[ Doesn't he fucking know it. A variable. One he can't tolerate passing. He can't. He won't. So much has been taken from him. His home, his brothers, friends. (His mother.)
There are losses he will never be ready for.
He huffs. A century. He was afraid to accept it. That's what he doesn't say.
Jaskier smells like wine and vodka when he kisses him. Jaskier isn't telling him something. He can sense it. A weight behind those eyes. He won't press the matter, though. Jaskier will talk to him when ready. ]
You did. [ His tone is light, but not as light as it should be. He rises. His leg twinges, and he tries not to grant it much thought as he settles back in bed. ] I'm just concerned you're trying to contend with me for battle scars.
no subject
There are losses he will never be ready for.
He huffs. A century. He was afraid to accept it. That's what he doesn't say.
Jaskier smells like wine and vodka when he kisses him. Jaskier isn't telling him something. He can sense it. A weight behind those eyes. He won't press the matter, though. Jaskier will talk to him when ready. ]
You did. [ His tone is light, but not as light as it should be. He rises. His leg twinges, and he tries not to grant it much thought as he settles back in bed. ] I'm just concerned you're trying to contend with me for battle scars.