“He misses you,” Yennefer says after a few minutes of silence.
Jaskier shrugs, even though his heart surges, and looks into her purple eyes. He still doesn’t know what Geralt saw in them, what’s so special about them to make the Witcher lose his mind. But well, love makes people stupid.
He knows that much from experience.
“So what?” asks Jaskier, trying for indifference. He’s not far off. “Is he here? Is he ready to apologize?”
He makes a show of looking around even though he knows that Geralt isn’t here. He hasn’t seen the Witcher for 3 years and well, that speaks for itself.
“He’s scared,” Yennefer says quietly. Jaskier scoffs.
“So what?” he asks again. “So fucking what, Yennefer? Everyone is fucking scared, everyone has to do things that scare him. He’s not special.”
That makes the witch pause. “He’s a brick wall when it comes to emotions, we know that, but he cares. He misses you, really. He’s been moping around for years, even Ciri has enough.”
The mention of Ciri makes Jaskier smile. His little lion cub, growing up. He wishes he could be there, but alas not all things are meant to be.
“I still don’t see why you’re here. You tracked me, I know you did, and I have no idea why.”
Jaskier’s tired. He’s tried of the game between him and Geralt, a game the Witcher doesn’t know they’re playing. He’s tired of always trying to help Geralt, get closer to him, be his friend, he’s tired of always fucking fighting the White Wolf. Jaskier is just tired.
“He’s obviously not here, I’m apparently not important enough to follow. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Give him a chance,” she asks quietly. Jaskier snorts again, ale flying out his nose.
“A chance to what? What the fuck, Yen. He hasn’t spoken to me for 3 years and the last thing he saw to me was wishing for destiny to take him off his hands. What fucking chance?”
He’s not screaming but he’s too loud for where they are, so Jaskier takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
“You know he doesn’t know how to express himself, but he’s sorry. He’s guilty and sorry and frankly, pathetic in his moping,” the witch scoffs.
“And yet you’re the one here,” Jaskier sighs, making her fall silent. “I don’t know what to tell you, Yen. Geralt and I met 25 years ago. That’s more than half of my life, that’s more than some people get to live. He spent all of that time denying we’re even friends, insulting me and never apologizing. Yes, maybe he showed that he cared but fuck, Yen, I need words sometimes. I need some fucking effort put into actually communicating with me. I can’t read minds and I’m not you. I don’t want to fuck him, then get angry at him and throw him out after 3 days. That’s not what I want.”
“And what do you want?” she asks, and well, isn’t that a good question?
“I don’t know,” Jaskier says tiredly. “But I’m so tired of chasing Geralt around, both literally and emotionally. You say that he cares, that he misses me but he’s not here. He’s not here, apologizing as he should. Scared of not, I deserve that.”
“He doesn’t know how,” Yennefer says, louder again. Jaskier wonders what made her so defensive of Geralt.
“I spent over 20 years trying to teach him, Yen. I can’t spend another 20 years trying to make him emote. I’m not his parent, I’m not responsible for his emotions and skills. It’s not fair to expect me to teach him everything and always excuse his shit communication skills just because he’s a Witcher. People can grow and change after trauma, they can become better. But Geralt is too scared of talking and I’m too tired of always trying to make him. It always ends up with me hurting.”
Yennefer hums before draining her wine glass in one move. Jaskier stays quiet, emotionally exhausted, heart aching again. Geralt always makes his heart ache.
“You love him,” she finally says, some pity in her voice.
“Yeah,” Jaskier sighs, thinking back to all the good and the bad with Geralt. He’s too old to settle for what they had before. He finally values himself enough to see he deserves more. “See, the thing is, sometimes love isn’t enough.”
With that, he bows to her and leaves, aware of her eyes glued to his back. That night, he dreams of Geralt’s small smile and gentle hands, and of sharp words and sharper eyes. He wakes up feeling freer than ever and his breathing is slow. There’s a smile on his face.
