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“Oh, Geralt…” Jaskier’s voice, slurred as it was, was somewhere between a giggle and a song. He was grinning at what he must’ve known was his friend, though from the look of his face he could’ve been staring at Roach and would’ve been none the wiser. His eyes danced from one feature to another without really getting any of them into focus. “Mighty Geralt. And he’s my friend! How lucky I am.” He leaned closer as he spoke, resting his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees to steady himself. Geralt didn’t need to count the empty jugs on the table, he knew from the smell of his breath, which did not really require heightened witcher senses to be picked up, that the man was indeed very drunk. It was a miracle he’d not fallen off his seat yet.
He sat next to him with a sigh. One afternoon. Just one afternoon he leaves him alone, and of course this happens.
“Ah, ‘The White Wolf’… really happy with that one. You know, for all I sing about you, so much of it is about your heroic monster-killing deeds and none of it mentions your looks. I should write a ballad. Like the ones about beautiful princesses and everything.”
Geralt tried to ignore him. Best not to encourage him.
But of course, the bard never did need encouragement. “They always have so many metaphors. They’ll find a theme and ride it as far as it’ll take them! So many pretty words…” He stared off into the distance, getting lost in his own thoughts.
“Galanthus”, he spoke then in a dreamy tone. The witcher hoped that meant he’d gotten distracted from the topic for good.
“It’s a flower. Snowdrop. Looks like you.”
Of course not.
“White like your hair. Yellow centre that looks just like your eyes. Poisonous if eaten. Breaks through the snow as winter fades. It’s so romantic!” He made wide gestures with his hands as if showing a scenery. “The withcer, moving through the snow, a lone flower. It’s the first to bloom after the cold season. Grants hope to those who come across it!” He smirked.
Geralt finally looked at him. “Quit it”.
“You know, witcher, I think that you would like that. Compared to a pretty flower. You just want to be loved.”
He exhaled. This was getting annoying. “Sure. You’re drunk, we should find a room.” He got up, looking around for the owner.
“And I could do that, you know. If you just let me. I could love you.”
Geralt stood silent for a bit, then sighed. “Come on, I found the owner. Let’s just get you to bed.” He walked off to make a deal as Jaskier tried to follow him with his eyes. He didn’t even bother haggling properly and accepted the second offer he was made. Probably a rip-off, but he had more pressing matters at the moment. He could discuss it further in the morning anyway.
When he got back to Jaskier, he was resting his head on the table. He shook him lightly.
He’d fallen asleep.
Geralt sighed again, slowly, before lifting him over his shoulder and heading for the small door at the back of the tavern. Behind it, a narrow set of crooked stairs led to a short corridor with a few rooms on either side. He entered the door he’d been directed towards, a small room with a humble bed and a table with a single chair. Didn’t matter; he’d meant to make other plans for the night.
He put Jaskier down on the bed and sat on the edge. It had been a tiring day.
“I meant it, you know.” The bard’s voice was somewhat muffled. “I could love you.”
Fuck, couldn’t he just stay asleep? “You need to rest. You’ll sober up in the morning.”
“Listen to me. Stay. I’d love you. I know my reputation precedes me, but I mean it. I haven’t actually loved someone in a long time.”
“You’ll regret this tomorrow. I hope for you you’re drunk enough to not remember it. Would save you plenty of embarrassment.”
“It’s been lonely. Cold.” Jaskier ignored the interruption. “But, gods, Geralt… you of all people make it all feel wonderful and exciting again.” He was silent for a bit. “A flower, breaks through snow as Winter fades, now old; new spring announces: season warm and good, through blissful youth all love renews.” He let out a chuckle. “I loved that collection. Spare verses, all about flowers and the seasons and the turning of the spheres. An ode to nature. Truly wonderful. Don’t you think, Geralt?”
He begrudgingly replied. Not that he particularly disliked it, he just wanted to cut the conversation short for his friend’s sake. As well as his. Although something about it made him want to stay, to not leave the bard’s side. He felt he couldn’t be left to himself. “Sure.”
“Ah, there you are, I was almost afraid you’d ran off. Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For staying, this time.”
Neither of them said anything for a while.
“You really should sleep, you know. Take this, it’ll help.” He handed him his waterskin.
“Thank you.” He drank a bit, spilling some on the bed. “Geralt?”
He turned back around. “Yes?”
“Don’t leave.”
They locked eyes for a second. “I won’t. Sleep, now.”
“I will.”
He waited until he seemed to be deep in his slumber, then laid a cover on the floor, close enough to the bed to check on him if needed.
He fell asleep more quickly than he’dexpected to.
When he awoke he found himself next to a bundle of covers, some of which still partially on the bed. Among them, Jaskier was curled up with his head on his arm, still sleeping. His face looked so peaceful, relaxed. He hadn’t seen in like that in a while.
He sat up, slowly as to not wake him. It was early still, right before sunrise. He was weighting his options over what to do when he heard shuffling beside him.
“Ow… Geralt?”
That bard really did not want to stay silent, ever. “Yes?”
“Oh. You’re… here.” He moved slightly and Geralt felt their legs brush against each other.
“You moved in your sleep, I presume. Looks like you fell right off the bed.”
Jaskier looked around at the covers splayed across him. “Guess so.”
Neither of them moved.
Some part of Geralt wanted to remain stubbornly silent, but he made an effort. “How are you feeling?”
“Heh. Not great. Feels as though my head was squeezed from the inside.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting otherwise.”
Jaskier chuckled. “Yeah, I was pretty out of it, wasn’t I? I…” The smile faded from his lips.
“...so you do remember.” He’d hoped he wouldn’t, but alas.
“I’m so sorry, that must’ve been so embarrassing for you-”
“Stop that.” He finally turned to look at him. “It’s not me you need to worry about. You have more reason to feel uncomfortable about it than I do. You said, in a moment of weakness, something you didn’t mean to say. It’s understandable. I have no problem with it.”
“Thank you, it’s just…” he sighed and fixated his gaze on the ceiling as if it held all the answers. “You know what? Might as well get it over with. The thing is I did mean it. Every single word. I just didn’t want to say it like this, not yet; I feared my feelings would make you uneasy. That’s what I’m sorry about. I wanted to at least be more delicate about it. But here we are. I love you.”
Geralt remained silent. This changed things.
“Again, I’m sorry about getting you into this mess, I really should’ve watched my mouth, I don’t know what got over me-”
He put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. He froze at the touch. “Slow down.” He took a deep breath. “What makes you think I’d be uncomfortable? You’re my friend. And I sure have tolerated you through a lot for that.”
He smiled weakly. “Well, unrequited feelings are never fun to handle, that’s all. Let alone if you have to spend most of your time dealing with them.”
Geralt thought carefully about his reply. He thought about the past few years spent travelling together. About the songs he’d grown accustomed and eventually attached to. AboutJaskier. When he spoke, he did so slowly. “We’ve been on the road together for a long time. I may not be as obvious about it as you, but I have grown fond of my travelling companion. I... wouldn’t want to lose him. Maybe your feelings aren’t as unrequited as you think.”
Jaskier quickly sat up next to him. “Geralt…?”
He turned towards him and attempted a smile. “Maybe there is hope.”
Therelief he was met with was contagious. He laughed, and the sound he made could’ve lit up a room. “Oh, Geralt! I never thought- I- you- oh, just come here!” He threw himself in the witcher’s arms and held him tight. Geralt didn’t move for a few second, stilled, then tentatively pat his shoulder. This was new.
He felt hesitant, as if holding something fragile he mustn’t break. Something delicate and beautiful and full of life like a newly-blossomed flower he didn’t yet have a name for.
Seems scarce the strength but inside knows no wall:
through crooks and gaps a charming seed might fall,
and as time flows beneath the blessed skin,
the coldest touch cold not growth smother thin.
Such is the ascent of love in its sweet blossom.
He’d not mentioned to Jaskier he’d heard of the collection before, he realized.
He looked down at him, tracing the tangles in his hair with his eyes. He wasn’t sure what this was, or what it was going to be. Many things he was uncertain of. What he did know, in that moment, was that he’d never tire of the way his name sounded on his lips.