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I will miss you too
It would be such a lie.
It would be a lie if Geralt told anyone that Jaskier’s chatter was annoying. That the sound of lute and bard’s warm, melodic voice would get on his nerves. That he wasn’t Geralt’s friend – not the only one, but certainly the best and dearest.
It would be a lie, but nobody asked and Geralt was glad. He didn’t want to talk with anyone about Jaskier. Didn’t want to share a word of him. A word of what he saw and heard every day for weeks or months, or however long fate or personal affairs kept them together at the time.
Because it was his own. Because observing how fire flickers in those cornflower blue eyes stayed with him until their paths crossed again and made him wait for the mornings to come. Because he noticed years ago that Jaskier had that one crooked, confusingly shy smile reserved only for him.
He wished to know the meaning behind it.
And now, when they sat across each other, separated by the crackling campfire, he tried to memorize Jaskier’s eyes again, studying every new line around them. Winter was coming, the time for them to part ways lurking just around the corner. Another year passed, nothing for Geralt apart from a few new scars – few new lines on his body. Somehow, those less evident lines on Jaskier’s face held much greater weight on Geralt’s shoulders. Another year passed in the bard's human life and yet he decided to spend it again on the witcher’s side.
Geralt, well aware of life’s impermanence, didn’t, couldn’t dare to think of Jaskier’s fragility. Instead, as he decided on the day when the fondness he felt for the bard floated up in his mind and demanded to be acknowledged, he tried to remember all the changes, all the lines and silently thanked Jaskier and destiny for another year filled with strumming accompanied by almost constant stream of words.
But there were more and more lines each year, and thought Jaskier was still a man in his prime, he was a man and Geralt couldn’t help the thought bugging his mind every now and then in the past weeks – the thought that maybe almost thirty years of friendship were enough to stop with the silent thanks and a good moment to admit with words for once that he cherished their time together. Before it became too late. Or ridden only by fear of time running out with every breath.
But for now he stared and remembered. Words slipped away and, as always in his decades long life, searching for them was not easy. One would think that after such a long time of listening to the most talented poet on the Continent, one would learn to form sentences coherent enough to express some of the more private aspects of themselves. Sadly, it didn’t work that way.
So he stared as Jaskier carefully polished his lute, making small circles on colourful patterns. He was lost in thoughts, focused on something, but it certainly wasn’t the lute. Geralt was able to recognize it now – the way the bard's eyes studied the instrument attentively, but at the same time seemed distant, flicking away from time to time to glimpse over surroundings but not noticing it really.
“What are you thinking about?”
Bard looked up at him, seeming a bit lost. He needed a second to focus and smiled playfully, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Interested in my thoughts, huh? Missing me already, witcher?”
Geralt snorted faintly, hiding in the usual rhythm of their banter, not sure yet how to admit that yes, he does miss the bard already.
“You’re thinking too loud for my liking,” he replied, trying to sound gruff.
Jaskier raised a brow, obviously doubting Geralt’s truthfulness and put the lute aside to rest his elbows on the knees. He stared into the flames for a minute, again deep in thoughts. Witcher waited quietly, knowing that the words would come soon, as they always do. Jaskier loved to share, even too much sometimes. He thought Geralt doesn’t listen and that, being true for the first nine or ten years, now couldn’t be further from reality.
He finally stared back at the witcher, a sad smile playing on his lips.
“I planned my way to Oxenfurt. I should finally visit my family in Lettenhove. I should want to, not having seen them for a good few years, but… It’s hard for me to part with you. We had an exceptional year, my friend. Come to think about it, I suppose we never travelled so constantly together and the thought of staying alone on the path saddens me quite deeply.”
“Not a lot of loneliness before you. Two or three weeks and you’ll see your kin,” noticed Geralt in a hope it sounds comforting.
“Yes, I suppose so”. Jaskier agreed, but his posture suddenly deflated, chin falling to his chest and arms dropping helplessly between his thighs. Geralt shifted uncomfortably on the damp log he’s chosen as his seat to leave one in a better shape to the bard. He didn’t want to see Jaskier like that, wanted to remember him cheerful, because although every parting in the previous years came with a tang of sorrow, it never was sad, leaving them hopeful for the way ahead.
Damn it, he thought, it’s just a few simple words.
“I will miss you too, Jaskier,” mumbled Geralt, laying his gaze on the nearby trees. Fighting monsters was easy, exposing feelings while staring into those blue, always understanding eyes wasn’t.
But Jaskier wasn’t responding and silence from Jaskier meant usually that Geralt should get his sword ready for a danger coming. A sudden spike of anxiety made him look away from the bushes and take in whatever reaction the bard would show.
When he thought about it later, he knew a huge, almost mouth-tearing grin was exactly what he should’ve expected. After all, you could say that was something Jaskier waited for all those “I’m-not-your-best-friend” years. Bard just sat there, completely still, gawping at Geralt with eyes full of surprise and mirth. Witcher couldn’t stop a sigh leaving his lips, pretty sure he felt a squeeze of his slowly beating heart. Jaskier looked beautiful, beaming, glowing warmly with firelight, surprise slowly turning into fondness, as he finally cleared his throat and spoke.
“That’s lovely to hear, my dear.” His voice was soft and calm. “And just so you know, though you know for sure, I will miss you terribly. I miss you every time we are apart, but somehow it’s more intense this time. My dear witcher!” He fumbled a bit nervously with shirt’s sleeve and stood up, taking a few quick steps and squatting in front of Geralt. Witcher couldn’t help a little smile, looking down at that still somewhat boyish face, turned up to him, big eyes glinting with affection. “My dear. I know it isn’t easy for you to share such confessions and I appreciate you did it this time. Don’t think I couldn’t see you loving me silently for all this time!” he joked amicably, patting Geralt’s knee.
Geralt let out a puff of laughter, feeling shy all of sudden. Strange sensation - the warmness in his chest and on his cheeks, the urge to curl into himself, avert the eyes. It was almost unfamiliar to him, so distant it reminded him of childhood and sharing secrets with other boys in Kaer Morhen.
Jaskier pushed him aside and made himself comfortable on the log, leaning tightly to witcher’s side, putting an arm around his waist and propping his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. Witcher breathed deeply, loosening muscles, giving up to the touch.
“Can I ask? I’m really curious,” mumbled bard, interest in his voice evident in a playful tone, “why did you decide to break your inscrutable silence just tonight?
“Hmm”.
Geralt knew it wasn’t the most eloquent answer, but he still needed a moment to put all of this into sentences. Jaskier seemed to understand that too, because, instead of nagging him, he just chuckled and kept silent, eyeing the witcher from the side.
“You-“ started Geralt slowly, weighing every word. “You seemed upset a moment ago. Talking about parting and stuff. And….”
Ugh, that was hard.
It occurred to him just now, that they went almost thirty years without a genuine conversation about their relationship, feelings they share, the core of it. There were jokes, arguments, apologies, “I need you-s”, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here-s”, gossips on other people, stern “buckle up your coat-s”, irritated “let me fucking bandage you-s”, resigned “sleep next to me”, but never a straight simple words of appreciation and love for one another, shared honestly and without hiding behind layers of feigned annoyance.
He needed it to change. Maybe it was a sign of old age, a crisis of some sort, but he desperately wanted it to change.
“I don’t like seeing you sad, Jaskier. And you seemed more sad after what I said and it happened many times already, enough times. So I want you to know that it’s hard for me too. I worry every time I have to walk off and leave you alone on the road. I know you can take care of yourself, but I can’t help it. I truly enjoy your company, especially the silent nights near the fire, together. You’ve grown on me, bard”.
Jaskier hummed, massaging Geralt’s small back mindlessly. They sat in silence for a while. Geralt expected an answer, but when it didn’t come, he shrugged gently, careful not to startle Jaskier and hurt his cheek, and concluded drily: “Still, we both have our own lives and it is natural to part ways for winter.”
Bard sighed with resignation. “I suppose so. For that one we must part certainly. My sisters would hire an assassin on me if I didn’t show up again. Mother and father are getting old and melancholic, my visit may be a consolation to everyone. They can get more insufferable than me”, he laughed. “But still, if we may consider the future, there’s one thing I asked you a long time ago, you probably don't remember…”
The longing note of the bard's tired voice reminded Geralt of something. He couldn’t grab the memory right away, but when Jaskier straightened and their shoulders brushed, it came to him: the orange sunset on a mountain when he hurt the bard more than ever. They sat together, arm in arm, drained both physically and mentally and Jaskier gave him an offer of safety which he trampled brutally not so much later.
“The coast?” asked Geralt, curious where this conversation was headed. Jaskier caught his gaze and nodded, a serious, yet hopeful expression on his face. “We have nothing to run away from now.”
Corners of the bard's lips raised in a half-smile.
“Well, I don’t want to run away. I want to give you an idea, maybe, hopefully, a plan of some sort. Of course, you want to see your home and brothers and I have no intention to put any pressure on you or make you choose, absolutely no!” exclaimed bard, like he wanted to be sure it sinks in Geralt’s mind before he continues. Noticing that and smelling a hint of anxiety, witcher grunted reassuringly, encouraging Jaskier to say more. “I don’t really have to be anywhere in the winter. Well, I usually give lectures on winter semesters, but the new rector is a buffon, a real pain in the ass and I’d love to see him struggle looking for a lecturer as good as me, failing miserably and giving me a rise next year-“
“Jaskier”, warned Geralt through a snort, “back on track.”
“Um, well –“ the bard stuttered, smiling sheepishly. Geralt remembered how at the start of their journey together, he would react with deep embarrassment every time someone scolded him for wandering off the topic. Geralt had to admit bitterly, he was the cause of said embarrassment way too often then. Later, and he felt a hint of pride at the thought, he became more of an advisor for the bard on the matter, especially when dealing with important figures.
“The point is,” continued Jaskier, “ the coast is just an idea, a symbol. It doesn’t really matter where, wherever it would please you, but I’d like you to consider if we could try and spend the next winter together. It may be a ridiculous idea, maybe those breaks are what keeps us going-“
“I’ve heard too many of your ridiculous ideas in my life, Jaskier, most of them were utter shit, but I actually like that one. It’s not ridiculous, it makes sense.”
It really did, but he never considered that option. It’s just how it was: they met usually sometime in the spring, kept each other company throughout the warm months and said goodbye when trees would lose their leaves. But then, he was a man of schedules and patterns, repeated so many times, they became like deep ruts in a ravine – an obvious way to go, requiring the least effort and, seemingly, not possible to alter. He didn’t change his customs out of a simple whim, but only when destiny wouldn’t leave him any choice. Patterns were safe, they indicated safety. Also, they allowed him to avoid talking, explaining to other witchers, who exactly was that mysterious bard and why is he so important – all they knew was he travels with a companion he doesn’t answer questions about and that said companion contributed to changing witchers’ reputation. Yet now, it seemed so insignificant. Why wouldn’t he act on a whim for once, why wouldn’t he break a trivial pattern to spend more time with a friend? Why wouldn’t he explain if, regardless of being silent and secretive about Jaskier for most of the time, again because of a pattern (and a bit of possessiveness), he wanted to talk about the bard endlessly when his brothers hummed unknowingly one of his songs?
Now, he thought, I could even ask Vesemir if Jaskier can come with me to the keep next winter.
“You think so?” The joy in bard’s voice was enough to prove Geralt right on his musings. He nodded in response, getting a quick hug in return.
“Oh, I’m so glad! I already feel merrier! Maybe our parting won’t be so dreadful now that I have plans to make for us.”
Geralt snorted and poked the bard's side.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. First, we must live till then. Second, I use winter to rest, so I don’t want to be involved in any scandals”.
“Of course, my dear.” Jaskier beamed with excitement. “Calm little winter together. Wouldn’t want us to die of boredom though.”
Calm little winter together.
That thing he just felt – it must have been happiness. It was so warm and vibrating, spreading from his heart to every corner of his body.
Overwhelmed by this feeling, he grabbed Jaskier’s hand and squeezed it softly. Bard contained his excitement, restraining himself from babbling about his ideas, and gave Geralt a tender smile, squeezing back.
“We should sleep,” whispered Geralt, studying lines on Jaskier’s face once again, this time without worry, but with a need to run fingers over them to memorise them even better.
“I want to make it to the next town in time, before the last caravan leaves,” he said, instead of caressing Jaskier’s face. He wasn’t brave enough for that yet.
Bard rolled his eyes but stood up to take out their bed rolls and place them next to each other, close to the fire.
“You are so stubborn with that caravan. I can travel alone, you know that.”
“Yes, but...”
“I know, darling, and I appreciate it. Now, move your lovely ass and lie next to me. I can’t freeze to death if you want to send me by a caravan and not by a hearse”, he said flamboyantly, wrapping a blanket tightly around his body.
Geralt huffed and joined the bard at frozen ground. It got cold fast this year and he planned to travel days and nights, before the passage to Kaer Morhen became inaccessible. But first, he wanted to see Jaskier in the company of actors and acrobats, safe and comfortable in a cart.
They were lying in silence, their eyes fixed on the starry sky. Geralt tracked familiar constellations – his most permanent companions on the path. Then his gaze fell on the outline of Jaskier’s body, moving slowly with each breath. Bard turned his head slightly, to catch the witcher's gaze.
“That means we’re parting tomorrow, Geralt,” he murmured so quietly, witcher barely caught it.
A whispered “yes” was all he was able to say. Yes, they were parting tomorrow. Presumably at midday he will look into those cornflower blue eyes for the last time this year – the last chance to notice details he still overlooked and remember, remember, and live on this memory for long and dark months ahead.
His chest suddenly felt heavy, throat tight and almost all the joy from their conversation disappeared. He couldn’t understand, why was it so difficult this time? Was it because they both were getting older and it awakened an unknown fear in him? Or because they matured, calmed down and became able to enjoy the simplicity of travelling together without word’s burdens mingling in their lives and just didn’t want to stop?
Jaskier must’ve sensed his uneasiness, because he moved closer, touching Geralt’s body with his own, and turned on the side.
“Turn to me” he said and Geralt followed obediently, too deep in thoughts to question the bard.
Jaskier flipped his arm over witcher’s chest and tucked forehead between Geralt’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. Geralt went still, not sure what was happening, but returned the embrace after a short moment, nuzzling shiny strands which smelled of lavender. He wouldn’t confess this while being tortured, but he sometimes bought lavender scented soaps in the periods when they were apart. The smell comforted him, settled the nerves after difficult contracts.
“I didn’t realise you’d miss me that much”, mumbled Jaskier, his breath warming Geralt’s neck and his voice sounding of smile.
“So fucking much” growled Geralt, tightening the hug and loosening it quickly, when he heard bard’s grunt. It was new, hugging Jaskier like that. Not a sturdy embrace or a supportive hand on the back but a desperate, tender hug with their bodies entangled together, longing for the spring already.
Driven by an impulse, Geralt placed a kiss on the crown of Jaskier’s head.
Bard yelped, leaning back to look at the witcher's face with shocked expression. Just when regret started to twist Geralt’s stomach, Jaskier grinned and pulled up to put a loud smooch on witcher’s forehead. Geralt couldn’t help the burst of laughter that left his throat and soon Jaskier joined him with the familiar melodious giggle, more suitable for a boy than a middle-aged man. But then, the bard has never grown up, really, laughing like a child and admiring the world like one too.
Their chests vibrated against each other, as they still laughed with teary eyes. Jaskier’s cheeks were rosy and hot, his eyes even more blue and sparkling with joy and Geralt wanted them to stay like that forever. Calming down slowly, he wiped his eyes and snuggled Jaskier closer again, tuning into the last shakes of glee leaving bard’s body.
“Promise to welcome me like that in the spring”, he murmured playfully in Jaskier’s hair.
Bard snorted into Geralt’s shoulder.
“Only if I get to be hugged like that whenever I please,” he said nonchalantly, wriggling in the search for a comfortable position that would allow him to be even closer to the witcher.
“That’s not a particularly fair trade, you know.” Geralt stopped bard’s machinations, amused, and tightened his embrace around Jaskier’s torso.
“Well, it’s on you that you asked for just one kiss.” A big yawn made bard’s words almost unintelligible. “When it comes to me, I can give you forehead kisses every night and morning. Would that be fair?”
“Mhm. We have a deal then. Goodnight, Jaskier”, murmured Geralt, a faint smile still on his lips.
“Goodnight, my dear,” he answered contently, placing a peck on witcher’s neck.
Gerald caressed the bard’s back slowly and reassembled the blankets around them, to keep the freeze away from Jaskier. As he was falling asleep, he recalled the picture of cornflower blue eyes, just to check. All the lines, and he counted them, were in their places. One more inhale of lavender and one more kiss on the head. Now, he was ready for winter.