Witchers are capable of amazing things. Enhanced bodies allow them to kill monsters, stop flying arrows, hear a pin fall to the floor in the middle of a crowded city and smell every single person you made out with last night.

In the case of Geralt, he's capable to kill the hurricane of emotions in Jaskier's chest with just a grunt.

It's like a bucket of freezing water had been dropped on his head. His heart goes from furiously beating to almost stopping, and for a moment there, he can't even breathe. It's nothing like what happened at the mountain yet at the same time it feels a hundred times worse - Geralt says less, but this time, he's also holding more of his heart.

All of it, in fact.

'You smell of heartbreak', he told Geralt once. The one smelling purely of that at the moment, however, is Jaskier himself.

So tell me, love, tell me, love, how is that just?

He wants to yell. To cry. To throw something at that stubborn head. But he feels... cold. Empty. Defeated. So much talking about what they wanted, so much yelling and promising and making sure there won't be any more assumptions or other guests in their beds-- all for fucking nothing. When will he ever stop being such a fool? When will he ever learn to stop handing his heart so easily, how many times must he take it back in pieces?

Jaskier's hands shake as crazy as they move to his chest, unpin the wolf brooch and put it on Geralt's fingers before stomping his way out of here. He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows he can't look at Geralt right now.

Garroter, jury, and judge.