[He was quite drunk when she found him. Not black-out drunk or even the completely unsteady on his feet levels of drunk, but drunk enough that his mind was dulled and his thoughts were neither all that sharp nor searing bright any longer. It was a pleasant feeling. One that Jaskier sought after repeatedly if the bottles littering the coffee table or the scent of alcohol that was clinging to his skin were any indication. And yet, it was terrible, too. To be like this in their home. Alone in grief and trying desperately to escape it all the while knowing it hasn't gone anywhere because no matter how much alcohol he consumes, it cannot change the facts from what they are. It can only dull his sensitivity to it for a time.]
[Part of Jaskier expected chastisement from her. Yennefer is not altogether that soft or gentle a person, and so, it seems that she ought to scold him for drinking so much. For making a mess and doing very little to clean it or himself up. And maybe she was in her head where Jaskier couldn't hear it. It seemed possible. Seemed likely. But maybe that was unfair. She may not be soft or gentle, Yennefer still has a heart. If anything, perhaps she was bracing herself for another lashing. More harsh words as if Jaskier could somehow construe this as being her fault in an attempt to feel better. But no. No, this is far from Yennefer's fault. And even if there were some way he could have convinced himself it was her doing, Jaskier knew better. He knew it would only lead him to feel worse.]
[So, there was only profuse apologies for his lack of proper presentation both in terms of his manner of dress and appearance—stubble was inching far closer to proper scruff than has ever been usual, and rather than the more intentional and fashionable form of it, he simply was just disheveled—and the mess he made of the living room. Apologies that didn't really seem to land with Yennefer, although Jaskier couldn't tell why exactly. It seemed just as likely to him there was frustration or fury as there was the possibility that Yennefer understood as best she could and genuinely was making an allowance for it just this once as she said. Regardless, she shooed him upstairs to clean himself up once he began trying to gather up his mess, and Jaskier knew better than to argue. If Yennefer said she would handle it, she would handle it.]
[But he didn't shower right away. In fact, he stood outside their bedroom—his bedroom now—simultaneously almost bewildered about where he was (as though actually drunk enough to have forgotten the trek up the stairs and down the hall) and frightened of it. Somehow, it felt off-limits to him. It was as though even opening the door would be an act of trespassing. So, he stood there. He stood there trying to work up the courage to touch the doorknob and open it, staring at the thing and tracing over the little imperfections of the metal. Jaskier doesn't know how long it was, but it felt like an eternity before he could bring himself to do it. The metal was a cold surprise, but the room was not. It was exactly as Jaskier had left it the morning he woke up and discovered Tech was nowhere to be found.]
[Jaskier made the bed as it should have been made days ago. Or rather, he made it as best he could. Jaskier's corners were never as crisp as Tech's and he knew if Tech were here, he'd smile and say Jaskier did a good job while still trying to usher him off to the bathroom so he could fix it without Jaskier seeing and as though Jaskier would have no idea. He braves the closet, trying so hard not to look at Tech's half of it all the while his hand still finds the sleeve of an oversized sweater. He's rooted to the spot as he rubs at the fabric and works up the courage to let go. Just let go.]
[Just...let go.]
[He's still quite drunk when he finds her again, but not drunk enough that his mind still feels dull enough that his thoughts don't merely pass him by unremarkably any longer. He feels them acutely as they come and go with little scrapes that are not yet the deep cuts as left behind as parting gifts. But he also doesn't smell of his drink any longer either and even if he did nothing about his facial hair right now, he's at least in clean, fresh clothes, too. Nor is he alone right now in his grief. It's something at least.]
[Jaskier grabs one of the couch pillows as he settles down, holding it to his chest as he lays down and rests his head in her lap. He stares out at the coffee table and notices almost immediately that the magazines were laid down in the wrong order. Jaskier doesn't make a move toward them to make the adjustment. Yennefer didn't know there was an order to them when she did whatever she did to make this place less of a disaster. And Tech's... Tech's not here to care that they're being left alone and sorted out the "right" way. Jaskier can fix them later.]
[Later. He can fix them later.]
[He closes his eyes. Quietly, he asks,] Are you going to stay?
[Were it anyone else, he might tell her she doesn't have to stay and that he's fine on his own even though he's arguably very much not fine. But it's Yennefer. She's already well aware she doesn't have to do anything. Although because it's Yennefer, the question also feels quite silly to begin with. If she had no intention of staying, she would have likely left while Jaskier was taking forever upstairs. Still, he asks. The answer is still nice to hear.]
backdated to a little after tech's departure; cw: alcoholism
[Part of Jaskier expected chastisement from her. Yennefer is not altogether that soft or gentle a person, and so, it seems that she ought to scold him for drinking so much. For making a mess and doing very little to clean it or himself up. And maybe she was in her head where Jaskier couldn't hear it. It seemed possible. Seemed likely. But maybe that was unfair. She may not be soft or gentle, Yennefer still has a heart. If anything, perhaps she was bracing herself for another lashing. More harsh words as if Jaskier could somehow construe this as being her fault in an attempt to feel better. But no. No, this is far from Yennefer's fault. And even if there were some way he could have convinced himself it was her doing, Jaskier knew better. He knew it would only lead him to feel worse.]
[So, there was only profuse apologies for his lack of proper presentation both in terms of his manner of dress and appearance—stubble was inching far closer to proper scruff than has ever been usual, and rather than the more intentional and fashionable form of it, he simply was just disheveled—and the mess he made of the living room. Apologies that didn't really seem to land with Yennefer, although Jaskier couldn't tell why exactly. It seemed just as likely to him there was frustration or fury as there was the possibility that Yennefer understood as best she could and genuinely was making an allowance for it just this once as she said. Regardless, she shooed him upstairs to clean himself up once he began trying to gather up his mess, and Jaskier knew better than to argue. If Yennefer said she would handle it, she would handle it.]
[But he didn't shower right away. In fact, he stood outside their bedroom—his bedroom now—simultaneously almost bewildered about where he was (as though actually drunk enough to have forgotten the trek up the stairs and down the hall) and frightened of it. Somehow, it felt off-limits to him. It was as though even opening the door would be an act of trespassing. So, he stood there. He stood there trying to work up the courage to touch the doorknob and open it, staring at the thing and tracing over the little imperfections of the metal. Jaskier doesn't know how long it was, but it felt like an eternity before he could bring himself to do it. The metal was a cold surprise, but the room was not. It was exactly as Jaskier had left it the morning he woke up and discovered Tech was nowhere to be found.]
[Jaskier made the bed as it should have been made days ago. Or rather, he made it as best he could. Jaskier's corners were never as crisp as Tech's and he knew if Tech were here, he'd smile and say Jaskier did a good job while still trying to usher him off to the bathroom so he could fix it without Jaskier seeing and as though Jaskier would have no idea. He braves the closet, trying so hard not to look at Tech's half of it all the while his hand still finds the sleeve of an oversized sweater. He's rooted to the spot as he rubs at the fabric and works up the courage to let go. Just let go.]
[Just...let go.]
[He's still quite drunk when he finds her again, but not drunk enough that his mind still feels dull enough that his thoughts don't merely pass him by unremarkably any longer. He feels them acutely as they come and go with little scrapes that are not yet the deep cuts as left behind as parting gifts. But he also doesn't smell of his drink any longer either and even if he did nothing about his facial hair right now, he's at least in clean, fresh clothes, too. Nor is he alone right now in his grief. It's something at least.]
[Jaskier grabs one of the couch pillows as he settles down, holding it to his chest as he lays down and rests his head in her lap. He stares out at the coffee table and notices almost immediately that the magazines were laid down in the wrong order. Jaskier doesn't make a move toward them to make the adjustment. Yennefer didn't know there was an order to them when she did whatever she did to make this place less of a disaster. And Tech's... Tech's not here to care that they're being left alone and sorted out the "right" way. Jaskier can fix them later.]
[Later. He can fix them later.]
[He closes his eyes. Quietly, he asks,] Are you going to stay?
[Were it anyone else, he might tell her she doesn't have to stay and that he's fine on his own even though he's arguably very much not fine. But it's Yennefer. She's already well aware she doesn't have to do anything. Although because it's Yennefer, the question also feels quite silly to begin with. If she had no intention of staying, she would have likely left while Jaskier was taking forever upstairs. Still, he asks. The answer is still nice to hear.]