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The texts were plentiful, and almost completely illegible.
“jm not evrn sad.”
Geralt was already in his pajamas. He was hoping to spend the night doing some research on honeybees, to see if a hive might fit well on his farm, but the notifications kept him from making much headway.
“i aas gognaa end it antyways.”
It was impossible to know for sure, but Geralt had a sneaking suspicion this might have something to do with the person Jaskier had been seeing on and off for the last few months. He didn’t know all of the details, but from what Geralt had gleaned, he didn’t think Jaskier had intended on ending things anytime soon.
“Are you okay?” Geralt knew how Jaskier liked to deal with heartbreak, and it was obvious that he was already quite a few drinks into his normal coping routine.
“Im feni.”
Geralt sighed, closing the article on the pros and cons of beekeeping and shutting down his laptop. It was only ten fifteen. If Jaskier was already this drunk so early in the night, Geralt figured he ought to intervene. He wouldn’t be able to sleep if he thought Jaskier was in danger, and although his friend had many talents, restraint wasn’t one of them. He’d managed to avoid alcohol poisoning up until now, but there was a first for everything, and judging by his text messages, he’d already had far too much to drink.
“I’m headed over now. Please drink some water.”
“ypiu dont have o ceom over”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
***
When Geralt arrived, Jaskier was shirtless with a drink in hand and loud music playing.
“Welcome to the party!” Jaskier spread his arms wide, a huge grin on his face. “Let me get you a drink.”
Geralt shut the door behind him and went to turn the music down.
“Do you want a shot?” Jaskier walked over to the cupboard and got out a second shot glass, filling them both to the brim from the half empty bottle of tequila. “Sorry I don’t have any limes, but there’s salt if you want some.”
“I don’t want any drinks, Jask.”
It was a poor choice of words because Jaskier took this as his cue to drink both of the shots in quick succession, but at least Geralt was able to grab the bottle of tequila while Jaskier made a face at the taste of the liquor. He stashed it on the top shelf of Jaskier’s cupboard, where his friend wouldn’t be able to reach it.
“No sweat off my back. More for me.”
“It’s no skin off my back,” Geralt corrected. “And I think you’ve had plenty. Did you drink some water, like I said?”
“Don’t need to; this is practically water,” Jaskier countered, missing the straw sticking out of his cup and fumbling for a few seconds before taking a long drink. “Can’t even taste the liquor.”
Geralt decided that trying to take Jaskier’s drink away right now would cause more problems than it would solve, but he resolved to make sure that this was his last one.
“When was the last time you had something to eat?” Geralt asked, hoping things weren’t as rough as they seemed at first glance.
Jaskier thought for a couple of seconds before he replied. “Dunno, maybe lunch?”
“How about I fix you something to eat and then we can head to bed.” He was desperate to know what had happened between Jaskier and his latest partner, but Jaskier seemed determined to keep up a happy facade, and Geralt didn’t want to be the one to force it down. Right now the biggest problem was the intoxication. For the moment he would focus on that; Jaskier’s emotions would come in time, and Geralt would be here to help him when they did.
So instead of asking Jaskier what had happened, Geralt opened the cupboards and tried to find something which might appeal to his drunk friend. “Does anything sound good?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, more tequila,” Jaskier replied. “What happened to the bottle?”
“It was empty,” Geralt lied. “I put it in the recycling. Does ramen sound good?” It wasn't the best meal, but it was quick and hopefully the carbs would soak up some of the alcohol.
“Ramen sounds incredible.”
Geralt put a pot of water on the stove to boil, and poured Jaskier a glass of water as well, trading it for the now empty drink glass. “Have you written any new music lately?”
Just as Geralt had hoped, this sent Jaskier into an admittedly incoherent ramble about his songwriting, keeping him sufficiently distracted until the food was ready. It wasn’t unlike caring for Ciri. Distraction was key.
“Gods, this is the best food I’ve ever eaten,” Jaskier sighed, eating the steaming noodles with gusto. “You are incredible, do you know that Geralt?”
Geralt chuckled. “Thank you Jaskier. I’m happy to help.”
“You know,” Jaskier continued, pointing at him with his fork. “I think the fact that Yennefer doesn’t want to live with you is stupid. Partners are stupid.”
They were encroaching on dangerous territory and Geralt didn’t want to get into the nuances of why he and his partner didn’t live together. “How about we turn on a movie?” This tactic almost always worked with Ciri. “Does that sound good?”
“That sounds fantastic.”
***
Just as Geralt had hoped, Jaskier passed out before they were even twenty minutes into the movie. Geralt turned it off as soon as it was clear that Jaskier was asleep. He let out a sigh of relief, glad to have gotten through this part of the night and beginning to prepare himself mentally for the next part.
When Jaskier woke he would be heartbroken and hungover. Geralt wanted to be helpful when this happened.
He considered this problem while he moved silently around his friend’s apartment, cleaning and tidying, waiting until he too was tired enough to sleep. By the time he returned to the living room, dishes washed and countertops de-cluttered, he thought he might be able to manage it, but instead of finding Jaskier sleep soundly, he was met with the expression of a truly miserable man.
Jaskier’s eyes flicked up to meet Geralt’s, full of pain and a terrible sort of desperation until he pressed them shut, eyebrows furrowed. His face was pale as chalk, his lips were stained blue from whatever he’d been drinking and his face was covered in a sheen of sweat, glistening slightly in the little bit of light coming through the window from the street light outside. He clung to the couch beneath him like a life raft, invisible waves tossing him back and forth.
It was obvious he wouldn’t make it to the bathroom in time.
Geralt half-jogged to go retrieve the little trash can which lived next to the toilet. He had no desire to clean vomit out of the carpet tonight.
Jaskier was still laying down, clutching the couch cushions when Geralt returned, and he put a hand on his back to help him into a sitting position before handing him the trash can. This was his lifeline now, and Jaskier held onto it with white knuckles. The sickness was visible in his eyes, once again open and staring into the bottom of the trash bag, and his jaw was clenched. His bare chest and back were covered in sweat as well, leaving a slick coating on Geralt’s palm when he went to rub Jaskier’s back. He wished he was able to offer his friend a little bit more comfort, but there was only one thing which could make Jaskier feel better right now.
The two of them sat in silence for a long while, the only movement Jaskier’s bare, trembling torso. Enough time passed that Geralt began to wonder if it was going to happen at all, but Jaskier’s grip on the trash can didn’t relax, and the look on his face remained one of the someone who might lose it at any moment. Jaskier took short panting breaths, the air from his open mouth slightly crinkling the plastic bag with every exhale while they both waited.
When it finally did happen, it happened all at once. And it was horrible.
The first heave brought up a torrent of half digested noodles and sent them splattering into the trash bag while Jaskier’s ab and back muscles flexed involuntarily. The second heave was straight liquor, his body, in its desperation to purge the alcohol from his system, expelled the liquor from both his mouth and nose simultaneously. The force of it brought tears to his eyes and his face went from chalky white tinged with green, to a deep red as his body prioritized expelling his stomach contents over bringing air into his lungs.
“Breathe, Jaskier,” Geralt encouraged, “you’re alright.”
Jaskier coughed deeply, sucking in a breath before retching several more times, emptying his stomach completely and then enduring a few more suffocating heaves.
When it finally ended, there were tears streaming down his face, and snot from his nose, and the slight tremor had increased to full body shakes. He kept breathing through his mouth into the trash can, and his lips were still slick with vomit.
“Are you okay?” Geralt asked when a few moments had passed and Jaskier hadn’t moved.
He nodded, not looking up.
“Can I take this?” He reached tentatively for the trash can, which Jaskier was still white knuckling. He let go when Geralt palmed it though, and allowed him to take the puke filled garbage bag outside to the dumpster. When he returned he got a fresh bag, and wet a cloth with warm water to bring back to his drunk, sick friend.
Jaskier took them both, setting the trash can on the floor between his feet and wiping his face with the cloth.
“Feeling any better?” The vomiting had looked truly torturous, and Geralt hoped that it had at least brought a little relief.
Instead of answering, Jaskier folded himself in half and buried his head in his arms, groaning.
“Oh, mate, I know.” He returned his hand to Jaskier’s back. “You’ll feel better soon.
“No I won’t,” Jaskier countered. “I’ll never feel better.”
The words were hard to make out, mumbled and slurred, muffled further by his arms. Any hopes that the puking had sobered him up dissipated as soon as he spoke, and Geralt’s heart ached for him. He really was in for a horrible night.
“What can I do to help? Is there anything you think might make you a little more comfortable?”
The younger man shook his head. “Just leave me here to die.”
Jaskier was nothing if not melodramatic, and Geralt loved him for it, just as he loved all of the things which made his friend unique, but right now it was wholly unhelpful. He didn’t expect to get useful information out of him in this state—he would just have to rely on other modes of deduction.
“Can I get you something to sip on?” Geralt asked, once again employing similar methods as he would with Ciri. “Some juice maybe, or some tea?”
Jaskier shook his head again, still not lifting it from his arms. “Feel too sick.”
“Do you think you’re going to throw up again?”
At this Jaskier sat up, struggling to get up from the plush couch.
Geralt stepped forward to help him up.
“Yeah,” Jaskier answered, leaning heavily into Geralt’s side.
“Okay. You’re okay.” Geralt wasted no time maneuvering the younger man into the bathroom, praying they’d make it in time.
He deposited Jaskier, not quite gracefully, onto the floor in front of the toilet just in time for him to start heaving again, repeating the whole terrible process they’d just gone through in the living room. This time though, despite great effort, Jaskier was only able to bring up a mouthful or two of liquor and bile.
By the time he’d finally finished, Jaskier looked worse than ever. The harsh bathroom lights certainly didn’t help, but Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his friend look so miserable. His face was ashen and green, covered in a layer of sweat, and the circles under his eyes were a deep purple. He was still leaning over the toilet, and his whole body trembled, his eyes staring blankly at the porcelain. He didn’t move until Geralt handed him a fresh cloth, and once the sweat and vomit were wiped from his face he flushed the toilet and then slumped against the bathtub.
“Do you think you want to stay in here for a while?” Geralt asked.
Jaskier nodded, letting his eyes drift shut, and Geralt slipped out of the bathroom to collect some supplies.
He took a pillow from Jaskier’s bed, along with his duvet, and despite Jaskier’s insistence that he felt too sick to drink anything, Geralt filled a water bottle for him before returning to where Jaskier remained, unmoved on the bathroom floor.
He deposited the bedding on the floor and Jaskier shuffled himself into a sort of nest, laying down on the floor.
Geralt handed him the water bottle once he’d gotten himself settled. “I know you didn’t want to drink anything, but I think your stomach won’t be so upset if it’s not completely empty.” And being hydrated would help mitigate some of tomorrow’s inevitable hangover symptoms, but reminding Jaskier what waited for him in the morning right now would just be cruel.
Jaskier mumbled an unintelligible thanks, and Geralt was glad to see him take a sip of the water.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?”
Jaskier shut his eyes, pulling the blanket closer to him and curling up in a ball. “Stay.”
He did stay.
He stayed for the hours that Jaskier spent on the bathroom floor dozing off between bouts of vomiting, and when Jaskier finally fell asleep for real around four in the morning, Geralt carried him to bed, climbing in next to him and falling asleep as well.
He stayed for the next day too, which Jaskier spent miserably hungover and still heartbroken. He stayed while Jaskier ate a piece of dry toast so he could take an ibuprofen. He stayed while Jaskier puked them up in the shower. He stayed while Jaskier put a movie on and spent a couple more hours on the couch hugging the trash can, neither of them willing to believe it was really over. He stayed through the three hour nap, which had Jaskier finally feeling a bit less hungover.
And he stayed when Jaskier started to cry.
Geralt had known it was coming from the very first text message he’d gotten, and although it hurt to see his friend so upset, he was glad it was happening. It needed to happen.
“I’m just so tired of this happening to me.” Jaskier sat on the couch, weeping into his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong.” Geralt sat down next to him, patting his back and trying his best to be supportive.
“Then why do they always leave? Why can’t I ever get it right?”
“I don’t know, Jask,” Geralt admitted. “But I know that someday you’re going to find the right person, and all of these experiences are just going to help you know yourself better when that day finally comes,” he said. “But right now it really sucks. It’s allowed to suck, Jaskier.”
“I want it to stop,” Jaskier said, hiccupping. “I don’t want it to hurt anymore.”
“I know. I promise it’ll stop.”
“When?”
“I think that’s something that only you can figure out,” Geralt replied.
“How did you do it?” Jaskier asked. “How did you get Yennefer? You hardly dated anyone before getting with her. What’s your secret?”
Geralt chuckled. He might have been able to escape heartbreak before meeting Yennefer, but their relationship had involved a lot of heartbreak back and forth between the two of them before they’d figured out how to make it work.
“Time,” Geralt answered. “Time and patience.”
“You promise?” Jaskier asked, wiping his eyes. His breath still caught, and tears still welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, but Geralt could tell they were past the worst of it now.
“I promise.”