Ah shit Geralt thinks immediately. Which in the circumstances, he thinks is fair. Fuming heat licks up his arm as Jaskier pushes past him- he really should say something, acknowledge the bard in some way, but by the time the thought occurs to him he's already gone.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

He drags his attention back to the matter at hand, Jaskier's heartbroken expression disappearing as he turns and starts to head back down the mountain. (Back to the cottage.) "You need to kiss me."

The look on Yennefer's face is similar yet not. She shakes her head, long hair still shining even in the absence of the sun. "It won't break the curse."

He pauses. Swallows. The Child Surprise, the Djinn, all of it! "What?"

"For fuck's sake!" the outburst startles his tired brain and knocks him off guard enough that she is able to seize him by the shoulders and pull him bodily down to her height to kiss him full on the mouth.

It ends.

See you around then, Geralt.

He inhales a ragged breath, wondering why his eyes are stinging, "W- what?"

Damn it Jaskier!

Yennefer's eyes are a chasm he fears to drown in. "We're not-" she stops, starts again, "We're not true loves." Geralt thinks perhaps she wants him to say something, only he can't think exactly what. Fuck. Vesemir never prepared me for this. "If I'd thought about it, I'd never have cursed you," she swears.

He believes her. That's not the problem here. Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shovelling it? Slowly, everything she just said whirs and catches up to him. The relief he'd felt when she appeared and kissed him makes a belated arrival, swept just as quickly away by horror; the horror is still mounting. Mounting. Mountain. Fuck. Damn it Jaskier! Fuck. Shadows flit across Yennefer's face, confusion which he recognises though is foreign to them both then a slew of others he cannot understand.

"How could you…" each word is dragged heavy from his tongue, his mouth feels thick like a hangover. "How could you do that to me? Why?" Well, that's not fair.

Shame writhes over her face- in appearance it is very similar to her grief and there's a part of Geralt's brain which is stirring from a long dark hibernation, speaking in a foreign tongue. "I was so angry. You fucking made me-"

"I made you curse me?"

"Let me finish! Feel things. You made me feel all sorts of things, I wanted it to hurt." She laughs, the sound tinkling on the stars above them, "You made me feel things. I don't know why I cursed you, really- hoping my kiss would break the spell when I was angry at the idea of being your true love in the first place? Really wouldn't work. At least it proves I was right though, I suppose."

Phew, what a day! What had he said to Jaskier? (If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands) I didn't feel until you made me start to feel things.

At his silence, Yennefer takes a step closer, "If I had ever stopped to... I would never have done it. I'd take it all back if I could, Geralt, I swear."

See you around then, Geralt. "Could you? Go back, I mean."

"Yes. No- I-" a knife twists in his ribcage as she shrugs, the fur of her jacket mixing with her hair. "Probably," she finally decides. "But I don't think that would prove I'm sorry."

Phew what a day. His mouth tastes of dead things and his eyes are so weary that everything keeps blurring. There is exhaustion and there is this, this wretched half-life, every breath and blink accompanied by… Damn it Jaskier.

It hurts. Yennefer didn't put the knife in his ribs, Geralt's realising now as she stands in front of him practically waiting on his answer; the knife has been there a long time and who is he to criticise her for pushing the blade deeper when his hand is always resting on the hilt? It's always you shovelling it. He's seized by the need to speak, to say anything, because the longer this silence continues- Well, that's not fair- the less likely it is that he'll have the will to break it.

"Apologizing is…" he cannot connect any of the words to what he knows of them. Hard, difficult, painful, easy, good. All the words are just words, with none of the meaning Jaskier can always embellish them with when he weaves them into song. "People don't… you have to show them you won't make bad choices again, then, then you avoid situations so you don't have to make bad choices and no one knows if you're really sorry or not."

That… didn't make any sense. The Child Surprise, the Djinn, all of it! Perhaps that's fitting, or at least punishment after all his years communicating in grunts to anyone who isn't Roach. Except he's been talking to Jaskier, hasn't he? Damn it, Jaskier! He's been talking to Jaskier all this time. What's the matter, Geralt? Talk to me.

Internally, Geralt flees the revelation, so delicately balanced he's sure to upset it. He keeps it to himself and doesn't speak of it to Yennefer; this seems like the kind of thing he ought to tell Jaskier first and foremost. What now, then? he ponders. See you around, Geralt. The look of pain, the devastation. Twenty two years of trust shatters quietly, without a sound. Phew, what a day! Trust shattering like the knife in his ribs plunged deeper when Yennefer asked how he could know their love was real on the Mountain.

"Geralt?"

Oh, she's still here.

Absently, he feels himself down. Although she doesn't flinch, shutters close over her eyes. But she doesn't flinch. Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days... Another growl. "What now?" She's the one who did this, she's the one who can work out the answer to that question. Now it's her turn to think and his to wait on the answer. Geralt focuses on breathing past the hot coals in his chest, forces himself to pay attention to every movement in the night, listening out for any hint that Jaskier hasn't made it back to the cottage safely.

Right, then, I'll... I'll go and get the rest of the story from the others.

In a better state, he could listen closely enough to pick out Jaskier's heartbeat. Now- see you around, Geralt- he cannot.

"Do you have any idea whose kiss would break the spell?"

"No." The idea of kissing anyone right now drives the knife deeper. So deep he almost gasps in pain, surely the knife must be grazing his heart by now. Jaskier's chest stutters under his red doublet as he inhales in sharp little gasps, as if Geralt's anger has thrown him onto his back and knocked all the breath out of him.

The sky darkens impossibly more. Thunder clouds- his answer displeases her. "There must be someone-"

"I thought it was you," he shrugs, "It's not." He can live like this.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

He can. Really he can.

"No one?" Yennefer of Vengerberg begs him. (It's not right, her begging.) "There must be someone you feel for."

"Witchers don't feel." (Only pain).

"Oh, so what was all of that on the mountain, hmm? I, the fair lady, can feel, but the strong, manly witcher doesn't?"

Alright, maybe tired. He can feel tired. And exasperated. With Jaskier, mainly. Damn it Jaskier! "You know I didn't mean it like that."

Her expression transforms into a different type of thunder cloud, no longer directed at him. He wishes he could sit down. How long have they been stood here talking? Long enough for the bard to reach the cottage? Long enough for the last lantern to be extinguished in the village?

When he tries to see he squints until the stars merge into tears at the corners of his eyes.

"If there's someone, I'll portal you there right now."

"There's no one." The scent of wild rye grass clings to his senses; he'd been able to smell it on Jaskier's breeches for days after the mountain until they'd spent the night in an inn. Geralt remembers this because he's not allowed to forget. Phew, what a day. He laughs. The sound startles her. She hides it well. "It would have been kinder to kill me."See you around, Geralt.

Sorrow colours her next words, "I was in no mood to be kind."

"You were hurt."

She bows her head, "Yes."

I didn't feel until you made me start to feel things he had told Jaskier, after- after. (If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.) I hurt you because you made me feel things. Oh. Oh. Fuck. He wants to touch her, isn't surprised when his body stays still and she takes a step back after reading the thought in his eyes. "What are you going to do now?"

Her face falls. For good this time. "I'm going to carry on searching for a way to break the curse, what else? I've been chasing you and the bard for the eight days. I've got to keep searching."

"Don't-" he doesn't know what the fuck he wants to say. Damn it Jaskier. "Don't kill yourself over it."

"Geralt," to his horror, tears start to gather in her eyes. "Geralt I'm so sorry."

"Don't- don't- don't-" he manages to put a hand on her arm, though it feels like he's reaching across a gaping canyon, about to fall off the edge. "It's alright. Don't cry. It's alright."

A hand darts out of her sleeve and dashes the tears away; he's close enough to see the little droplets fall and catch on the fur of her collar. There's this heavy downward turn to her mout , the same as there is on Jaskier's face, the same one Geralt always puts on people. "I make stupid, impulsive decisions at times."

"Sometimes, yes. Me too." Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's always you shovelling it? He breathes in and burns his lungs with the cold air. "It's alright. It's… I want to go back to the cottage now and you want to go… somewhere. Everything's alright now. I'll live." I'll go get the rest of the story from the others.

Yennefer swears, long and hard. The air turns blue with sparks.

One last try, an offer, a gentle, kind offer that he cannot hold in his hands, "Do you want a sleeping potion, at least?"

"No." Yes. No fucking way does he deserve one, though. Phew, what a day.

And that's final. Carefully but not slowly, Yennefer moves away from his touch and takes several steps back down the path, hands coming together with the start of a portal dancing on her fingertips.

Geralt skids away, lost without an anchor, starting to turn away, feeling awkward. As awkward as when Vesemir taught them all about sex. What would Jaskier do? See you around, Geralt.

Jaskier.

He realises what he hasn't actually said, what he wants to give. "Yenn," he begins, turning back. She looks up, washed in magic, as beautiful as she always wanted to be as a child. "I'm not angry, and we're still friends."

Instantly she goes still. Even her magic does, flames freezing in place, "You forgive me?"

"Do you forgive me, for binding us together?" He shouldn't have done that, even accidentally, even for a good cause.

"Yes."

He shrugs, "Same answer."

Yennefer of Vengerberg smiles, her happiness spilling all around her and the magic turning a soft yellow. The warmth reaches him even several feet away and he leans into it, feeling slightly less exhausted. Without a word she steps into the portal- a spectacular exit. Yet the warmth doesn't immediately vanish, it lingers as he makes his way down the long path towards the cottage. Towards Jaskier.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

He realises what he hasn't actually said. What he should have said nine days ago.

See you around, Geralt.

"Fuck." Geralt hisses through his teeth. Phew what a day. Fuck.

Without scarcely a pause or beat of hesitation, Jaskier slams the front door shut behind him, heads for the bedroom and begins to pack. There's an urgency thrumming through him of the likes that he hasn't felt in a long time and he needs to move, needs to move and go and get away and he doesn't want to. His hands don't stop. He carries on packing. Maybe he can even be gone before Geralt gets back; perhaps the kiss with Yennefer to break the spell will spiral into more and Jaskier can take his broken heart into the night alone and never have to see him again. He'll miss Roach- he needs to make sure he says goodbye to her before he leaves, but he never wants to see her master again.

He really doesn't want to go. He knows he deserves better, but he wants to stay. It's Geralt. Jaskier wants to stay.

He doesn't stop packing.

Death is heavy in the air as he breaks through the ring of bushes surrounding the cottage. Immediately Geralt opens the door to the stable. Roach's ears perk up and she adds to the morbid atmosphere and the high-pitched whine in his ears with a long keening sound, the whites of her eyes stark in the shadows. He approaches and the door slams shut behind him and Roach neighs and rears up in her stall; without thinking he steps back as her front legs kick and she stomps, tossing her mane. It's not that he will be harmed if she does kick him, or that he would begrudge her any injury she might inflict, but this is strange behaviour even for her. "Shh, Roach."

She snorts and knocks her muzzle against the wall that connects to the cottage. Geralt hesitates all the same. Damn it Jaskier. "You're not hurt, are you, Roach?"

If looks could kill he would be dead long ago and pushing up daisies.

Geralt shuts the stable door and makes the front door in five long strides. See you around then, Geralt.

The place is a wreck, Jaskier at the epicentre, a pile of his possessions growing smaller as he crams them into his saddlebag. "Jaskier." His bard starts and whips round, "Jaskier, what the fuck?" Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days...

Abruptly his face hardens and his hands start to move again.

He steps forward, "You're not... leaving?" It doesn't sound like a question. He can see Jaskier physically reigning himself in, biting his tongue and clenching his jaw, "Go back to wherever Yennefer is, Geralt. I'll be out of your hair soon."

"But you- you can't leave- I need to tell you..."

Hope adds to the nauseating mix of emotions in the air. "Tell me what?"

Geralt opens his mouth, closes it again, trying to force a rock up a hill as he makes his tired mind think, "No."

He swallows something down (Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shovelling it?), eyes misting over, fog in the air of a forest. "What do you mean?"

"Because..." the words fall over before they can leave his mouth, "Because I'm not saying it to make you stay."

Jaskier snarls, "Why the fuck would you say anything, then?"

"Because- because- you can't leave," his fingers twitch madly at this sides, trying to cling to a wish already slipping through his fingers. Perhaps this is punishment. Punishment for what?

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

Punishment for everything. Punishment for him.

Instead of replying, the bard just glares, turning round and beginning to buckle his bag closed, hands trembling. The shaky movement make Geralt close his eyes briefly as he tries to stop to room from swaying. Fuck. Phew what a day! I imagine... "You can't go because- because- you can't go yet. Because I never told you I'm sorry, for what I said on the mountain," (it's always you, shovelling it) Jaskier sits down on the bed and his glare does not falter. "And for- for- for upsetting you and always being rude and for the djinn and punching you when we first met and saying your singing is bad and for getting blood on your doublet."

Jaskier's mouth drops open. Right then, I'll... I'll go get the rest of the story from the others. Geralt can't stop. It's like a wound. It has to bleed. "You can't leave, I know you like performing and pie and which tea you like and it will all be pointless if you- if we're not friends anymore."

"Oh, we're friends, are we?"

"Yes!" Geralt yells, striding forward.

He's going to kiss me Jaskier's breath catches in his throat in his disappointment, his joy, when he's seized into the fiercest hug of his life.

He's going to kill me Geralt thinks until, eventually, two 'damn it Jaskier' s later, Jaskier's arms come up to return the embrace.

Geralt breathes out, swaying forward slightly and relaxing. He breathes in and sniffs the air. The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! "What's wrong?" Is this... is he not enough?

"I still..." Jaskier pulls away. It feels cold. Bereft. Left at a roadside or lost a limb, that sort of loss. "I still can't stay." He won't look at him, hands straying to his bag, twitching to fasten his cloak tighter and pull on the hem of his stupid, stupid red doublet. The cloak was once Geralt's, given over years ago. See you around, Geralt.

"But... why?" Damn it, Jaskier. Well alright, no shit why but... why?

"Why? Oh, Gods, Geralt," tears start pouring down Jaskier's face. "Gods, Geralt, you have to know. Twenty two years- I'm in love with you, you have to know that I'm in love with you," he sobs, ashamed. "I'm in love with you!" he yells, fury mixing with the tears and his mouth awash with salt. Geralt steps closer and won't let him get away, so he pounds ineffectively at his broad, muscled chest, sobbing harder as he remembers all the nights he's fantasised about touching his witcher only for that event to be now and this. "I'm in love with you."

Geralt gasps, faintly, "That's what this is?"

He can't breathe and he's going to die. "What?"

"Everything you've just said is- is- is here," he points to his chest, finger right above his heart. "I- I- that's what this means?"

"You- you- Yennefer?" This can't be real. Geralt can't feel anything for him and Jaskier certainly has not just ruined his chances if this is real by mentioning the woman.

"I want..." never has he seen his witcher look so lost. A lost little lamb, though he's the only person in the world perhaps to see the softness under the black armour. And of all things, Geralt gestures vaguely with his hands, "I- I want- you- of course that's what this is. I didn't know because it's been there so long and you always smelt- I figured that was just how it felt, feeling and having- having a friend. But it isn't like this with Yen and you- I want to travel with you or if you stay in one town forever I'll have every day be the same with you."

Geralt's running his mouth and he is speechless and that's how Jaskier knows this is all real. He steps closer, letting Geralt put his arms round him and he lets him stand as close as he likes. In the low lantern light, his golden eyes are sparkling. "You want that, with me?" An ugly beast roars in his chest. It's his heart. "But the curse-"

"It's you." It's always you shovelling it. "Of course it's you."

"What-?"

"On the mountain," he explains, distracted as his eyes roam all over like this is the first time he's seen Jaskier ever. "What I said to you and you're face when I said it. That's the curse."

He's never been more confused in his life, "It's me?"

"It's you."

"Can you still see me?" demands Jaskier, stopping just short of actually touching him.

See you around, Geralt. "I see both of you. Please don't leave."

"Never," Jaskier breaths, words and hot air hitting Geralt's lips. "Never, if you want me."

One of them moves- just breathing out brings them infinitely closer and the second their lips touch, they both kiss like they are drowning and it goes on for a long time. Geralt's head is filled with the scent of Jaskier. Their hearts are beating together, Jaskier's soft and fast between the slow beats of his own. It all fits. He doesn't dare close his burning eyes, determined he will not lose a second looking at the other's face. Perhaps he will not look so beautiful in the morning, after his first decent night's sleep in weeks, but he doubts that will be the case. And gently, like a breeze blowing Yennefer's hair out of her face, the magic breaks.

A while later, the kiss breaks. Jaskier tilts his head back to look at him, the entire sea is in his eyes. Without meaning to, Geralt leans closer in answer and murmurs against his lips, voice low and rolling like thunder as a storm comes in, "It's still like magic. Looking at you."

Jaskier starts to smile, "It worked? The curse is-"

"Broken," he promises, marveling when he is allowed to put an arm round his waist and draw him up to his face.

Jaskier smiles sweetly, "Good. I'm so glad. Maybe you can sleep tonight." Shyly, he adds, "Kiss me again?"

He does.