppling in soon after.
It takes a moment to orient himself, to keep from gasping in a breath. Jaskier blinks at him, eyes wide and hair floating upwards. Surrounded by clear blue and highlighted by the sun that seeps between the water’s depths, he looks ethereal. Valdo commits the image to memory. Jaskier points to something behind him and the painter turns around to look.
The creature swims towards them, with the body of a fat, drenched cat, and the bill of a duck. It swerves right before it reaches them, and Jaskier flails closer to Valdo. On instinct, Valdo wraps his arms around the bard’s waist. He raises a hand, fingers melding into a circle before his pointer and middle finger split into a vee.
Okay?
Jaskier rolls his eyes and begins swimming for the surface. “I’m fine, never been better really, just a bit of water, you know a bard’s clothes are meant to be pristine.” He grimaces, looking at Valdo’s paint-splattered chemise half-hidden by a clean and now-soaking doublet. They catch their breath. “Was that it, then? The creature from your drawings.”
“Yeah.” Valdo pushes his hair back and doesn’t notice the way Jaskier’s eyes follow the movement of dripping water down the length of his throat. “It’s cool, isn’t it? I’ve been drawing around here, saw it swimming.”
They bob in the water, feet kicking against one another’s in the small of the pond. “I need a better look.” Jaskier ducks down into the water again. Valdo follows behind him.
The water makes him feel light, and he spins through it in a heady rush as they swim deeper. The pond’s seemingly endless, though he thinks he can see the bottom of it, illuminated pale-blue by the light of the sun. He nearly gets a kick to the face, and Valdo recoils and peeks his eyes open in the clear water. Jaskier’s face smoothes quickly, he has no time to read his expression before it goes blank.
Jaskier points, bubbles of air escaping him as he notices another couple of the creatures swimming quickly some ways in front of him. Inspiration, maybe, something about the queerness of the creatures and how at home they are amongst themselves, in the safety of their cove. In retrospect, Valdo has no idea how he’d won those bardic competitions. A mad dose of painful inspiration, he thinks, watching as Jaskier hovers in the water.
They watch them for long moments, Valdo coming to float next to his beloved, before their lungs start to ache without air. Jaskier glances upward and Valdo follows behind. He’d follow him anywhere.
The bard’s eyes shine as they breach the surface. Valdo swings his limp braid to behind his shoulders, and Jaskier talks, words bursting out of him. Too excited to be annoyed with him. Valdo’s never seen him like this in person, glanced at him talking to his friends sure, but experiencing is wildly different. His love talks about the beauty and the ugliness about the creatures, about how they’d be the perfect metaphor, and how he couldn’t ever reveal the pond’s location, knowing that they’d be disrupted. He’s so excited, so vibrant that it takes Valdo’s breath away.
They near the shore, dripping wet and shivering. Their air grows awkward, almost as if Jaskier’s suddenly remembering that he's meant to hate him. That’s a thought, isn’t it? There’s fire in Jaskier’s eyes but it seems forced and uncomfortable.
“Wanna get some tea? My mom’s recipe is incredible,” he says after a while. Jaskier shudders, expression unsure and clothes soaking.
“It doesn’t sound awful. Even you couldn’t fuck up tea.” Jaskier falls into step beside him.