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“Call me!” Jaskier shouted back at Triss. “You owe me all the gossip!”
Triss waved over her shoulder, not bothering to look back. Jaskier grinned and turned to walk away—nominally towards home, but Valdo was playing at a coffee shop nearby and Jaskier thought he might just stop in and heckle a bit, for the fun—and found himself bouncing off something firm, and warm, to land on the concrete.
Shaking his head to clear it, Jaskier took stock. “Hands a bit scraped but okay, I’ll surely have a bruise on my—Geralt!” The last was a startled cry.
Geralt looked as spooked as Jaskier felt.
“Jask.” It was barely a whisper, but it gripped Jaskier’s heart and squeezed.
Jaskier let his eyes travel, ever so slowly, from the worn black boots blocking his path all the way up to Geralt’s face. It hurt. Jaskier scrambled to his feet, inelegant and off balance and he stopped himself just before he reached out to Geralt for help; instead he leaned on the rough brick face of the building beside the sidewalk. His palm stung, sharp and bright, and he focused on the pain.
He didn’t want to focus on Geralt.
“What is the matter with you, Geralt? You say you love me but all you ever do is shut me out.” Jaskier hugs his arms across his chest, holding himself together. They’ve been hurtling at this for weeks, both desperately trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation.
Geralt doesn’t rise to his bait, instead keeps his voice calm and even. “I’m trying to keep you safe. A statement, you’ll recall, I’ve made countless times.”
Jaskier laughs bitterly. “Right. Pushing me away is how you keep me safe.” Another snorted laugh. “Next you’ll say you’re lying to me for my own good.”
Jaskier pasted a sunny smile on his face. “Geralt!” he said. “What a lovely surprise! What have you been up to? Hunting monsters, no doubt. There have been some attacks in the outskirts, have you taken care of that?” He knew he was babbling, heard the false tone in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was a wonder he could speak at all.
He wanted to wrap his arms around Geralt. He wanted to breathe Geralt’s smell, to feel Geralt’s worn leather jacket—familiar as the sharpness of guitar strings under his fingertips—against his cheek. He wanted to turn and run and never see Geralt again.
“Hmm,” Geralt said.
The sound of Geralt’s non-committal hum was like a blow. How many times had Jaskier heard it in his dreams? How many times had he replayed the few videos he’d made over their two year relationship just to hear the rumbling “hmm” he missed so much? Still, he couldn’t let Geralt see how wounded he was. He told himself to relax, to put on indifference like a costume.
“Same old Geralt,” Jaskier said. He looked everywhere but at Geralt’s face.
“Am I?” Geralt asked.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Jaskier flings his angry words at Geralt. “Or are you going to just stand there and pretend to be the unfeeling Witcher we both know you’re not?”
For the first time since the start of their argument Geralt flinches.
“What do you want me to say, Jaskier? Do you want me to apologize? Beg for your forgiveness? I can’t do that. I won’t apologize for doing everything I can to keep you out of danger.”
“‘Can’t’ and ‘won’t’ are two very different things,” Jaskier says quietly.
“But the end result is usually the same.”
Jaskier responded, flippant, without thinking. “You sound the same. You look the same. You’ve got the same shiny swords and stupid hair and you’ve got the same attitude.”
“I’m the one with an attitude?” Geralt actually growled, his hackles going up.
“Yes. I’m trying to have a conversation, awkward as it might be, and instead of engaging like a normal human being you just hum.”
“I’m not—”
Jaskier rolled his eyes even as he forcefully interrupted. “Yes you are. You know it, and I know it. More than human, but you’re not the monster you so conveniently claim to be.”
For a moment they just look at each other.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Jaskier finally says. His voice is filled with longing.
With regret.
Geralt’s eyes are cold steel even as they flash with gold. “Fine. Go. I won’t stop you.”
For a moment, Jaskier is sure his heart stopped beating. Leave? How could he leave? And then the rush of blood fills his ears again, blocking out all other sound.
“I bet you’d just let me go,” Jaskier says, stung. “I bet you’d just watch without a word.”
Geralt stays silent. It’s answer enough.
“Why do you treat me like a monster then?”
Jaskier goggles. “I— You— That’s incredibly unfair, Geralt. All I ever did was love you!” Still do, he thought.
“You left me,” Geralt said. Accusing. Almost petulant.
“Because you told me to!” Jaskier cried.
“We were fighting!”
Even the noise of the city around them seemed to dim while they stood glaring at each other. Jaskier’s breathing was uneven and his throat stung with the tears he was trying to swallow down.
Geralt reached out like he wanted to comfort Jaskier; he froze, then jammed both hands deep in his pockets.
The city is different without Geralt. It teems with people, with light, with life, but it feels dim somehow, like he’s living in an old and faded photograph. When he walks away from Geralt he just wanders, all his awareness going to putting one foot in front of the other so he doesn’t have to think. Thinking is the enemy.
Hours later he finds himself standing in front of Geralt’s flat.
“How did this happen?” he whispers to the hum of the city. “I only wanted to talk. I didn’t want—” Jaskier waves his arms. “This.”
The city doesn’t answer.
“I didn’t want you to go,” Geralt said.
“I never wanted to leave,” Jaskier said at the same time.
They stared at each other. Neither of them blinked.
“I was…” Jaskier struggled to order his thoughts. “It all happened so fast. When you told me to go…Geralt, I was an anchor, always weighing you down. I told myself leaving was for the best. You wouldn’t have to worry about the fragile human getting hurt anymore.” He shrugged his shoulders, then sagged. “After awhile I even convinced myself it was true.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, slowly and carefully. “You are an anchor, just not the way you think. You’re my anchor, my tether. You keep me from getting lost in the work, from floating away.”
Jaskier could only stare.
Twice Geralt started to speak. Twice he hesitated. Finally he said, “I miss you.” There was sincerity in his eyes, and something more: a glimpse of the Geralt Jaskier had never stopped loving, the one often hidden behind the Witcher mask he so rarely took off.
“Oh dearest,” Jaskier said, fighting to keep the tears from falling. He pressed his palm to the center of Geralt’s chest. “Darling. I miss you too.”