“Slow down.” Jaskier looks up at his husband, casually leaning against the kitchen island and sipping a cup of coffee.
Jaskier takes a calming breath and gives him an unsteady grin, suddenly feeling very silly in the face of his husband’s relaxed demeanor. This is just another day. It will pass and truly what is the worst that can happen?
A child could die. The classroom could catch fire. One of the kids could break his guitar. What if he messes up? What if the kids hate him? What if the other teachers -?
“Hmm.” Geralt sits his mug down and crosses the kitchen to the table where Jaskier had been stuffing sheet music and lesson plans in to his bag. His hands are gentle as he takes the papers and shifts them into a neater stack, slipping them in to the organizer and zipping the case up. Those hands are equally as gentle with Jaskier himself, turning him a little so that he can smooth out the creases on Jaskier’s warm yellow blazer.
“It’s okay to be nervous. First day at a new job, it’s scary. You’re going to be great though. The kids will love you.” The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch as he holds back a smile, “The way you act, it’s likely they’ll think you’re one of them.”
And just like that, Jaskier feels a little stronger. The nerves are still there but suddenly he feels certain that it will be okay. Even if the first day is hard, he can come home and have a cup of tea with his husband, cry his heart out probably, and try again tomorrow. The sky will not come crashing down on him if everything isn’t perfect. He’s just about to thank Geralt when he notices the time and -
Shit. Suddenly Jaskier’s a flurry of movement once more; he slings the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, takes one last sip of his coffee, grabs his guitar case and is headed for the door. He’s stopped by the sound of Geralt’s voice.
“You’re forgetting something.”
Yes, of course. Jaskier half jogs back and leans in close. He intends for it to be a quick peck and be on his way, but he’s unable to stop himself from taking Geralt’s face in his hands and deepening their goodbye kiss. He relishes the feel of stubble under his fingertips and the soft, amused sounding grunt that comes when he pulls away.
“Sweet,” Geralt says, “but I meant these.”
The keys. Right.