Her encouragements are a balm on his heart and he tries to steel himself with them--he tries to let them urge him forward, to keep despair out...but it is a feat that encouragements cannot manage alone. They are precious to him, so very precious, but still he cannot stay his tears.

She takes the bottle from his nerveless fingers, he offers no resistance, and she shifts, pulls him to her and, fool that he is, he goes. He rests his head on her shoulder and weeps against her neck. He would swipe at his eyes if he thought it would help at all.

It won't, he knows that well enough.

She is warm and welcoming and he feels a surge of guilt just as he is consumed by desperation. Something in his throat is raw and his chest feels like it will break open at the slightest touch. His arm wraps around her and the other joins it, gathering her up in an embrace, pulling her against him and, ah, he is acting like a child--

"I do, perhaps more than I've given you," Jaskier corrects and sounds a bit hoarse. "I was callous and cruel and would have--I would have wished you poorly in my jealousy."

His hold tenses and he shuts his eyes as he rests his forehead against her neck.

"Forgive me, it was unworthy."