His whole body aches when Geralt picks him up, the pain burning him from head to toe, eliciting the sharpest groan out of him. He needs a distraction, to put his attention on something else. But that would mean being extra aware of Geralt, of his body around him, of the fact he's being kind and helping him without complaining about him getting in trouble again. It would mean being aware of Roach, the good old girl who has carried him once before and it was during the whole djinn disaster, and that's one memory he doesn't need to revisit right now.
At least the feeling of her mane in his hands is familiar. Comforting. Jaskier tries to concentrate on that, on afternoons spent braiding flowers in her hair.
Don't think about the pain, he tells himself under the pressure of his body's wounds.
Don't think about you incredibly complicated feelings for Geralt, the man his brain wants to push away and his heart wants to cuddle under his protection, like the traitor it is.
At least the trip is short, and Jaskier suddenly finds himself very grateful for Geralt's cloak hiding him from the city's curious eyes. As social as he is, interacting with people is the last thing he wants to do right now - the first being finding a bed, crawl under the sheets and sleep for a whole week.
Those aren't Geralt's plans, however. He sits Jaskier on the bed but only to start inspecting him to check his wounds. Awkwardness slips in then - never in twenty years Jaskier had trouble meeting Geralt's eyes (unless he's failing to be sneaky when asking for a favor) yet now he can't stand the heaviness of that golden gaze. Jaskier may find care in them if he does, and Melitele knows it would be extremely foolish to fall for that again.
So he looks away instead, taking in every detail of the room they're in. Not their-- his, Geralt's usual cheap inn.
"You don't have to stay." His voice is rough when he finally speaks again, and he knows he probably shouldn't do that in the first place, but he can't stand the silence. It leaves him alone with his own mind, and it's not a pretty place to be at right now. "You can send a healer and go. It's not--" He swallows a sob. "I didn't tell them anything. You're safe to leave."
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At least the feeling of her mane in his hands is familiar. Comforting. Jaskier tries to concentrate on that, on afternoons spent braiding flowers in her hair.
Don't think about the pain, he tells himself under the pressure of his body's wounds.
Don't think about you incredibly complicated feelings for Geralt, the man his brain wants to push away and his heart wants to cuddle under his protection, like the traitor it is.
At least the trip is short, and Jaskier suddenly finds himself very grateful for Geralt's cloak hiding him from the city's curious eyes. As social as he is, interacting with people is the last thing he wants to do right now - the first being finding a bed, crawl under the sheets and sleep for a whole week.
Those aren't Geralt's plans, however. He sits Jaskier on the bed but only to start inspecting him to check his wounds. Awkwardness slips in then - never in twenty years Jaskier had trouble meeting Geralt's eyes (unless he's failing to be sneaky when asking for a favor) yet now he can't stand the heaviness of that golden gaze. Jaskier may find care in them if he does, and Melitele knows it would be extremely foolish to fall for that again.
So he looks away instead, taking in every detail of the room they're in. Not their-- his, Geralt's usual cheap inn.
"You don't have to stay." His voice is rough when he finally speaks again, and he knows he probably shouldn't do that in the first place, but he can't stand the silence. It leaves him alone with his own mind, and it's not a pretty place to be at right now. "You can send a healer and go. It's not--" He swallows a sob. "I didn't tell them anything. You're safe to leave."