We Are Young

The bar was loud and crowded, and Geralt had done his best to find a solitary corner to spend his night.

Geralt didn't make a habit of spending nights in dingy dive bars; he preferred to drink alone.

However, tonight Geralt wasn't alone, or at least he hadn't come alone. His friends, Eskel and Yennefer had been the ones to drag him here in the first place; but now they had disappeared to the bathroom together and Geralt was fairly certain that they wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.

They had insisted that he come, that a late night out would cheer him up.

Oh how wrong they were.

Geralt's eye caught a familiar face from across the bar and he tensed.

Jaskier.

He clenched his jaw and finished the rest of his whiskey before closing his eyes.

There wasn't enough alcohol in the room to drown out the pain that thinking of Jaskier brought about. He'd tried.

Geralt hadn't seen Jaskier in months, not since they broke up; and seeing him here and now brought back memories that Geralt was desperate to forget.

Things hadn't ended well, and that was entirely Geralt's fault.

Angry words were spilt where they hadn't been meant, and he had let Jaskier walk out of his life without a word.

It was the biggest mistake that he'd ever made.

Geralt watched, sick to his stomach, as Jaskier casually flirted with a well dressed man seated beside him.

It was nothing but play. Geralt had seen Jaskier flirt, both with him and with others. He knew the spark that lit in the brunet's eyes when he saw something, or someone, that he wanted, and Jaskier always got what he wanted.

Jaskier looked over, as if he could feel Geralt's eyes on him. His smile fell as his gaze lingered on the white haired man before quickly turned back to his drink, ignoring his company's concerned questioning.

Geralt groaned and pulled out his phone before opening his contacts. His heart thrummed hard against his chest as his fingers hovered over the call button.

His mind drifted back to that night. His own hot tempered words filling his head and Jaskier's wide eyed panic haunted his memory.

"If life could give me one blessing..."

Jaskier had looked scared, and Geralt hadn't blamed him.

Jaskier had always been there to bandage his wounds after all the fights and brawls that got a little too heated, and he'd even been there to see a few for himself. The brunet knew the wrath of Geralt's anger and the power in his fists, but never once had he been on the receiving end.

Not until that night.

Geralt had never struck Jaskier, and he never would; but that hole in the wall of his apartment and the scars across his knuckles were enough to make his stomach twist into tight knots.

He sighed deeply and pressed call before bringing the phone to his ear. Geralt waited impatiently as the phone rang,

and rang,