*yoink* (warning I made it v bittersweet)
He hasn't moved an inch when Geralt returns.
He hasn't sat down, or pulled out his lute. He hasn't even stopped smiling.
For all Geralt worries, and complains, he has to admit that Jaskier does listen.
The bard is prone to dramatics, yes. He'll whine about anything if he thinks it will get a reaction.
It's too cold, it's too hot, there's mud on my boots, there's a rock where I'm sitting, you stink, I stink, my feet are sore---
And yes, Jaskier lacks self-preservation, but only if it is a singular risk. He won't implicate others in his search to find the most gods damned trouble possible.
And he always knows when Geralt is being serious about him not following on a hunt.
It only took one time of Geralt saying, "You could distract me, Jaskier. The monster could escape. People could get hurt. Do you understand?" For Jaskier to nod and sit patiently in the inn, or at camp, and wait.
What Jaskier heard, of course, was, 'If I am too busy focused on protecting you, I won't be protecting myself.' And Jaskier is many things, but willing to get Geralt injured is not one of them.
So, really, he shouldn't be surprised when he comes back to find Jaskier standing perfectly still, in the exact place that Geralt left him, smiling brightly up at him as he returns.
"That was fast," Jaskier comments. "Did you see a squirrel?"
"Perimeter check," Geralt brushes him off, hopping down from Roach and ignoring every instinct in his body screaming at him to push into Jaskier's space -- to make sure he's safe.
"Well, good! Shall I gather some wood, then? Are we camping here?"
Geralt hums, and lets Jaskier interpret for himself what he means. He's too busy feeling his heart batter against his ribs with guilt.
Later, when the sun has set and the sky is dark, save for the stars exploding in constellations of purple and blue, everything sparking like a child's beautiful dream, Geralt takes a moment to breath Jaskier in.
Dinner is eaten. Roach is settled. Jaskier is snoring softly. Everything is as it should be, as it is every night, only...
Geralt knows what he did.
He swallows hard against his stomach rising into his throat, and curls his bard just a little further into his chest.
"I can't lose you," he whispers into the nape of his neck, a confession. Jaskier's hair tickles his lips. "I don't want to be the reason for your suffering, but I don't want to watch you get hurt anymore. I don't want to see you grow old without me, not when I- I can't."
It's easier to talk to Jaskier when he's asleep. When he can't hear his aching, broken thoughts.
He knows Jaskier would never judge him.
The bard - his bard - would never be so cruel. But he would hold him. He would stroke his hair and whisper such sweet things, and Geralt--
"I don't want to watch you die," Geralt confesses, voice breaking. Tears spill over his cheeks and soak into Jaskier's doublet. "It hurts. It hurts that you trust me. That you-- you love--" he can't finish the thought. He can't say the words. They're too much, too real.
A warm hand cradles his where it's curled around Jaskier's waist.
"Being afraid and sending me away won't make me live forever, Geralt." Jaskier whispers, voice groggy. He must have missed Jaskier waking in the midst of his spiral. "All it will do is force me to live my short life missing you."
Geralt pulls him closer, burying his face in Jaskier's nape.
"I know," he croaks, miserable.
"So let me love you." Jaskier turns in his arms to face him, one of his hands raising to tuck Geralt's stray hairs behind his ear, the strands now wet with tears. "Let me stay with you and be yours. Be afraid, but be afraid together."
"Denying yourself won't solve anything," Jaskier says, his eyes so blue Geralt could drown in them. "You protect me from monsters. Let me protect you from this. Let me hold your sorrow for you, even only for a while."
Geralt burrows his face into Jaskier's chest, nodding. "Okay," he relents. "I trust you."
And he does. He trusts Jaskier.
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