#post ep6

Over the next few months, he makes a routine for himself. He teaches classes during the days and most nights in the evenings will go to the tavern to drink and talk. Occasionally, he can be convinced to play a song or two if he's had a lot to drink, but mostly he goes to watch and listen.

Then one night he's been having a bad day. He can't quite place what's wrong, but everything just feels off and he feels more alone today than he has in a long time. He makes it through the day and doesn't even return to his room before heading off to the tavern to sit alone in the corner with a mug of ale.

He realizes when one of the regulars casts a suspicious look in his direction, that this must be what Geralt felt like that first day so many years ago. All he had wanted was peace and quiet and a drink and instead, he had gotten Jaskier. No wonder he didn't have to think twice about getting rid of him. At least Jaskier doesn't have to worry about anyone approaching him tonight; the few other patrons seem to realize it's best to keep their distance.

He thinks back to a younger version of himself, fearless and fascinated, approaching Geralt of Rivia and demanding a review of his performance. Three words or less he had said and Geralt had given him three exactly. He frowns thinking about it now and his heart aches as though something is wrapped around it, squeezing the life from it.

A group of other professors comes in a little later and the crowd grows. A few people say hello, but no one stays to sit and no one really wants to talk. A young aspiring bard gets up and sings Toss a Coin and Jaskier decides it's time to leave.

He's not drunk, not really, but it seems to take him ages to get back to his room and when he does, he flops down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Every night he spends here, staring up at these same beams and he feels trapped. He misses lying out under the stars and staring up at trees that swayed in the breeze. Even now in the dead of winter, he would trade his comfort and safety for the freedom of traveling.

But what's the point in traveling alone?

For the first time in a long time, he lets himself think of Geralt. He thinks back on all the good times, on all the nights they spend out in the wilderness either out of desire or necessity and he thinks about playing music around the fire. Occasionally, Geralt would even sing with him if he knew the words and those nights were the best of all.

Jaskier aches to think of them now, to think of all they used to have and everything he wishes he could gain back. But Geralt made it inescapably clear that Jaskier is not what he wants and all he can do now is try to accept that.

When he falls asleep at long last, it's thinking about golden eyes and white hair tinged orange by firelight.

The next afternoon there's a commotion in town and Jaskier, wanting something to take his mind off things, goes to check out what it is. He regrets it the second he walks into the inn.

"Is it true the Witcher is here?" someone asks and Jaskier freezes in place.

"They said a witcher," someone corrects, "not the witcher."

"But it is him, isn't it?"

Jaskier doesn't wait around long enough to hear whether or not the consensus is that yes, it is Geralt, the great White Wolf. Jaskier retreats quickly, heading back to his room because if it is him, he doesn't want to see him. Even if it isn't him - not likely, with his luck - Jaskier's had enough of Witchers to last a lifetime, thank you very much.

He tells the few people he sees that he'll be writing and would prefer not to be disturbed before heading up to lock himself away in his room. They're happy enough that he's writing again that there's no hesitation in their agreement and Jaskier feels confident that he will be left alone. His confidence only lasts as long as the peace outside his bedroom door lasts.

Within the hour, there's some sort of argument taking place downstairs and while he wants to know what's going on, he keeps to himself. He has even started writing a little and he'd like to keep the flow going while he can. He ignores it for as long as he can, but then there's a knock on the door. Dreading who might be outside, Jaskier pretends not to hear.

The first two times, he pretends, but then the knock comes again and he sighs and heaves himself up from his bed. He crosses the room on unsteady legs and pulls the door open. He's expecting someone to be there asking him to come down and talk to the Witcher because it is Geralt. He's probably doing something unpleasant like walking around covered in guts or something. What he's not expecting is to open the door to the man himself.

Immediately, he shuts it again. Geralt pushes it open and steps into the room.

"No, no, no, no, no, I am not getting mixed up in whatever this is.

"There's nothing to get mixed up in," Geralt says and despite his best efforts, something inside Jaskier crumbles. It aches to reach out to him, to stand beside him again. Jaskier holds his ground.

"Good," he says, "then you can go." It takes every ounce of his strength, but he crosses to the door, brushing past Geralt and holding the door open for him.

Something in Geralt's face softens and Jaskier pretends not to notice, doing his very best to remain stoic. Geralt steps toward him and as Jaskier's breath catches in his chest, the door is pulled from his hands and Geralt shuts it behind them.

"I was passing through and I heard you were here," he says. Jaskier wants to ask where he's coming from and to where he's going that Oxenfurt just happened to land neatly between them, but he doesn't trust himself to speak. And while he's not trying to remain civil, calling Geralt out on a lie might not be the best course of action.

Geralt sighs, resigning himself to the lack of reciprocation and his shoulders slump. "I knew you were here," he admits. "I've been looking for you for months until I ran into a bard who recognized me and asked why I wasn't with you."

"Did you tell him it was because you decided you'd had enough of me?" Jaskier asks bitterly and Geralt shuts his eyes, breathing sharply.

"No. And that's not true."

"Right," Jaskier scoffs, "because that's why you tell people to leave. If life could give you one blessing, that's what you said."

"I know and I'm sorry." Jaskier's heart is pounding now, beating so quickly he's afraid it might burst, but he doesn't move, even when Geralt takes a step toward him. "Come back," Geralt says and Jaskier can feel every fibre of his being pulling him toward Geralt, but he won't give in so easily.

"You don't want me," he says, "you just don't want to be alone."

"I do. I was wrong when I said those things. I was angry and I took it out on you." Geralt looks at him, but Jaskier refuses to meet his eyes. They're both silent for a moment before Geralt reaches out, hesitating before pulling his arm back. "I miss you."

"Hm," Jaskier responds, not trusting himself with actual words.

"I think about you every day. When someone sings that god awful song or when it's too quiet in the dark at night. I miss having you around, I miss listening to you sing. I want you to come back."

Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens. Geralt has moved closer and if he was to reach out, even to just move his hand forward, he could touch him. He's been dreaming of this moment for a long time but it doesn't feel like he expected it to. He thought he would feel good, that everything would suddenly be fine, but he almost feels more hurt now than he did before.

"I'm sorry I never told you before. I'm leaving in the morning. If you want to come with me, meet me at the stables. If you're not there, I'll know you've made your choice." He turns and pulls the door, disappearing out into the hall and leaving Jaskier alone in the room.

He's overwhelmed and it takes a few minutes for him to even remember how to breathe. In his time alone, he'd forgotten the effect Geralt has on him, and worse, he seemed genuine about his offer. Geralt never says that much at once unless he's mad and he definitely didn't seem mad. He considers it for a moment because maybe he does want him back.

Alone in his room, he realizes there's only one option and he sighs, letting his arms fall limp at his sides.

"Fuck."

- - - - -

The sun is just rising over the horizon and Jaskier is anxious, wondering if he made the right decision. It's a matter of the rest of his life and finding somewhere he can belong and he doesn't know whether he has. He's quiet as the sun rises and down the road and he hears footsteps approaching and the familiar whinny of a horse. Jaskier sucks in a deep breath and one last time and cements his decision in his mind, just as a familiar figure approaches up the hill.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier's heart melts despite himself. Next to him, Roach leans over the gate of her stall, nibbling at his hair and he thinks maybe he chose right.

"Did you really miss me?" he asks as Geralt comes closer.

"Yes," Geralt says, not slowing his stride as he approaches. He wraps strong arms around Jaskier's shoulders and pulls him close, resting his head against his. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, returning the embrace and inhaling the Geralt's scent.

As he pulls back, he looks up at him and the faintest sliver of doubt creeps into his mind again. "Prove it," he says, stepping back and without a moment's hesitation, Geralt takes his face in his hands, closing the gap between them again and kissing him more tenderly than Jaskier thinks he's ever been kissed in his life.

His knees are weak and his eyes sting with unshed tears as he lets himself be bundled up into loving arms. When Geralt breaks away again, he presses his face into Jaskier's neck, breathing softly.