Jaskier knows how overwhelmed Geralt can get.
Navigating crowds and loud places is difficult as it is, and it is impossible when the Witcher is still suffering from the side effects of his potions, each noise making him want to curl up into a ball and press his hands to his ears.
One day, when he comes back to their room after a hunt, Jaskier is there, waiting for him. Geralt's head is pulsating with every step, the rest of a particularly draining combination of potions still running through his veins.
The room is dim with the window shutter close, and Jaskier doesn't say anything as he helps him out of his armour, quietly working away at all the clasps and hooks.
When it is finally being lifted above his head, Geralt can't help but gasp — the cool air of the room on his skin feels too good, finally free from the armour's restriction and tightness.
Still, Jaskier doesn't speak, only leading him to the bed by gently grabbing one of his wrists and pulling him there. Geralt is thankful for it, even the slight creaking of the wooden floor too much to handle.
When they arrive, soft hands push Geralt to sit down on the mattress, gentle but firm.
It is only then that he realizes that Jaskier is holding out one hand in front of him, his palm turned upward.
Inside lie two small yellow balls, a bit bigger than pearls.
As soon as their smell hit his nose, Geralt understands. He looks up to meet Jaskier's gaze only to find the bard already staring at him, a smile on his lips.
Ever so slightly, he nods, and Geralt takes the invitation to take the small yellow orbs. They are soft between his fingers, and it only takes a few moments for the material to warm up due to the heat of his skin.
He hesitates for a moment, but then he lifts his hands up to his ears and pushes a ball into each one, and immediately, the world becomes muffled.
He can still hear the voices from the inn's guests below their room. He can still hear the children laughing in the distance. He can still hear the sound of Jaskier's heartbeat, steady and calm.
But it's muted. It's tolerable, the noises quiet enough to not make him want to jump out of his skin. It's something he has been searching for for years, and the solution is so simple that he almost laughs about not coming up with it himself.
Leave it to Jaskier to show Geralt what he needs and give it to him, too.
The bard is still looking at him, his expression unchanged. Geralt mirrors his smile before breaking the silence.
"Thank you."
