#crying geralt

It doesn't seem like Geralt can answer him. Another shuddering sob comes through the speaker, and Jaskier aches for him. 

 "I'm here, Geralt. I'm right here," Jaskier says, trying to be comforting, but fuck. He is usually the one calling others to cry his heart out, not others calling him.

 He swipes up a stray sock and tries to put it on in the darkness. It doesn't even occur to him to turn on the lights, so focused is he on listening to Geralt on the other end. The second sock is under his desk, and he grabs a pair of sweatpants. Geralt's sweatpants that he stole last time he was over, in fact.

 "What can I do?" he asks, but there is just another hitched breath. "Do you want me to talk? Listen? I can even sing for you if you want me to?"

 For the first time, he feels ridiculous making this offer, but he gets a deep breath in response, like Geralt is trying to calm himself.

 "Sing? Alright, I'll sing for you." 

 Jaskier hums. Doesn't even think about what it is until it strikes him that he is singing the lullaby Geralt used to sing for Ciri when she was little. His humming is interrupted by Geralt's voice. It takes him a second to hear what he's saying through the tears.

 "I love you." It is soft as a whisper at first, and then Geralt breaks again. "I love you, I love you, I love you." 

 Geralt is saying it like he is terrified out of his mind, like he is mourning, like he is alone in the entire world.

 Jaskier can't listen for another minute.  They only live two blocks apart. 

He hangs up and regrets it instantly. He needs to get moving. The old hoodie on the Wardrobe Chair is big and warm, and he snags it as he runs out the door. Doesn't even bother locking, just slams it shut and trusts that his neighbors are still asleep.

He runs down the stairs, nearly stumbles after miscalculating how many there were left, and then runs out into the cool night air. Out of the two of them, Geralt is the athlete, and as he runs over the empty streets, Jaskier is more inclined to agree than ever. His breath is burning in his lungs and his back already feels damp with sweat, but he couldn't care less.

Outside Geralt's doors, he pats his pockets frantically for the keys. Shit, where the fuck are they? They jingle in his left pocket, and he digs them out, hands shaking. He has had better precision when he was blind drunk, but he gets the door open and climbs the new set of stairs until he reaches Geralt's apartment.

He lets himself in again, and just a few steps inside the door, he sees Geralt is sitting on the floor. He is hugging his knees, arms wrapped around them, rocking slightly from side to side as if to try to comfort himself. The phone lies on the floor as if dropped, and Jaskier feels an overwhelming guilt for hanging up. What it must have cost Geralt to call him at all.

 "Geralt," he says softly, kneeling down and touching Geralt's arm. His friend doesn't give any inclination to have heard him, so Jaskier sits down properly. "Geralt, love, I'm here. Please look at me."

 Jaskier pulls at his arm. Geralt doesn't look at him, but he lets himself be pulled, and Jaskier pulls him into his chest. Geralt comes willingly, more or less sprawling over Jaskier, allowing himself to be engulfed in Jaskier's embrace.

It's not very comfortable, so Jaskier shuffles them backwards until he can lean back against the door for support.

Geralt doesn't seem to be crying anymore, but his breath is doing that hitching thing, his entire face a wet mess against Jaskier's chest.

 "I got you," Jaskier whispers, letting Geralt fit between his knees so they are pressed together. "I'm here."

 He takes slow, deep breaths, trying to encourage Geralt to breathe with him, as he strokes Geralt's hair. He always wanted to do that, but not like this... Gently he lets his hand travel over the crown of his head, over his ear, his jaw, his neck, down to where the hair ends on his shoulders, and then he starts over.

Geralt's hands fists in his hoodie behind his back, burrowing his head deeper into Jaskier's chest. For a long while they just sit there, and after another heart wrenching sob, Jaskier can't hold back anymore. He presses a kiss on Geralt's hair, pulling him tighter, as hot tears spill from his eyes. 

His chin is doing that thing where it gets all wrinkled and that lump in his throat is so big, it aches. They hold each other for what seems like forever. It would have been alright if it were forever if it made Geralt feel better.

Finally, Geralt heaves a sigh, as if ridding himself of something heavy and terrible, and he relaxes against Jaskier.

 "Back with me?" Jaskier murmurs, petting his hair again.

"Sorry," Geralt croaks, his fingers tightening their grip again.

"No apologies. Can you stand?" Jaskier murmurs into Geralt's hair, resting his hand on Geralt's cheek, who nods.

 They straighten themselves up, Geralt remains sitting against the wall for another moment as Jaskier gets up to pour him a glass of water. He knows exactly how draining this sort of thing is.

Geralt drinks it down eagerly, and when Jaskier manages to pull him to his feet and into the kitchen, he drains another one. After that, Jaskier guides Geralt to his bedroom, helping him out of his clothes and then into bed.

Together they curl up around the blankets, their legs tangling, arms wrapped around each other, Geralt's head once again tucked into Jaskier's chest.

 "I love you," Geralt whispers with his arms around Jaskier's middle. He whispers it over his heart, and this time he doesn't sound as broken. Exhausted, but less terrified.

 Jaskier pulls him closer and kisses his forehead.

 "Sleep," Jaskier whispers back. "I'll still be here in the morning."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I won't leave you."

 It only takes a few minutes for Geralt to drift off, but Jaskier stays awake. He listens to the soft breaths, feels the heavy weight of another body against his, and his mind is curiously blank for once. He fiddles with Geralt's hair, twining it between his fingers and touches the soft skin on the back of Geralt's neck.

   Morning comes without him realizing he fell asleep. Geralt is still wrapped around him, they haven't moved an inch during what was left of the night. Geralt shifts again, and Jaskier leans back to get a look at him.

 "Good morning,." he croaks, lips dry and slightly chapped. Gods, he is parched.

"You're still here," Geralt murmurs, sounding like he doesn't quite believe it.

"I promised you I would be."

"You usually leave when they love you."

 Oh. Well.

   "That's... That's because they are not you..." Jaskier admits, burying his nose in Geralt's hair. He doesn't need to see him. It's fine. Hiding is great, actually. "Is that why you sounded so scared?" Jaskier finally asks after a long moment of silence. "Because you thought I would leave you?"

"I.... I don't know. I don't remember much."

"Had you been drinking?"

"No. I just... I got home and you weren't there and it just hit me."

"That you love me?" Finally, Jaskier dares to feel it. Feel his heart swelling, soaring, beating with furious hope.

"Stop saying it," Geralt complains, but it sounds more like whining and it makes Jaskier crack a small smile.

"That you love me? Never," he teases, laughing when Geralt moves, pushes him onto his back and glares down at him. He looks like shit, his eyes red and swollen, his hair a right mess after Jaskier played with it, red blotches climbing his cheeks.

"I won't let you take it back," Jaskier whispers, reaching up and tracing Geralt's cheeks with his thumbs. "I won't ever let you forget it. I won't ever leave you."

"You won't?" Geralt ventures, looking terribly uncertain.

"I won't. Can you tell me again?" Jaskier asks, tracing those dark bags under Geralt's eyes.

"I love you." Geralt lays down atop of him again, burying his face into Jaskier's neck. "I love you so much it hurts."

"Can I tell you something Geralt?" Jaskier murmurs, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders and holding him close.

"What?"

"I have never, not once, told anyone I love them." It feels odd to say it out loud.

 Geralt doesn't say anything, just waiting for what Jaskier is going to say next.

 "Alright, I might have told my parents and Roach and I think I told a lamp post once," he amends.

Geralt huffs at that, and Jaskier considers it a win. 

"I think I have been saving it."

Again, Geralt doesn't reply. The silence stretches out between them. 

"For who, I hear you ask." Fingers play with Geralt's hair again to calm his nerves.

"I didn't." 

"For you. I don't think I could ever mean it if I said it to anyone that wasn't you."

 Geralt props himself up on his elbows again, looking down on Jaskier with painful hope.

 "You love me?"

"Always have." 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I do. Every time I see you, I give you all that I am."

"Jaskier."

"I was... scared. And when you called me last night, I was terrified for you. You are so, so brave, my stupid, wonderful, idiot darling Geralt."

"I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to call someone you love an idiot."

"You do every day."

"You are an idiot."

"See? Now let's go do something about your terrible morning breath so you can kiss me."

There is a glint in Geralt's eye, and it stirs something in Jaskier's chest, even when he knows what is coming.

"Oh no no no no, Geralt, no." Jaskier squirms and giggles when Geralt grabs his arms and pins them above their heads, slowly leaning down towards Jaskier's face.

"Are you saying you don't want me to kiss you?" he breathes, morning breath hot and stinky all over Jaskier's face, and Jaskier is helpless. He loves him.

 Geralt kisses him, just a press of lips. Both of their lips are dry and chapped, but their fingers are twining and Jaskier's toes are curling and he feels like he is dreaming, like he is flying and everything is perfect.

Their lips part with a soft sound and Jaskier takes a moment to just collect himself.

 "You alright?" Geralt murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth and on the right side of his jaw.

"No. I am ended by morning breath." Geralt chuckles and it sends shivers down Jaskier's spine. "Oh how you have betrayed me."

"Dramatic man." Geralt smiles, stubble dragging against Jaskier's neck.

"Your dramatic man," Jaskier says, aching as he says it. "Who is owed breakfast and non-morning-breath kisses."

"Is that so?" Geralt asks, without moving an inch.

"If you love me, that is so," Jaskier decides.

 Geralt pulls back and looks down at him again. Fuck, Jaskier will never tire of it.

 "And you will stay? You won't leave me?"