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Jaskier doesn’t know what’s worse. The guilt, the vicious little voice in his head that tells him he can go longer without food, or the empty stomach he desperately wants to fill if only it weren’t such a bother to keep himself well-fed all the time. Really, what kind of bullshit is it to stand in the kitchen for at least half an hour each time he wants to eat, cutting up vegetables and boiling water and what-not, only to have it all scarfed down in record time? The disparity between meal prep time and actually eating time really just takes away all the magic he used to feel as a child when mama made his favourite food.
Now he has to provide for himself – and by the Gods, does he suck at that.
He sighs as the front door falls shut behind him and pulls out his phone. Doesn’t even hesitate before he texts Lambert because he knows his boyfriend won’t judge. Or, well, he will, but at least he won’t blame Jaskier or tell him off. Lambert, for all his grunts and insults and no-nonsense attitude, can be incredibly sweet and gentle and kind.
Jask: oh lol guess who forgot to eat again
Lame-bert: jask.
His reply is instantaneous, and Jaskier smiles. Another wondrous thing about the man. He will curse technology to high heavens and be endlessly grumpy about everything at all times – and yet he always instantly replies to Jaskier’s texts. He almost wants to send a heart emoji because he is overcome with warmth for his boyfriend, but that would be bad with the topic of conversation. Later. He’ll tell Lambert he loves him later.
Jask: listennnn
There’s nothing he has to say, though. There never is when it comes to food because there is no way he can keep telling Lambert about how hard food is sometimes. Lambert can’t understand his bad food days or weeks, can’t relate or truly understand – and Jaskier is grateful for that because that means Lambert doesn’t ever have to sit in front of the fridge and stare at its contents, wishing he could just manifest a meal. Wishing the full fridge would stop staring at him, or dreading the time he has to go grocery shopping and confront the bad food days.
He’s glad Lambert can’t relate, eternally grateful that the man just accepts Jaskier for who he is, the bad days and the good ones. But still he can’t shake the fear that some day further down the line, he might not be more than his bad food days. It’s stupid and unfair to Lambert, but nothing about this makes sense anyway, so why not add to the pile?
Jask: i have many many thoughts today, no place for foods
Lame-bert: :(
Jask: i’m sorry babe
Lame-bert: don’t be sorry. can you try to get something while you’re out?
Jaskier thinks about that for a moment, his heart aching in his chest. He wants to. But he knows he won’t. And he doesn’t want to lie to Lambert, but he also doesn’t want him to worry.
Jask: i don’t think i can? sorry
Lame-bert: no sorries
Yeah, no, the guilt is the worst thing today.
He stares at the messages for a while longer, wishing Lambert would say something more, wishing he could take away the aching guilt in his chest and let Jaskier know that he’s not mad or sad or worried. It’s more than he has any right to wish, let alone ask for, but still he hopes.
A moment later, Lambert’s beautiful face appears on his screen with an incoming call. Jaskier answers, lifting the phone to his ear with both trepidation and happiness.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Let me take care of you,” Lambert says, and Jaskier is a bit taken aback.
“Huh?”
“Let me come over,” Lambert explains then. “Let me cook, make sure you eat, even if it’s just a little. Okay? Please, I— Please let me do this?”
“Babe—” Jaskier begins, but Lambert cuts him off.
“Obviously I won’t if you say no. I don’t want to make it worse. But what I’m saying is I don’t have anything to do tonight. And I miss you. And really, I wanna take care of you. It won’t be a hardship. I promise.”
It should be scary, the ways in which Lambert knows just how to disarm him and his half-hearted protests. The idea of having Lambert come over, having him there to cuddle and kiss and bury his face in his chest after he’s eaten too much to be comfortable — oh, yes, what a wonderful idea. What a wonderful man.
“I love you,” Jaskier tells him, smile on his lips and warmth in his chest. “I really, really do.”
“I love you, too,” Lambert promises, sounding more relaxed now. Calmer. Almost back to his grumpiness. Jaskier grins.
“Hey, Lamb?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you come over and take care of me tonight?”
There’s a short moment of silence, only filled with Lambert’s happy little hum.
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
Jaskier laughs. “Oh, fuck you,” he grins and pretends to pout even though Lambert can’t see.
“Maybe, if you eat enough,” Lambert retorts and they hang up a short while later.
Jaskier feels much better now. It’s weird, this fear that he’ll disappoint others on his bad food days when really it should only be about himself. It’s not, though, and he is so happy and glad and grateful and blessed to have Lambert’s support.
This time, he does send him the heart emojis before going on his way to go Christmas shopping.
That night, Jaskier is checking the time twice a minute because it’s already 9:14 and Lambert is nowhere to be seen. Doesn’t reply to his texts or anything, and Jaskier is in waiting mode, just sitting on his couch, unable to do anything but wait for his boyfriend to come home. Well, not home. Come over.
Oh how he wishes Lambert would live with him. Or he with Lambert. Them, together. Always someone to make sure he eats, because Lambert actually enjoys cooking and experimenting with different sorts of ingredients and spices to upgrade his already amazing dishes. And Lambert, well, he could get smiles and pep talks and kisses and a happy presence to match his grump.
Jaskier smiles as he imagines living with Lambert.
A knock on the door interrupts his musings, and he jumps off the couch in record speed.
“Hi, my lo— oh.” All his excitement turns into confusion at seeing Lambert with six giant bags in his hands. “Wh— What’s all this?”
Lambert grunts and heaves the bags inside, Jaskier quickly stepping to the side to let him in, shutting the door behind him, still feeling confused and mildly concerned.
“Lambi?”
Lambert ignores him in favour of bringing all the bags into the kitchen and Jaskier remains rooted to the spot, pouting. Petulant now.
Not for long, though, because Lambert immediately comes back and kisses the pout away.
“Another,” Jaskier demands, and Lambert only rolls his eyes once before leaning back in with a grin. Jaskier wraps his arms around his waist and clings to him for a moment, basking in his boyfriend’s warmth and the way he smells like home.
“Hi,” Lambert murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek and one just under his ear before he takes a step back.
“Hi,” Jaskier breathes, a bit dazed. “You’re wonderful. And smell good. New aftershave?”
Lambert grins and presses another kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Glad you approve.”
“Oh, I really do.”
Lambert takes his hand and pulls him along, passing the kitchen and into the living room. Jaskier is about to ask, but Lambert pushes him to sit on the couch. “Sit. And wait. Alright?”
Jaskier sits and stares up at Lambert, that pout back in place simply because Lambert’s hands are still warm on his shoulders and he’s too close to refuse giving Jaskier another kiss, no matter how stern he looks as he tells him to just sit and wait. He’s so close and smells so good and Jaskier just wants a kiss. And another.
Lambert leans down and his hands move from Jaskier’s shoulders to his cheeks as he cradles his face and keeps him in place for a kiss. And another. And another. He hums into it as his lips move up, brushing over Jaskier’s nose, between his eyebrows, to his forehead and finally to the crown of his head. The bastard knows fully well what he’s doing because now there’s no way Jaskier could get up even if he tried, entirely too weak for this man.
“I’ll be right back,” Lambert promises and moves to step away, but Jaskier is nothing but clingy and has zero shame in surging forward and wrapping his arms around Lambert’s middle. He takes a deep breath as he buries his face in the soft maroon sweater, closing his eyes and smiling. “Jask,” Lambert tries, but jaskier just shakes his head. Gentle fingers land in his hair and he feels the chuckle reverberate In Lambert’s stomach as he lets Jaskier cling for a moment longer.
He hums, content and happy, his heart so full that his empty stomach is all but forgotten.
“Let me get you your food and then you can have free reign over as many cuddles as you like, yeah?”
“Hmm,” Jaskier smiles and demands another kiss that Lambert gives him with minimal protest. “You’re a sap.”
“Takes one to know one.”
With that, Lambert expertly wriggles out of Jaskier’s hold and moves back into the kitchen. Jaskier remains on the couch but curls up on his side, feeling warm and bubbly and safe knowing that Lambert is here, he’s not mad, he will take care of him like he always does.
There are noises coming from the kitchen, but nothing too concerning yet. A few curses here and there, but it wouldn’t be Lambert if he wouldn’t tell even a plate to fuck off. Jaskier grins to himself and waits. The prospect of eating is not as exhausting anymore now that Lambert is here. He just hopes that whatever his boyfriend made is not too much effort, that he hasn’t gone out of his way to get Jaskier to eat.
But even that guilt stands no chance against the joy of hearing Lambert yell at his spatula. Lambert, Lambert, what a silly man.
Not long after, Lambert comes back out with two plates in hand. He stops in the doorway to look at Jaskier with a smile that turns from sheepish into absolutely besotted, and then back to sheepish.
“So,” he begins, setting the plates on the coffee table by the couch, knowing here is one of Jaskier’s favourite spots to eat. Food loses a lot of its heaviness when consumed in soft spaces.
Jaskier looks from Lambert back down to the plates, and then back at Lambert. A frown in place, because—
“Don’t hate me,” Lambert tells him, raising his hands in a placating gesture, that sheepish look still on his handsome face. “But I know you love lasagna. And you love it even more when it’s homemade. And you love that even more when it’s leftover instead of steaming hot and fresh. So…”
He trails off and Jaskier really doesn’t know what to think, what to say, because—
“Tell me you did not make homemade lasagna for me, then let that cool down only to reheat it for me a few hours later so it’s like leftover lasagna. Lambert, tell me that’s not what you did.”
For a second there, Lambert looks actually worried that he’s done something wrong. “It might be?”
Jaskier still doesn’t know what to say, but he sure as hell knows that what he wants to do is climb in his love’s lap and hug him, kiss him silly until the food’s gone cold again.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he just sits there and stares at Lambert, at his hands, at the food, and back at Lambert again, feeling something between lost and utterly, incandescently in love. A bit of both, he supposes.
“You,” he sniffles. “I— hnn.”
Lambert smiles and pulls Jaskier into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You do deserve this, shut up.”
Jaskier shakes his head into Lamberts neck but says nothing. Couldn’t possibly say anything because he is so, so overcome.
“C’mon, let’s eat, hm? I’m starving.”
Jaskier nods but doesn’t move far, just shuffles until his back is leaning against Lambert’s chest.
The lasagna is heavenly. Eating is so much easier when the food is not hot anymore, regardless of how his parents still scold him for letting his food get cold when he’s over for dinner. Lambert knows this, and made it so Jaskier’s has the perfect temperature. The perfect taste. The perfect texture and the perfect feeling of this is good, this is home, this is safe. This is love.
He goes to get them a second helping and then they even share a third. It’s lovely. The perfect comfort in the shape of food.
He makes sure to tell Lambert as they lie on the couch, their bellies full to the point of near discomfort. Lambert runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and smiles. “I’m glad it was good, baby.”
“That must be the understatement of the century,” Jaskier huffs, and then looks up to meet Lambert’s eyes. “Thank you. For… for everything. You’re perfect and wonderful and amazing and—“
“You’re welcome,” Lambert interrupts him, uncomfortable with the flow of compliments Jaskier has on the tip of his tongue.
Then a thought strikes his mind and he frowns. “Wait, you had so many bags. What else did you bring?”
Lambert gives him that sweet sheepish smile again, fingers never stopping their paths through Jaskier’s hair. “Well, I know you hate grocery shopping, so I did a large load of that. Stocked your fridge with things I know you like, things that are quickly made and not overwhelming. Brought some things to freeze, so don’t get a shock if your freezer attacks you next time you open it, I may have miscalculated a little.” He laughs and Jaskier pokes him into the chest, a gesture that quickly results in Lambert capturing that finger and pressing a kiss to its tip. Jaskier wants to melt all over again.
“You shouldn’t have,” he chides, almost feeling guilty once more.
“Maybe,” Lambert shrugs. “But I wanted to. Love taking care of my baby, love knowing you have some actual food in your fridge so next time I wanna come over, I don’t have to hear you explain to me that coffee, of all things, is perfectly nutritious.”
Jaskier chuckles and hides against Lambert’s chest, embarrassed and pouting and so, so in love.
“I love you,” he tells him, and even though the words are muffled by one of the softest sweaters Lambert owns, Jaskier knows he heard them.
“Love you, too, Jask. Thanks for letting me do this.”
Jaskier nods. Once again, he can’t keep his thoughts in check and dares to dream of a life with Lambert. A shared space. Where there’s always food even though Jaskier might have a hard time with it. Where there’s always gentle encouragement and never harsh judgement or off-handed comments about his eating habits. He dreams and he yearns and he aches.
He breathes. That lovely scent that is quickly becoming his new favourite. The smell of lasagna in the air. The scented candles he lit that spread a delicate note of lavender. Lambert in the centre of it all.
It is at the same time that they break the comfortable silence.
“Lambi? I—“
“Move in with me.”
Oh.
Oh.
Jaskier is stunned, not entirely sure he has heard correctly. Maybe his yearning heart is playing tricks on him or he fell into a food coma. Because no way in all hells is Lambert, wonderful, kind, grumpy, funny, lovely Lambert asking him to move in on a day that proved once more that Jaskier is a mess.
“Or, I move in with you, I don’t really care. I get it if you care, though, or we could get a new place together, but—“
“You really wanna live with me?” Jaskier sniffles, lifting his head from Lambert’s chest once more to look him in the eyes and see if he’s serious.
Lambert deflates, relieved that Jaskier’s silence was no show of rejection. “I do,” he promises. “Of fucking course I do, I love you. I love being with you and taking care of you and telling you you’re silly when you say you’re a mess. Because you are. Very silly. And also the love of my life so let me live with you and be there for you always, okay?” Jaskier is still staring and Lambert adds an entirely too small, “Please.”
He nods before he knows it, hands finding their ways to Lambert’s cheeks as he moves in for a kiss before pressing their foreheads together.
“You know… actually I think I might be in a food coma, so if you hear me asking you to live with me again tomorrow and the days after that, please pardon me because I’ve just had the world’s best homemade semi-leftover lasagna from the world’s best Lambert. But I don’t care if this is a coma or not, because there is no way in Hell I would say no to you. Fuck, yes, I really want to move in with you. Or you with me. Or find a place together, or—“
This time it’s he who’s cut off with kisses. Jaskier has no complaints.