If there's something Jaskier has been feeling since Geralt rescued him, it's this deep, feral, raw need to scream.
And so he finally does.
He throws his head back and just screams, probably making his old singing coaches cringe over at Oxenfurt for what he's doing to his throat, but Cirilla may appreciate it. It's a powerful sound by a powerful voice, no words needed to understand the frustration that fuels it. There's only so much he can take, not even a romantic like him (who sings about love conquering it all) can withstand so much bullshit thrown at him without taking a hit or two. Or three, or a hundred. He's only human after all.
"You're bloody impossible! You aren't hearing a word I'm saying! You don't trust me!"
Reaching the door is easy, opening it is not. His hand freezes on the knob, and Jaskier rests his forehead against the wood as he sighs. He said he owes Eskel one, and he meant it. Leaving right now would equal burdening him with this shit the whole season - Cirilla, too. They deserve better than that.
Fuck his fondness for witchers.
Jaskier drags his feet back to the desk and decides to sit on it, legs crossed and hands going to his hips in his usual scolding housewife position. Even if they don't end up together after this conversation, he decides, they should at least reach some peaceful agreement not to make life hell for the rest of the keep and themselves.
"One!" He suddenly exclaims very seriously. "Stop assuming how I feel about things. If something it's worth keeping or not, that's MY choice to make. You KNOW that, you KNOW how much I hate people deciding my feelings for me. And if something makes me happy, so happy that I can feel my heart bursting, then I'd say that's worth the world. Two!" A hand frees his hip to start counting with his fingers. "Either there's some conversation I must be missing here or you're high in potions, because I never asked for the word love - I never asked for any particular words from you. I asked you to swear that you wanted me to be with you as more than friends. I asked you to swear that's what I mean to you, and you did. On the Path. And it meant the world to me. Are you following me so far?"
He's trying not to speak in riddles, just like Geralt likes it, but it's hard not to when discussing feelings. They're an abstract concept, something that needs to be described by poetry because of their very nature. His points are clear, he wants to believe: if something shakes him to his core, then it's worth keeping. And Geralt has shaken him to his core. It's not hard to add two plus two.
"Three." Another finger raises, but this time his voice softens a little it. Almost-- ashamed? "Back when Vesemir was talking to you, I-- I froze. Right at the beginning. I wanted to jump in to defend you and I couldn't, because--" His hands fall to his lap, so do his eyes. "--the way he talked to you, it reminded me of my father. I'm not saying you and I are the same!" He hurries to clarify, that shame completely taking over. "What's happened to you is atrocious, and I'm just a spoiled brat. What I'm trying to say is-- I felt helpless. Because that's what that logic does to you, Geralt. 'You can't have something because of who you are' takes all power to make choices away from you - I imagine that's what the elder witchers were going for. Don't make choices of your own, just follow the Path."
His voice breaks when he says that last part. Fuck, sitting down like this and going through things methodically is helping him a lot to calm down and remember how fucked up things are for Geralt, to remember why he decided to be patient all the way back when he was eighteen and work on a friendship that felt one-sided for a long, long time.
He's broken, and you are the only one that can help him.
Overwhelmed by it all, Jaskier raises his hand again and this time he cups Geralt's cheek, blue eyes begging for gold to stay with him, to believe his words. He surprises himself by feeling relief over the touch being comforting instead of burning - hopefully that's how it feels for Geralt as well.
"Love... love is like a pear. A pear is sweet and has a distinct shape, see, but can you define the shape of a pear? I know I can't, not even with all my poetry. I don't need you to understand it, Geralt, I don't need you to put a name on it. All I need is to know there's something here." His other hand moves to rest on Geralt's very slow heart. "Everything you just told me - you're repeating their teachings. You're repeating what humanity has taught you through stones and insults. But even if you were right, a leftover, botched echo is still a feeling."
A calloused thumb strokes Geralt's cheek and before Jaskier can curse his own heart for giving in again, he pulls to bring Geralt closer and make their foreheads touch. A deep breath - gods, how he's missed this.
"I don't want you to tell me you aren't capable of feeling things, because that's a big pile of horseshit if I've ever smelled one. All your problems were born from you caring too much. Forget about witcher logic and your teachings, forget about Vesemir, forget about the shape and size of love, forget about the Path and the trials and the differences between you and I - how would you feel if I said I'm not worthy of you because I'm not powerful and immortal?" His fingers grab Geralt's shirt, and something sad sneaks into his scent - those are doubts that haunt him all the time. "Forget all that. I'm going to ask again, and the only answer I want to hear has to come from your heart, mutated as it is, because I love it that way. Four."
Another deep breath. Here goes nothing.
"Why did you save a bloody ribbon when I have hundreds of those? Why did you wake up before sunrise to fish for me when we had free food in the kitchens? Why does it matter if I smell of Eskel? Why did you take a moment in the middle of the road, while we were in a hurry, to tell me you won't share me? Why did you run away in Vizima? If it's because of something warm in your chest, something you only feel for me... then that's all I need from you. Nothing else."
no subject
And so he finally does.
He throws his head back and just screams, probably making his old singing coaches cringe over at Oxenfurt for what he's doing to his throat, but Cirilla may appreciate it. It's a powerful sound by a powerful voice, no words needed to understand the frustration that fuels it. There's only so much he can take, not even a romantic like him (who sings about love conquering it all) can withstand so much bullshit thrown at him without taking a hit or two. Or three, or a hundred. He's only human after all.
"You're bloody impossible! You aren't hearing a word I'm saying! You don't trust me!"
Reaching the door is easy, opening it is not. His hand freezes on the knob, and Jaskier rests his forehead against the wood as he sighs. He said he owes Eskel one, and he meant it. Leaving right now would equal burdening him with this shit the whole season - Cirilla, too. They deserve better than that.
Fuck his fondness for witchers.
Jaskier drags his feet back to the desk and decides to sit on it, legs crossed and hands going to his hips in his usual scolding housewife position. Even if they don't end up together after this conversation, he decides, they should at least reach some peaceful agreement not to make life hell for the rest of the keep and themselves.
"One!" He suddenly exclaims very seriously. "Stop assuming how I feel about things. If something it's worth keeping or not, that's MY choice to make. You KNOW that, you KNOW how much I hate people deciding my feelings for me. And if something makes me happy, so happy that I can feel my heart bursting, then I'd say that's worth the world. Two!" A hand frees his hip to start counting with his fingers. "Either there's some conversation I must be missing here or you're high in potions, because I never asked for the word love - I never asked for any particular words from you. I asked you to swear that you wanted me to be with you as more than friends. I asked you to swear that's what I mean to you, and you did. On the Path. And it meant the world to me. Are you following me so far?"
He's trying not to speak in riddles, just like Geralt likes it, but it's hard not to when discussing feelings. They're an abstract concept, something that needs to be described by poetry because of their very nature. His points are clear, he wants to believe: if something shakes him to his core, then it's worth keeping. And Geralt has shaken him to his core. It's not hard to add two plus two.
"Three." Another finger raises, but this time his voice softens a little it. Almost-- ashamed? "Back when Vesemir was talking to you, I-- I froze. Right at the beginning. I wanted to jump in to defend you and I couldn't, because--" His hands fall to his lap, so do his eyes. "--the way he talked to you, it reminded me of my father. I'm not saying you and I are the same!" He hurries to clarify, that shame completely taking over. "What's happened to you is atrocious, and I'm just a spoiled brat. What I'm trying to say is-- I felt helpless. Because that's what that logic does to you, Geralt. 'You can't have something because of who you are' takes all power to make choices away from you - I imagine that's what the elder witchers were going for. Don't make choices of your own, just follow the Path."
His voice breaks when he says that last part. Fuck, sitting down like this and going through things methodically is helping him a lot to calm down and remember how fucked up things are for Geralt, to remember why he decided to be patient all the way back when he was eighteen and work on a friendship that felt one-sided for a long, long time.
He's broken, and you are the only one that can help him.
Overwhelmed by it all, Jaskier raises his hand again and this time he cups Geralt's cheek, blue eyes begging for gold to stay with him, to believe his words. He surprises himself by feeling relief over the touch being comforting instead of burning - hopefully that's how it feels for Geralt as well.
"Love... love is like a pear. A pear is sweet and has a distinct shape, see, but can you define the shape of a pear? I know I can't, not even with all my poetry. I don't need you to understand it, Geralt, I don't need you to put a name on it. All I need is to know there's something here." His other hand moves to rest on Geralt's very slow heart. "Everything you just told me - you're repeating their teachings. You're repeating what humanity has taught you through stones and insults. But even if you were right, a leftover, botched echo is still a feeling."
A calloused thumb strokes Geralt's cheek and before Jaskier can curse his own heart for giving in again, he pulls to bring Geralt closer and make their foreheads touch. A deep breath - gods, how he's missed this.
"I don't want you to tell me you aren't capable of feeling things, because that's a big pile of horseshit if I've ever smelled one. All your problems were born from you caring too much. Forget about witcher logic and your teachings, forget about Vesemir, forget about the shape and size of love, forget about the Path and the trials and the differences between you and I - how would you feel if I said I'm not worthy of you because I'm not powerful and immortal?" His fingers grab Geralt's shirt, and something sad sneaks into his scent - those are doubts that haunt him all the time. "Forget all that. I'm going to ask again, and the only answer I want to hear has to come from your heart, mutated as it is, because I love it that way. Four."
Another deep breath. Here goes nothing.
"Why did you save a bloody ribbon when I have hundreds of those? Why did you wake up before sunrise to fish for me when we had free food in the kitchens? Why does it matter if I smell of Eskel? Why did you take a moment in the middle of the road, while we were in a hurry, to tell me you won't share me? Why did you run away in Vizima? If it's because of something warm in your chest, something you only feel for me... then that's all I need from you. Nothing else."