"I meant my comment about your taste in women, but thanks for ruining my song."
Is he pouting? Oh yes, he's pouting. And his fingers drop the chords of Her sweet kiss to idly strum a comic jig instead.
New Geralt isn't incorrect about the ale and one night stands idea, it's how Jaskier usually deals with heartbreak. That, and whining to Old Geralt about it too. But it never lasted this long before - he's always loved freely and quickly, and it hurt but it hurt so good. It was never a regret. Right now, however, he just feels stupid.
That's new. He doesn't like it. And as much as he dying to talk about it as he'd usually do, he's not ready to confront the reality of the last twenty years of his life being a fucking mistake.
Jaskier has to wonder how much New Geralt understands of all that - probably not much. But at least he's being understanding, offering company and a chat, not pushing, and Jaskier appreciates that. His fingers pause when he hears the offer, the tip of his tongue peeking out as his heart beats a little faster. Before he can stop himself from doing anything stupid (when does that ever work anyway?), his hand reaches out to gently trace the scar on Geralt's eye.
"This one is new."
He's touching Geralt once more. It shouldn't mean anything, yet it means the world.
"The mere fact you still have your eye makes it ballad worth it, you lucky bastard." Except it's all skill, Jaskier knows. Meh, he's fine he's said in the past. But he has to tease anyway. "It's not the worst one - nothing can beat holding your guts--" Your. He's slipping again, fuck. "--but it's without a doubt at least top five."
Jaskier wants the story behind the eye scar, needs it like burning, but as calloused skin feels scarred skin, something comes back to his mind. After a short pause and a deep breath, his hand falls, this time to push up Geralt's white sleeve, trace the scars on the witcher's arm. His eyes and scent are a turmoil of emotions - the bittersweetness continues, but there's also some nostalgia there, some fondness. Because he's an utter fool that still cares.
"I recognize most of these. I can tell you every story behind them, I was there myself when at least half of them happened. And yet they look... different." He forces himself to look up then, wanting to see those golden eyes when they answer what he's already picturing in his head. "Has nobody ever tended your wounds?"
And by nobody he means Dandelion, but a word spinner he is, and he's trying not to throw accusations out there that can turn Geralt off this conversation.
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Is he pouting? Oh yes, he's pouting. And his fingers drop the chords of Her sweet kiss to idly strum a comic jig instead.
New Geralt isn't incorrect about the ale and one night stands idea, it's how Jaskier usually deals with heartbreak. That, and whining to Old Geralt about it too. But it never lasted this long before - he's always loved freely and quickly, and it hurt but it hurt so good. It was never a regret. Right now, however, he just feels stupid.
That's new. He doesn't like it. And as much as he dying to talk about it as he'd usually do, he's not ready to confront the reality of the last twenty years of his life being a fucking mistake.
Jaskier has to wonder how much New Geralt understands of all that - probably not much. But at least he's being understanding, offering company and a chat, not pushing, and Jaskier appreciates that. His fingers pause when he hears the offer, the tip of his tongue peeking out as his heart beats a little faster. Before he can stop himself from doing anything stupid (when does that ever work anyway?), his hand reaches out to gently trace the scar on Geralt's eye.
"This one is new."
He's touching Geralt once more. It shouldn't mean anything, yet it means the world.
"The mere fact you still have your eye makes it ballad worth it, you lucky bastard." Except it's all skill, Jaskier knows. Meh, he's fine he's said in the past. But he has to tease anyway. "It's not the worst one - nothing can beat holding your guts--" Your. He's slipping again, fuck. "--but it's without a doubt at least top five."
Jaskier wants the story behind the eye scar, needs it like burning, but as calloused skin feels scarred skin, something comes back to his mind. After a short pause and a deep breath, his hand falls, this time to push up Geralt's white sleeve, trace the scars on the witcher's arm. His eyes and scent are a turmoil of emotions - the bittersweetness continues, but there's also some nostalgia there, some fondness. Because he's an utter fool that still cares.
"I recognize most of these. I can tell you every story behind them, I was there myself when at least half of them happened. And yet they look... different." He forces himself to look up then, wanting to see those golden eyes when they answer what he's already picturing in his head. "Has nobody ever tended your wounds?"
And by nobody he means Dandelion, but a word spinner he is, and he's trying not to throw accusations out there that can turn Geralt off this conversation.