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Jaskier startled awake to the sensation of being roughly shaken, with large hands grasping his shoulders, and Geralt’s barely illuminated face inches from his own.
“D'youstillhateme?” Geralt slurred. Jaskier wrinkled his nose at the stench of hard liquor.
“What on earth are you-”
“D'you still hate me?” Geralt repeated stubbornly, his brow furrowed in concern and his expression more unguarded and vulnerable than Jaskier had ever seen it. (Jaskier thought it gave Geralt a more convincing likeness to a kicked puppy than a six-foot witcher - and he couldn’t help but find it a little adorable.)
“How much have you had to drink?” he asked slowly.
“Some,” was the sullen response, “S'Lambert’s fault,” Jaskier stared at Geralt waiting for him to elaborate. “Everything’s wobbly.” he finally admitted. Jaskier nodded.
“Ahuh.”
“Room keeps moving.” He continued.
Jaskier wriggled out of Geralt’s arms and swung his legs out from under the threadbare blanket. He only intended to sit facing Geralt but the witcher - perhaps assuming an attempt to flee - dove to his knees, pinning Jaskier in place by throwing the upper half of his body onto his lap and hugging Jaskier’s waist.
“Don’t avoid me! You don’t talk to me anymore.” he accused.
“Uh…” Jaskier was wrong-footed by both the hug and the admission that Geralt had noticed. He hadn’t thought the Witcher had given much thought to him at all since his arrival at Kaer Mohren. (Of course, given the way Jaskier was now being squished by said Witcher, he was willing to accept the possibility he was wrong). Unsure where to place his hands he settled for giving Geralt’s shoulder a friendly pat.
“We’re talking now aren’t we?” he asked, as he gently unhooked Geralt’s arms from his waist and moved them to his lap. “Why would you think I hate you?”
“Y'must.” Geralt mumbled, burying his face in his folded arms.
“I don’t.” Jaskier insisted.
Geralt huffed.
Unable to resist, Jaskier stroked a hand through Geralt’s hair, dragging his fingernails gently across the witcher’s scalp.
“Y'lying.” Geralt whined, as he leaned into the touch. “Lambert and Eskel sang your song, and you said my hair was stupid and you called me butcher-” his voice was still muffled because he was talking into Jaskier’s knees, but there was a hurt there that made Jaskier feel guilty. “- after Blaviken they all called me butcher, then you wrote your songs and it stopped, but now you called me butcher and you hate me and it’s my fault but I can’t-” his breath hitched, “I don’t- know how to fix it.”
Jaskier winced, he rubbed Geralt’s shoulder soothingly.
“Geralt, can you look at me?"
Geralt shook his head.
"Ok then”, Jaskier sighed. He ran his hand through Geralt’s hair again. “Can you listen at least?” He waited until Geralt nodded. “I need you to understand, when I wrote it, I was still angry and devastated by how we left things.” He paused, wanting that to sink in. “By the time I reached Oxenfurt, all I wanted was to try and forget I’d ever met you, but all anyone wanted was to hear about where you were and what you were doing,” - (he prodded Geralt’s head gently on each ‘you’ for emphasis) - “I thought if I wrote a song using your former moniker it might get the point across that we had parted ways.”
“-because you hate me.” Geralt concluded morosely.
“No you idiot,” he tugged a lock of Geralt’s hair, “because you broke my heart and told me you wanted me out of your life.”
Geralt gave a miserable “hmmm” of acknowledgement.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d give a shit about anything I had to say. On the mountain, you said what you said then you left without me, and - even after two decades of following you - I thought that was it.”
Geralt looked up.
“So you don’t hate me?” He asked hopefully.
“I don’t think I’m capable of it”, he admitted. Annoyed by the huge grin that elicited from Geralt, Jaskier poked him roughly in the shoulder. “You still wounded me deeply, my friend. We’re emotional creatures, us bards, you should have known I would take your words to heart.”
Geralt had the good grace to look utterly shamefaced.
“M'sorry.” he looked away, “I’m a shit friend.”
As much as Jaskier had longed for a genuine apology he found he didn’t care for his friend’s expression of self loathing either.
“You have your moments.” Jaskier agreed but with a hint of a smile.
Geralt turned back to face him, pained and earnest.
“I missed you so much Jaskier, I still do.”
He moved to grab Jaskier’s hand, whimpering when Jaskier flinched away from him.
“You’re hurt!”
“It’s nothing.’ Jaskier muttered through gritted teeth, but Geralt was already pulling his arm back for a closer look.
"You’re burned, how did-”
“Oh no no no no no,” Jaskier yanked his arm back again. “As soft and sweet as you’re behaving now, we’re not having that conversation when you’re intoxicated.”
"But you’re hurt!” Geralt kept moving to try and make another grab but Jaskier pushed him roughly back. (If Geralt were sober it would have done nothing, but apparently drunk Geralt was a little more pliable.)
“I said no, Geralt.” At Geralt’s devastated look he softened slightly, “Go find a bucket of cold water to stick your head in, or do whatever you need to sober up, and I’ll do my best to sleep unmolested for a few more hours - and then we can talk.”
Geralt still looked hesitant but he perked up a little at that.
“You need rest?”
“Well yeah some absolute ass of a witcher woke me earli-.”
“I can help with that,” Geralt interrupted eagerly.
Before Jaskier could react or resist, Geralt pounced, manhandling him until he was lying on the bed and throwing the blanket over him. Jaskier blinked up at him in shock, about to protest, but the Witcher was already moving his hand in a vaguely familiar motion.
Jaskier had exactly one second to register flabbergasted outrage at the fact Geralt was treating him like his bloody horse before Geralt uttered the command to sleep. After that every thought in Jaskier’s head seemed fuzzy and unimportant, save the observation that sleeping seemed like such a good idea, after all wasn’t he just telling Geralt he needed rest?
The last thing he heard before he succumbed to unconsciousness was a pleased hum.