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It’s a routine now. Every night, without fail, you retreat to a time when you were younger and warring with destiny. Back to when your naiveness hadn’t yet cost you an irreplaceable presence. When the music starts, you dance. Waltzing with a phantom figure, the memory is so clear you can almost feel it-feel him -and then you’re gone.
It was Jaskier who taught you how to dance. It had been an abhorrent day, the contract was difficult and the pay wasn’t good. You only had enough coin to get some dingy room in a shack on the outskirts of town. Calling it a room was generous enough, since there wasn’t anything there but an old, dilapidated trough. They at least had the decency to provide both of you with water, albeit cold, to bathe with.
As per usual, Jaskier let you take the first bath since you were so covered in blood and gore your face wasn’t even visible anymore. You’d always wondered how Jaskier stood to be around you, with the long miles of constant danger he’d trudge through, and that god awful smell that permeated the air. It was so bad that even you were aware of it, being the emitter of that distinct scent also made you more conscious about your hygiene. Of course, continually being on the road meant that taking care of yourself was difficult despite Jaskier making it seem easy, natural even. Nonetheless, you were always grateful for his companionship, despite your stingy attitude.
After you had both bathed (Jaskier’s was more of a thorough towelling down), he had stopped you when you went to get out the bedrolls. Slowly, he lifted his hand onto your shoulder and you understood. Jaskier had seen that you were annoyed, even if the same stoic expression had been on your face. That was another thing that stumped you, the way he just saw and knew. Which is why when you had spewed out bullcrap on that godforsaken mountain, you’d hoped that he would know you never meant anything you said. That was the only time he hadn’t known, hadn’t understood. Still, he had come back and you’d been so glad your apology was clumsy, inadequate. Somehow Jaskier had begrudgingly accepted it, or at least, acknowledged it.
His hand had started rubbing your shoulder while you stared, then his mouth opened.
“Geralt, let’s dance.”
This had caught you off guard, eyes widening slightly, you muttered that you couldn’t in a sheepish voice. Jaskier had laughed, then offered this:
“Well now's a good enough time as any to learn, though I should have expected this with your aversion to court affairs”
You looked around the small room, then looked back at him pointedly. Now it was his turn to be embarrassed, he said something under his breath (“the one t…of course, small.room.”) Seeing that left a prickle on your skin, something small enough to brush off back then. It haunts you now, that prickle evolved. It blossomed into a thump, then two, leaving a fluttering in your chest. The wings beat, begging to be let out…but to who?
You stop thinking as you narrowly miss the kitchen table.
That train of thought was…dangerous, going any further would mean acknowledging a desire you hadn’t yet come to terms with.
When you register that the music still hasn't stopped playing yet, you start up your dance again.
1 step forward
2 steps back
Turn
Dip
1 step forward
Slide
You repeat the monotonous motions until you fall back into the memory.
Jaskier carried a gloom around him after that interaction. Seeing that made you uneasy, he didn’t even start on his story of the day as you got the bedrolls spread out. Usually, you would’ve preferred the quiet, but you had gotten used to it and now? Now it was too quiet, it didn’t feel right. Being better at showing through actions than words, you picked him up and dragged him outside. Jaskier, in true Jaskier fashion, rambled the whole time
“Geraaallt? Geralt. What are you doing? Are you mad? Please don’t be mad, I’m sorry if I made you upset. Sir Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, would you please put me down? We can discuss this, I promise.”
After setting him down rather harshly outside, you gave him your hand much to his confusion. After you grunted something, Jaskier lit up.
You’re pretty sure that it was an invitation to dance.
Putting that aside, Jaskier had raised his arms to your shoulder before setting your’s onto his waist. (You deny it but that had thrown you into a bit of a panic) Then, he guided you through those exact same infuriating movements that you’ve now repeated so much they’re ingrained in your memory. Except in this hazy dreamscape, he-Jaskier-was laughing and his solid weight was tangible in your arms. You relished it, being close to him, it was intoxicating. Maybe if you had given in and leaned in a little that day, you would’ve been able to-
No.
You’re rudely jolted out of your reverie with that thought. You can’t entertain it, Jaskier is gone.
And it’s all your fault.
You stand there in a daze, with your arms still seemingly circled around someone long after the music stops.