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kaer morhen was cold.
it always is, but jaskier feels even colder as he sits in the decrepit room he picked for himself. alone, only his books and bottles there to keep him company.
he reaches out to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle there and groaning when he finds it to be empty.
“rough day?” geralt’s voice comes from the doorway.
jaskier turns to look at him, frowning deeply. “what do you want?” he asks.
“i wanted to see how you were doing,” geralt says.
“sure you did. what do you need this time?” jaskier replies, setting the empty bottle back down.
“why do i need something from you to come talk?”
jaskier sniffs. “because you always do. if it’s not housework, you’re needing me to mend a ripped shirt. this is transactional, geralt, and you know it.”
“well i don’t want anything from you this time,” geralt starts, “i just want to talk.”
“i don’t want to talk to you,” jaskier retorts, “so if you could politely leave me the fuck alone, that would be greatly appreciated.”
geralt doesn’t understand, he can smell the rotting-flower-scent of sadness on the bard mixed with the alcohol he’s been drinking for days. usually jaskier perks up when the witcher is around, but now he seems sadder than ever.
“what’s wrong, jaskier? talk to me.”
“no. nothing is wrong,” jaskier mumbles.
“clearly something is upsetting you,” geralt returns, “you smell like a funeral. i can help.”
jaskier sighs, hating the way geralt is able to worm under his skin. “fine. you really want to know what’s wrong?”
“of course,” geralt says softly, stepping up so he’s standing next to jaskier’s bed.
“you hurt me geralt.” jaskier doesn’t meet his eyes. “badly. even when it wasn’t you directly, you caused me pain.”
jaskier dropped his gaze down to his hands, looking at the burn scars left there after his run in with renice. he pulls his hand to his chest, hiding it from geralt
“what do you mean?”
“didn’t yennefer tell you? i wasn’t being dramatic when i said she saved my life back in oxenfurt…”
“you’re always being dramatic,” geralt tries to joke.
jaskier glares at him. “i was tortured for you, geralt.”
“what…?” geralt doesn’t understand, still thinking the bard was exaggerating.
“he wanted to know where you and ciri were…” jaskier held his hand out, revealing the poorly-healed scars he was left with. “but i didn’t know.”
geralt’s eyes widen, reaching out to cradle his hand in his.
jaskier laughs sadly, “that’s the funny part of it all. i figured you were here, but you never cared enough to bring me to your supposedly ‘secret’ witcher keep—which might i add, doesn’t seem so secret, based on all the other people who have come here.”
“we can get you some herbs, yen will be able to heal your hand,” geralt offers, but jaskier shakes his head.
“no, the scars are going to stay. they’re proof i survived, no thanks to you,” jaskier counters, his voice going strained and watery. “i need you to be reminded what you did every time you see me, the consequences your selfishness has on other people.”
geralt is silent. “what about playing your lute?” he asks finally.
“no need to worry about that. it got smashed when i was kidnapped.” jaskier smiles sadly. “‘blessed silence,’ right?”
“that’s not—i don’t—“ geralt doesn’t know what to say. he knows how important that lute was to the bard, one of a kind elven, and now it was gone.
geralt looks at jaskier, his watery eyes and trembling lip, and broke.
“jaskier, i’m so sorry,” he breathes.
“yeah, yeah, i know,” jaskier chuckles half-heartedly, still not meeting geralt’s gaze. “you’re ‘so sorry, jask, so sorry.’ you know it starts to lose its meaning the more you say it, right?”
geralt made a frustrated noise, “you know i’m no good at talking.”
“that’s no excuse,” jaskier huffs, crossing his arms, “you still need to talk to me, even if you ‘don’t like it,’ geralt.”
“you’re right…” geralt mumbles, looking away.
“i’m what? ” jaskier splutters. “i mean yes, yes i am. you can’t expect me to deliver all the apology just for you to tack on a weak ‘i’m sorry’ at the end.”
geralt is still confused. “how else am i supposed to apologize then?”
“prove to me,” jaskier grits out, “prove to me that you want me here, want me in your life.”
“i already said—”
“don’t tell me,” jaskier cuts him off, “prove to me. you can say sorry endlessly, but it means nothing without action. action you’ve never taken.”
“i know,” geralt breathes, “i really should have, but i didn’t. you deserve to be respected, and i wasn’t treating you that way. but i want to, i want to make things better.”
he moves to hug jaskier, but the bard puts his hand out, stopping him.
“it’s gonna take time, geralt. you can’t just fix this in one night and be done with it,” jaskier tells him. “but you’re willing to try, and that makes all the difference.”
“what do you need right now, jask?” geralt asks gently, tilting his head to the side.
“space.” jaskier hesitates. “i think i need space, just for the night.”
geralt sighs, but nods anyways. “i understand. i’ll see you in the morning.”
“yeah,” jaskier says quietly, “see you then.”
he leans up and kisses geralt’s temple softly. “thank you, love.”
geralt smiles at him, just a little thing, and mumbles against jaskier’s cheek, “anything for you.”