Fuck indeed, Jaskier thinks. He feels the hands stopping and Jaskier is tempted to turn around, check on Geralt, but at the same time he's afraid of what he'll find there. Will it be the same look Geralt gave him on the mountain? Because Jaskier still remembers that one, it's been burned on his mind, no matter how hard he's tried to forget.
No matter how much time passes, though, he's still a fool, and hearing his name said like that continues to be a weakness. Covering himself with the cloak again (because if Geralt isn't going to touch him anymore then he doesn't want to feel cold again), he turns his body to lie on his side, blue eyes searching for something, anything, on Geralt's face.
Except the witcher doesn't even dare to look at him, the big coward, and what he says? Barely an apology, if it can even be called that.
Jaskier is tired. Angry. Frustrated. In pain. Scared. He's a mess of emotions, half of them having been ignored for the past year, so they've had time to settle down and fester - because no matter how he's tried to sing and fuck his way through the continent, he never moved on. That much of an impact Geralt has had in his life, and that much of an impact he's having now, poking at big emotional wounds with his kindness and care, making them bleed again with poor words.
There's only so much Jaskier cant take - and so he snaps.
"You-- YOU--" He's sitting up, his whole body screaming at the sudden movement, but he doesn't care. Resentment and anger are the energy that move him now, guiding his limbs as if it was adrenaline itself. Before he realizes what he's doing, Jaskier grabs a pillow and throws it at Geralt's face. He shouldn't yell, he should protect his throat. He does it anyway. "YOU BLOODY EMOTIONAL-CONSTIPATED, SWAMP-DWELLING, DIMWITTED, SHIT-DRIPPING, IMBECILIC, COCKEYED, GREASY GOMERIL, BLUNDERING PILLOCK, ASININE BASTARD SON OF A WEASEL AND A WHORE!"
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No matter how much time passes, though, he's still a fool, and hearing his name said like that continues to be a weakness. Covering himself with the cloak again (because if Geralt isn't going to touch him anymore then he doesn't want to feel cold again), he turns his body to lie on his side, blue eyes searching for something, anything, on Geralt's face.
Except the witcher doesn't even dare to look at him, the big coward, and what he says? Barely an apology, if it can even be called that.
Jaskier is tired. Angry. Frustrated. In pain. Scared. He's a mess of emotions, half of them having been ignored for the past year, so they've had time to settle down and fester - because no matter how he's tried to sing and fuck his way through the continent, he never moved on. That much of an impact Geralt has had in his life, and that much of an impact he's having now, poking at big emotional wounds with his kindness and care, making them bleed again with poor words.
There's only so much Jaskier cant take - and so he snaps.
"You-- YOU--" He's sitting up, his whole body screaming at the sudden movement, but he doesn't care. Resentment and anger are the energy that move him now, guiding his limbs as if it was adrenaline itself. Before he realizes what he's doing, Jaskier grabs a pillow and throws it at Geralt's face. He shouldn't yell, he should protect his throat. He does it anyway. "YOU BLOODY EMOTIONAL-CONSTIPATED, SWAMP-DWELLING, DIMWITTED, SHIT-DRIPPING, IMBECILIC, COCKEYED, GREASY GOMERIL, BLUNDERING PILLOCK, ASININE BASTARD SON OF A WEASEL AND A WHORE!"