And yet... Here we are

A Window

Jaskier woke the next morning with a headache. The bard picked absentmindedly at his lute. The inn bed was far from comfortable, but it surely beat facing Geralt. He hummed a tune of a song he didn't know yet. The melody was slow and sounding of heartbreak.

His attention was pulled as he heard movement outside of his room. Hesitantly, he walked to the door. The poet opened the door just enough to see the Witcher standing outside. His heart dropped. The last person he wanted to see was now practically on his doorstep.

Quickly, Jaskier shut the door. He pressed his back against the wood. What was he going to do? His eyes fell on the window. He could surely fit out it if he tried hard enough.

Jaskier quickly grabbed his lute off the bed. He strapped it to his back. The window pushed open rather easily. He struggled for a moment before he fell out of the window with a thump. The poet groaned. Still, he didn't rub his sore chest until he had checked on his lute.

The man stood to shut the window in time with the door opening. As soon as he saw Geralt, he dropped to his knees so he would be out of sight. He pressed his hands against the wall as he tried to listen. His breath became shallow as he tried, desperately, not to be heard. One of his hands moved to his mouth in even more vain hope of keeping any of his unplanned noises to himself.

Geralt rustled through the room. He could hear him pulling back the blankets. He was no doubt looking for him. The only issue was, unlike the other men he had run from, Geralt was a Witcher. If he wanted to find him, he would.

Slowly, the bard started to make his way to his horse. He hopped atop Pegasus and grabbed the reigns. He didn't wait to see if the inn room door would open. He rode past Roach into the woods.

Jaskier ran the horse until she slowed without his permission. Both the horse and him had become covered in sweat. The wind blew, causing Jaskier to cower into his clothes as best as he could. He glanced over his shoulder every few minutes. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he was so paranoid. It was one thing for Geralt to follow him to the inn and a whole other thing for him to tail him out of town.

The bard rode until he reached Novigrad. He rode to the tavern he intended to purchase someday. The man tied up his horse on one of the posts before he made his way inside. The commotion of people talking inside was more than enough to slow his thoughts.

"Jaskier!" Zoltan greeted. The dwarf hadn't seen the man in months. "Where's Geralt?"

"Geralt? Who am I kidding? Of course, you're looking for Geralt. Everyone always looks over my shoulder looking for Geralt." Jaskier sighed and looked longingly at the bar.

"You two did leave here together." Zoltan defended as he looked the man up and down.

"He'd rather have a woman companion."

"Ah." Zoltan nodded. "He decided Yen was a good travel partner again, did he?"

Jaskier scowled as though the other man saying her name was enough to put a bitter taste on his very tastebuds. He supposed he shouldn't blame Yennefer, but he couldn't help it. He crossed his arms over his chest. The strap of his lute rubbed against his shirt in a desperation to scratch his skin. The bard simply shook his head. He couldn't even bring up his discontentment to Zoltan; he was a friend to all three of them.

"I need a drink." Jaskier forced a smile.

The poet didn't wait for a response before he made his way to the bar. He could hardly wait for his mug to reach him. The tree bark taste was far more inviting than it should have been. A swarm of warmth filled his stomach and alleviated some of the chills he had gotten from riding. After his third glassful, the bartender simply decided to leave the pitcher.

Jaskier slid out of his chair an hour and a half later. He wasn't sure on his feet. The now empty pitcher of beer sloshed around in his stomach as he swayed. The room spun around him and forced him to grab the countertop in an attempt to keep his balance. He raised a hand to his mouth as he fought to keep the contents in his stomach despite the coughs.

The bard slowly, carefully, made his way upstairs to the room he always used. He wobbled to the door and pushed it open. His smile was faint when he realized the room was empty. He should have known better. Geralt wouldn't have been able to sneak upstairs without him noticing. Besides, why would come to the room anyways?

Jaskier shut the door behind him and made his way to the hard bed. Carefully, he sat down. The room spun as he desperately stared at the wall in hopes of making it stop. Perhaps, he shouldn't have drunk so much. The man slowly laid down on his side before he shut his eyes.

--------------------

Jaskier awoke the next morning with a throbbing feeling in his throat. He glanced at the floor wondering if the pain had come from him throwing up throughout the night. However, no vomit lay on the floor. Somehow, he had managed to keep everything down that night.

A barking cough ripped out of him. His hand gripped the bed in a fist as he covered his mouth with his fist. His chest grumbled with congestion as he tried to catch his breath. When the painful convulsions finally stopped, he gasped for air to fill his lungs. Each breath rattled his rib cage.

Wind surrounded him as he heard the trees outside move. Hesitantly, Jaskier looked up. His eyes fell on the window to the room. The shutters opened and closed in time with the winds. In his haste of getting to sleep last night, he must have forgotten to shut it. He stood to shut the window but was met with another coughing fit that knocked him off of his feet.

He sat on the bed. Sweat had begun to form on his brow from coughing so hard. Jaskier stood and grasped the wall for support. He forced his way to the window. His hands trembled as he pulled it closed and locked the shutters.

His legs shook as he began to cough again. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he slid down the wall. His lungs spasmed as he gasped for air in between the coughs. Slowly, the coughing fit once again faded. Jaskier didn't move. Instead, he stayed on the floor and cherished the wheezing breaths he was being rewarded.

His blue eyes fell on the bed as he tried to determine how much he wanted to return to the hard surface l. After a moment of internal debate, he crawled his way back to it. The bard picked himself up and laid back down on the slab. He rested his hand on his chest as though trying to force himself to continue shallowly breathing.

Footsteps walked up the stairs. Jaskier hated the hope that filled him at the sound. Geralt. Geralt would surely have some remedy up his sleeve for the bard's newfound sickness. He always knew more things than he let on. The poet forced himself to sit up as the door opened.

"Geralt. Thank the Gods." Jaskier coughed. He finally looked at who had entered. His face fell. "Zoltan."

"I heard you coughing all night." He stepped into the room. "Here."

The dwarf handed the bard a cup of lukewarm beer. Jaskier took it gratefully. He took a single sip before he had to lower it with a wince. He raised his hand to his throat and rubbed it. It felt like scratches tore themselves into the inside of his throat. Still, he smiled a thanks when Zoltan moved to leave.

"Were you expecting Geralt?" Zoltan asked slowly, turning to face him.

"No, I think my fever is making me delusional." Jaskier tried to joke.

"More than normal?" Zoltan joked back.

Jaskier laughed softly and nodded. He waited until the dwarf was gone before he let his face fall. He looked at the now locked window. In a desperation to silence his mind, he studied the woodwork and individual carvings. His ears tuned in to someone else walking by the room. Hope filled him before it quickly dissipated once more when they walked away. Why was he so desperate to even see Geralt?

Carefully, Jaskier put the mug on the table. He laid back down on his side. His chest continued to rattle as he forced himself to continue breathing. Despite the window being shut, he continued to shiver as he started to doze.