[An embrace it becomes, really, even if he must stall the massage. His arms fall across Rhy's chest loosely, the man's head against his chest. It's comfortable in its own right, simply having skin touching skin, the heat of the water.]

Unfortunately, the only cure I've found for such a sickness is returning to where the heart craves.

[And they are stuck here, regardless.

Jaskier rests his chin against Rhy's shoulder.]

Funny. I thought I would feel it, too. And I do, for some places from home, but... when I left, a war had brewed. And the places I loved are not the same. [Bleobheris, a place he always considered untouchable, soiled by Nilfgaardian boots and racial epithets, carved into her beautiful trunk.] I've often wandered about as a traveler, and have always assumed if I did not have a home, I couldn't feel such sickness. But now I wonder if you found it, and lost it, does the feeling ever go away?