[Of course he is dying to know who the other person is -- who could know Alucard that well? -- but he is not willing to push it. Honestly, he's still absorbing it himself. His heart squeezes with the vice around it.

Not even that he was betrayed, but -- during an intimate act.

It's not hard to guess what.

Where he would have reached for any other friend, an embrace, or a touching of hands, or even a rub over his back, he does not here. His hands curl up in his lap, and Jaskier attempts stillness, but even at his most calm he's pretty much incapable of it. Eventually he offers one, held out in front of the dhamphir, even if it's awkward for either of them (or both of them.) Fuck, it's all he's got.]

You've hardly killed it. You didn't even turn into a wolf and run off! [Oh, no. They're dealing with this the same way: shitty jokes.] I mean to say... fuck, I'm not even sure what I mean to say, really. I'm here, as much a cold comfort as that may be. I think Geralt once described my ability to lift spirits akin to receiving a pie that has no filling.

[Okay, it was technically his singing, but his singing is about lifting spirits.]