[ Of course it doesn't stop him. Neither does Geralt. Jaskier will say what he will, whether Geralt wants to hear it or not. So he listens, because despite Jaskier's penchant for talking, there are times when Jaskier is deliberate in what he chooses to say. Yeah. He did. Fuck things up. What else is new? He doesn't tell Jaskier that things between him and Yennefer are immeasurably complicated. That what's between them is so much more than words spoken in anger, though there's that, too. But something in him does ease a little, hearing Jaskier say I forgave you. Which isn't...it's not as if he's been waiting for it. It's just—
He takes a breath. Frowns right back. He doesn't snore. He is filthy. Now that Jaskier brings it up, he's starkly reminded of how much grime and old blood and dirt has been caked onto him. He grunts. Tempting, to continue to sit out here alone; draw his own bath afterwards. The truth is, he doesn't want to be alone. He won't admit it, but there it is. He thinks about it still, sometimes, the Horizon. How Jaskier found him in that cabin. The flower crowns he'd crafted for the girl, and the simple way it'd just felt like he'd known him.
The wolf that had followed Jaskier around. The gently melting frost when the bard would draw near. ]
Fine. [ His reply comes gruffly, but no more than what's typical for him. Might as well. He's been told the water runs cold here often (that the water runs at all is something he's just accepted) and if the middle of the night is the only time they can get the damn thing briefly spitting hot water, he's not letting Jaskier claim all of it. Or drown in it. The bard still looks unsteady. ] Just don't fall asleep in there.
no subject
He takes a breath. Frowns right back. He doesn't snore. He is filthy. Now that Jaskier brings it up, he's starkly reminded of how much grime and old blood and dirt has been caked onto him. He grunts. Tempting, to continue to sit out here alone; draw his own bath afterwards. The truth is, he doesn't want to be alone. He won't admit it, but there it is. He thinks about it still, sometimes, the Horizon. How Jaskier found him in that cabin. The flower crowns he'd crafted for the girl, and the simple way it'd just felt like he'd known him.
The wolf that had followed Jaskier around. The gently melting frost when the bard would draw near. ]
Fine. [ His reply comes gruffly, but no more than what's typical for him. Might as well. He's been told the water runs cold here often (that the water runs at all is something he's just accepted) and if the middle of the night is the only time they can get the damn thing briefly spitting hot water, he's not letting Jaskier claim all of it. Or drown in it. The bard still looks unsteady. ] Just don't fall asleep in there.