cointosser: ([011])
Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz ([personal profile] cointosser) wrote in [community profile] abraxaslogs 2021-11-23 07:02 am (UTC)

[This is spiraling. Sam is spiraling. Jaskier knows it well because he's been through it himself. During performances. Among the dead. In the events he has seen on his travels. It's good he's got him sitting, because at least if anything happens --

Fuck. He's not a healer, but he can be here. And hope that's enough. Because once Sam's sentences are no longer full, he can only think this will get worse if he goes.

Isn't that how it always is? The ones who take care of others, with their reassurances, their strength that never falters, the ones who heal and save lives and sacrifice bits of themselves -- in the end, they all have their breaking point.]


Like that. Lovely. Follow mine.

[They breathe together. Jaskier wraps his arms around him -- not tightly, but there, a solid weight to rely on. Maybe he needs this, too: the silence, the beat of another's heart that his own can follow. Because from the moment Roach returned to them, he's felt this constriction, this panic, taking hold of his chest and dragging him from place to place, a clawed grip he cannot get out of.

He can't be gone.

Jaskier acknowledges the squeeze with a turn of his hand, letting his fingers find Sam's.]
It's all right. You're no more nuisance than I was. [It's what he's afraid Sam might be considering. Since he was the, how did he say it? A man of action. But here, he struggles. He freezes.

Jaskier would be the last to judge.]
I promise.

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