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His Musical History and Culture class had been fascinating, if not exhausting. The class itself had been fine, but the studio time was an entirely different story. They had spent the previous week learning the history of the Lyrian Rhumba, which meant the next two would be devoted to actually learning the Lyrian Rhumba. It was beautiful, and it was thrilling and magical, and his fucking body ached.
Essi had been an absolutely delightful dancing partner, as she always was, but that didn’t make it any less demanding to dance with her. She was quicker on her feet than he was used to, and she moved with such a fluid grace that he had no choice but to match her step for step. It was either that or get left behind, and he knew good and well that Valdo would never let him live it down if he fell behind. So he had to keep up, and he had gotten better at that through the semester, but it certainly wasn’t easy. Essi was a whirlwind who would accept nothing less than perfection. It made dealing with her a trial and a half, but it was more than worth the fun he had and the grades they got.
She would be a man-made monster when she got her own studio, and Jaskier couldn’t wait .
The stairs up to his apartment were a daunting task, and he wasted precious time that he could have been on his couch staring at them, like he would magically find himself at the top of them if he looked hard enough. He gave in after a moment, hefting his bag higher up on his shoulder before lumbering his way up them. It was shockingly hot outside for a spring day in Novigrad, a heat wave rolling in from Nazair to the south. The news had said it would stick around for another week at best, and he had never been more thankful for investing in leggings.
It got hotter in the stairwell the further up he went. He had done it to himself, refusing to take the elevator because of a stupid bet with Geralt over who would last longer. Four floors wasn’t that bad, but four floors in a heat wave was a different kind of demon entirely. He wouldn’t cave though, not until Geralt gave up first, not when there was a box of pizza and the good kind of weed riding on it. There was too much at stake to just take the stairs.
He wasn’t panting by the time he reached the top, but his thighs were feeling the burn from the extra cardio he had put his body through. As if twirling around with Essi on a dance floor hadn’t been bad enough. Lesson learned, but it would just be repeated tomorrow, just like it had started yesterday bright and scalding on a Monday afternoon.
Through the door at the landing and it was immediately cooler, a soft flow of air conditioning cycling through the lobby. He would have stood there and breathed in it for a moment, but there was someone else in the hallway.
Specifically, there was someone at his door.
Set on the floor with their back against it, legs pulled up, head back against the door. Straight shoulders, a jittering foot, even with the distance between them the person reeked of anxiety. His teeth set into his cheek, his heart hurt just from looking at them. Worse, he would know that profile anywhere.
Jaskier nudged his bag back up his shoulder as he walked forward. The other man didn’t turn, staring at the door across from him like he could bore a hole in it. He didn’t look up when Jaskier stepped over him to unlock the door, or when he turned the knob. He only rocked to his feet when the door opened behind him, body coiled tight like he was aching for a fight.
It wasn’t until the door was shut behind him that Jaskier dropped his bag and turned around.
His amber eyes were bloodshot and a little crazed, his whole being manic at the edges. There was a tightly wound feeling to him that made Jaskier ache just to look at him. This was new, no schoolyard bully or disagreement with Vesemir, this was something else. Something had gone wrong somewhere along the way, and of all the places he could have gone, he had come here.
“Lambert?”
The other man looked past him at the rest of the apartment, fever bright. Slowly, Jaskier’s hands came up to cup his face, gentle at his jaw and his cheeks. It was only then that Lambert looked at him, sharp and sudden. He sucked in a ragged breath, wide-eyed and unhinged where all of his sharp focus turned on Jaskier. As he watched with a growing, aching kind of horror, Lambert’s eyes welled and glossed over, and the younger man started to tremble beneath his touch.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
The ginger man had grown in leaps and bounds over the last four years, just into the cusp of his twenties now and impossibly large. His shoulders promised that he would grow into them, and for all that Jaskier knew he wasn’t a small man, Lambert stood half a head above him. Still, the other man curled down around him at the soft croon of his voice, grasping hands clutching at his forearms. His grip was too tight, there would surely be marks on his arms in the prints of his fingers that would fade fast enough. They didn’t matter, because it didn’t hurt, because Lambert would never hurt him. It didn’t matter, because Lambert needed him, and that was the only thing worth paying attention to.
“Come here.”
A soft sigh of words, hands sliding up to slip through the undercut of his curls and cup the back of his head. Lambert shuddered and fell against him with a wet sound somewhere in his throat, grasping, clinging. Jaskier caught him with bent knees, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other curling over broad shoulders.
Except, when Lambert went down, he went hard, and Jaskier slipped between the weight of him. Legs folding, ass down to the hardwood, they went down with a rattle of the things on the shelves and a grunt.
“S-sor-”
“No, no, there’s no apologies here.”
He barked out an ugly, wrenching sound, splayed on the floor between Jaskier’s spread legs. His arms had fallen to wrap around his hips, his back where rough hands fisted in the back of his tanktop. Lambert clutch at him like he thought Jaskier was going to go anywhere, like he had anywhere else to be when the other needed him. He should have known better after every breakdown he had held Jaskier through.
That frantic grip broke his heart all the same, and he breathed past the sticky barbs in his throat.
“I’m right here.”
His legs curled up, one knee bumping Jaskier’s thigh where he tried to make himself small. His head pressed against his stomach, curls prickling his belly through the cotton of his shirt. Lambert fell apart beneath his hands, hitching, jagged breaths and wet, punching sounds. He cried so hard it must have hurt, and Jaskier held him tight through it all. For all their years, he had only ever seen the man like this after nightmares, and even instances this severe had been few and far between.
His body ached, from his studio time, from the stairs, from being on the floor, but this was where Lambert needed him. Jaskier curled over him instead, humming with a soft note under his breath. Bent until he could press his cheek to the top of his head, cradle him close, and Jaskier just held on.
He wanted to give kisses to his temple, but those feelings didn’t have a place here, his lovestruck affections weren’t needed. Instead, he sifted his fingers through his curls, and kept him tucked up close in his lap. The other man heaved with gasping breaths against him, and the only thing Jaskier could do was hold him and hum.
It didn’t feel like enough, and his own eyes burned at the swell of helplessness that crawled through him.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Lambert latched onto him tighter. Shoulders straining beneath his shirt, and Jaskier could smell it then. The pungent flush of gunpowder, the iron stick of blood, something had gone horribly, devastatingly wrong, and Lambert had been at the middle of it. He could have sworn, and instead, he pet his fingers through soft red curls.
“I killed someone.”
The words were almost whispered against him, voice strained and wet. Lambert held onto him like he thought he would go anywhere, but it was alright, because Jaskier couldn’t help but hold him back.
“Oh, Lambert.”