A deep, long-suffering sigh, a few more sleepless seconds away from a groan. "I am now."
Jaskier doesn't turn around, only smiles faintly to himself. Stares at the wall, dark and tall before his eyes that refuse to close, the faint lights outside pouring through the creases of the shutters. It's still night. And yet. "Can I ask you a question?"
A part of him waits for Geralt to grunt and refuse and tell him to go back to sleep and, really, he wouldn't mind, it's not that urgent. Except for his heart that has tucked itself away in a corner of his chest, curled around itself like a scolded child that refuses to come out unless it's comforted.
The tightness of his shoulders gives in a little when he hears Geralt swallowing, and scooting closer to wrap an arm around his waist. "Go on." His voice is husky with sleep. It makes Jaskier shiver.
Makes his heart flutter in its corner. He takes a breath, eyes fixed on the wall and the arm on his waist feeling heavy. Maybe that's just how love is. Heavy. But safe. His voice is no more than a breath. "Why do you love me?"
He's waiting for it. Go back to sleep, Jaskier. What kind of question is this? Isn't it enough that I do? He's waiting, and it sounds a lot like what his mind has sounded like for the past hour. And it's silly, if he's being honest. Childish. Maybe that's why it stings, maybe because it's been the same question for so long he doesn't remember not having it.
For a moment, there's silence.
There it is, he thinks, not surprised.
Yet Geralt hums lightly. It's like he's smiling and Jaskier knows, somehow, that if he turns around now, he'll see the curve of his lips. He doesn't. He stays still, almost frozen, until he feels Geralt tightening his arm around him, holding him against his chest.
Until he feels soft lips pressed between his shoulder blades.
Geralt's voice when he speaks against his bare skin flows through his body like blood. "Because I don't know how not to."
A shiver. Jaskier knows Geralt has this smile on his lips that he gets every time he drives him to silence, can feel it as though his lips carve it on his own skin. Slowly, Geralt kisses his nape, then, gently, his shoulder. A caress, a substitute for words. No. A promise. Maybe it's better then, that Jaskier can't look at him. Maybe if he did, the tears threatening to fall as Geralt drags his lips on his skin wouldn't hesitate.
The arm is heavier now, steady. A deep sigh and Geralt nuzzles in his hair, breaths him in. Hums again and his voice is sleepy, plain as though his love is the most natural thing in the world. "Sometimes it's like I'm loving you from memory."
He says nothing more. Jaskier hears the flutter of his lashes against his cheeks. Smiles.
His hug is tight and warm and it feels like its shape was made for Jaskier to fit in, like Geralt always knew how to hold him. Maybe this answers his question then. Their pieces finding each other in the puzzle.
He closes his eyes, snuggles into Geralt's arms, and lets a single tear flow down. His heart slips on it, and returns to its place.
