Chapter Text
Jaskier breathed a silent sigh of relief when his mother announced her plans to depart by the end of the hour. Maybe it was selfish of him, but Jaskier was looking forward to not having to parse every sentence for a hidden meaning, or watch his own words lest he reveal something carelessly. He loved his mother, he really did, but speaking to her was like sticking his hand into a beehive and hoping he wouldn’t get stung. It was exhausting, to put it simply, and Jaskier was ready for there to be a hundred or so miles between them again.
He was also looking forward to his and Geralt’s ruse finally being over. Not that he wasn’t enjoying pretending to date Geralt, but since their weird moment at breakfast the other day, Geralt had been acting strangely. Jaskier knew he’d taken it too far; god, he’d almost kissed Geralt when his friend was just trying to help him out. As soon as Jaskier’s mother left, they could go back to normal, and maybe Geralt would stop looking at him with that undecipherable look in his eyes, the one that had something like hope flaring to life in Jaskier’s heart like a particularly painful muscle spasm.
Jaskier was an optimist, but he wasn’t an idiot . Hope wouldn’t get him anywhere but disappointed and heartbroken. Still, he couldn’t help it. He did his best to shove his feelings deep down, though. He could handle losing a fake boyfriend, but he refused to do anything that would jeopardize his and Geralt’s very real friendship.
Geralt had left the apartment, actually, earlier that day. He’d said he was getting groceries, but Jaskier figured he was really getting some space from the Pankratzes and their complete takeover of his weekend. Jaskier couldn’t exactly blame him, even though it left something hollow in his stomach.
Without Geralt there to back him up, to be his silent support, Jaskier found that all of his usual charm had abandoned him. He was standing in awkward silence in the living room, trying to think of something to say to his mother , of all people. It should’ve been easy, but it just wasn’t. Jaskier’s complicated feelings about his mother hadn’t magically resolved themselves over her short visit, and it left him picking at his fingernails while studiously avoiding her eyes.
“When is your boyfriend coming back?” she asked him finally, ostensibly taking pity on his inability to start a conversation. “He’s been gone awhile, and I wanted to say goodbye to him before I left.”
Jaskier did his best not to wince. “Uh, soon,” he lied, hoping saying it would make it true. “The grocery store is just a little far, that’s all.”
His mother hummed. “Oh, good,” she said. “That gives us some time to talk.” She sat down on the sofa and patted the spot next to her. “Come here, Julian.”
Jaskier walked over with no small amount of trepidation. “Talking” with his mother usually ended in shouting matches, or him storming out, or her crying, and none of those were desirable outcomes. Taking a deep breath to remind himself to stay calm, he sat down next to her. God, but this would be easier with Geralt with him.
“What do you want to talk about, Mother?” he tried not to sound resigned, but by the look on his mother’s face, he didn't succeed.
“You’re doing very well,” she said, no hint of criticism in her voice, which was a first, Jaskier still braced himself, just in case. “And I know that we don’t always agree, but I wanted to let you know that I’m proud of the life you’ve made here, Julian.”
“I don’t need your approval,” Jaskier muttered under his breath, though there was a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth that he couldn’t stop. “Does this mean you’re going to stop nagging me about going back to university?”
She pursed her lips. “No,” she said wryly. “Because I’m your mother, and I’m always going to think I know best. But I’m willing to admit that it’s possible that I don’t know everything. Julian, all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is for you to be happy. If you’re happy here, I’m happy.”
Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Not that I’m not enjoying it,” he said slowly. “But what brought on this change of heart? I thought you were of the opinion that I was wasting my potential here.”
“Your boyfriend and I had a chat,” his mother said, and Jaskier’s mouth fell open. When had Geralt done that? And why ? It wasn’t exactly unwelcome, Geralt standing up for him, but it was fucking weird. Geralt tended to avoid anything even tangentially related to emotions like the plague. Especially when it came to other people’s emotions. “For such a succinct man, he’s surprisingly persuasive when he wants to be. He’s a keeper, that one. Hold on to him; I expect to see him at Christmas.”
Guilt caught in Jaskier’s throat. “Of course, Mother,” he choked out. He’d never been a good liar, and it wasn’t like he was going to gain the ability now, so he was sure she saw right through him.
Still, she at least did him the kindness of pretending she didn’t. “He’s good for you,” she continued, ignoring his obvious distress. “You’re less flighty when you’re with him.”
He resolutely did not blush. “I’m never flighty!” he protested, ignoring the actual content of her statement. He didn’t want to think about the effects Geralt had on him, especially when none of this was real, anyway. “I just…”
“Have a tendency to lose interest in things quite quickly?” she teased with a small smile. “I confess, I didn’t think you’d be able to keep a relationship for three years--”
“And there’s the criticism I missed so much,” Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms. For all their relationship had progressed during her stay, things were still… prickly , to say the least. “Oh, wait, no I didn’t.”
“--but I was wrong ,” she finished, like she could read his thoughts. “And I think it’s because you and Geralt have something special. Cling to it, Julian. Don’t panic and hold it at arm’s length like you usually do.”
“I don’t do that!” Jaskier spluttered, but his mother clearly wasn’t listening. She was right , not that he’d ever admit it.
The scraping of a key in the door cut off any further argument on Jaskier’s end. Geralt stepped into the apartment after a moment, groceries in hand. Jaskier was happy to see him, if only to end the conversation with his mother. He was all for open communication, but at some point, talking to his mother about his (fake) love life got awkward.
“Oh, good, you’re home,” Jaskier said, ushering Geralt inside. He noticed his slip-- this wasn’t Geralt’s home-- but he didn’t want to call attention to it. “You’re just in time, actually; my mother was just leaving, and she wanted to say goodbye to you.”
Jaskier’s mother gave him a look, but she stood when he did. “Julian is right: I do have a train to catch,” she said, grabbing her jacket. “I should leave now if I want to get back home before dinner.”
“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Pankratz,” Geralt shifted his bags so that he had a free hand to offer to Jaskier’s mother. If he thought her abrupt departure was odd, he didn’t say anything; not, of course, that Jaskier expected him to, but there were no judgemental hmms either, so he’d take it as a win.
“Geralt, it was wonderful meeting you, as well,” his mother said with a saccharine smile. “But if you hurt Julian, I promise, you’ll wish you’d never met me. Goodbye, darlings!”
“Mother!” Jaskier cried indignantly, but she was already gone, like a tornado that touched down only to make things weird before flying off into the night. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t his best metaphor by any stretch of the imagination (or even a good one), but he was a little frazzled.
Geralt looked a little stunned, but he was definitely used to taking Pankratz nonsense in stride, so Jaskier wasn’t too worried. He tried not to look absolutely mortified, though, as he moved to lock the door behind his mother.
“Well, that went well,” Jaskier said, letting out a breath that he hadn’t realized that he was holding. He slumped against the wall in relief. “Really, I was expecting a whole lot worse. And, hey, a point for your acting skills! I’m pretty sure she believed us. All thanks to you, of course. Seriously, you’re the best.”
“Hmm,” said Geralt, eloquent as always. He held out the plastic bags. “I bought you vegetables. Stop eating Spaghetti-O’s.”
“Thank you,” said Jaskier with a small smile, taking the groceries from Geralt’s hands, but meaning so much more. He couldn’t think of the words that he wanted, for once. They just wouldn’t come, no matter how hard he searched for them.
Geralt shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“ Thank you, ” Jaskier repeated, looking into Geralt’s eyes and willing the other man to understand. It wasn’t just the groceries, even though he’d picked up Jaskier’s favorite snack foods in addition to the healthy things. It was his general existence that Jaskier was thanking him for, his unfailing kindness hidden behind that gruff exterior, his genuine goodness that left Jaskier near tears.
Geralt nodded, but said nothing. Jaskier hoped that meant Geralt had gotten all that he didn’t say. He let the moment stretch for a moment longer before it broke, Geralt wrenching his golden gaze away and Jaskier fussing with the bags in his hands.
Jaskier busied himself with putting the groceries away and pretended not to notice how Geralt stood awkwardly near the door. Now that Jaskier’s mother was gone and the jig was up, it was like they’d forgotten how to orbit each other like they usually did. Jaskier cursed himself; this had been, without a doubt, one of his dumbest plans. He’d ruined their friendship, he realized (without a hint of drama, thank you very much), and he’d have to do some serious scrambling to fix this.
First things first: letting Geralt know that he was free to go, that he didn’t have to put up with Jaskier’s company any longer.
“I’d invite you in to watch a movie, but I figure you’re probably sick of me by now,” Jaskier smiled around the sour taste in his mouth. It was fine; he was used to it. He finished with the groceries and moved into the living room. Geralt followed, after a beat. “No need to worry about offending me, I’m well aware that I’m, well, a lot. You’re free to go; I hereby release you from our fake dating contract.”
Geralt nodded stiffly. “I do have to pick up Roach,” he said finally.
“Go, then, go,” Jaskier shooed him out of the apartment, his laugh just too high pitched to be real. He hoped Geralt didn’t pick up on it. “Tell her I say hello and that I adore her, even though she’s a furry little menace. And I’ll see you later?”
“Bye, Jaskier,” said Geralt, never one for sentiment, but there was something lingering, almost searching, in his eyes. Jaskier didn’t have time to analyze it before Geralt was turning away and walking towards the door. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. His emotions were already a mess; he didn’t need to add fuel to that particular fire.
The quiet click of the door shutting behind Geralt was deafening in the silence, and Jaskier was acutely aware, all of the sudden, that he was the only one left in the apartment.
Jaskier had never minded living alone. Honestly, he found it peaceful, and it was easier to write his music without the distraction of another person. Even he needed his alone time sometimes.
But then why did he feel so damn lonely ?
-----
After several days of living on top of each other, the first morning Geralt spent in a Jaskier-free apartment felt almost alien. There was no humming to break the silence, no rambling about anything and everything (except relevant topics), and no stumbling footsteps caused by socks on slippery floors, all sounds that he had gotten used to far too quickly while staying with Jaskier. Geralt wasn’t sure he missed the noise, per se, but it was definitely odd now to be without it.
His normal routine was utilitarian: he ate breakfast, he went to work, he ate dinner, and he went to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. He’d never minded the monotony of his life. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d be able to handle Jaskier’s daily dose of chaos and unpredictability. But now, as Geralt went to make the same omelet for breakfast that he always did, the quiet felt almost oppressive. Jaskier wasn’t bugging him about cheese and kicking at the counters in a rhythm only he understood.
Geralt hadn’t realized how easy it was to get used to something until it was taken away.
Sure, he had missed Jaskier before. There had been that time when Jaskier had decided to go back to university for a year because they’d offered him a teaching position. Geralt was no stranger himself to long trips, either. And they didn’t talk about the one fight that had kept them from speaking for six months. But all of those times hadn’t come on the heels of learning what brand of shampoo Jaskier used, or that he had four pillows on his bed but only liked two of them, or even what he looked like, half-asleep and grinning dopily after waking up from a good dream.
Before, Geralt hadn’t been missing Jaskier like he was now, because he hadn’t quite known what to miss. Now, he had those stolen couple days branded into his mind, making him feel like there was something gone from him, something he’d never even really had.
God, he’d spent too much time with Jaskier if even his own thoughts were trying to get poetic on him.
Shaking his head to clear it, Geralt took an angry bite of his breakfast. He’d gotten too attached, and now he was paying the price for it. He knew he should’ve said no when Jaskier had come to him with this whole scheme, puppy dog eyes be damned. Now he was left pining for a man who pretended to like him to fool his mother; Geralt could think of few things more pathetic.
He didn’t even have work today to distract him. No, he had to spend the rest of his day trying desperately to avoid thinking about Jaskier when his shirt, liberated from the (surprisingly large) pile of his clothing at Jaskier’s place, still smelled like the other man. Geralt had no earthly idea how he was supposed to manage that.
He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his apps, looking for any possible distraction. Most of them were inane games downloaded by Jaskier, who often stole his phone when he got bored, like a child. That should’ve caused a spike of irritation in Geralt, but it rang as endearing, to be honest.
Geralt’s thumb hovered over his message app. He could text someone, he supposed, and ask for-- what? Company? Something to do? It wasn’t his worst idea. The only hitch there was, well, the only person whose company Geralt wanted was the person he was supposed to be avoiding all thoughts of.
Maybe he could text Yennefer. She’d mock him relentlessly, but at least she’d bring the good alcohol.
He resolved to text Yen, but he opened Jaskier’s contact, instead. He stared at the screen for a long, long time. The little cursor blinked mockingly, begging him to type something. Geralt had never hated it more.
He didn’t even know what to say! Words weren’t his forte, to put it mildly. Geralt thought about turning his phone off, putting it down and going to do something else, but he just couldn’t. Jaskier’s name stared at him from the top of his screen.
Are you busy? Geralt typed out, sending the text before he could second-guess it. His heart sped up in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent it at all.
The reply came in with a cheerful ding. ofc not, Jaskier sent back immediately. why? miss me already?
Geralt winced, hating how transparent he was. He knew it was just teasing, all in good fun, but still. Nevermind, he typed out quickly.
im minding, wrote Jaskier, several texts coming through in rapid succession. consider yourself minded. whats up? you never text me. i didnt think you knew how to open your message app.
Really, it’s nothing, Geralt sent. He turned off his phone and flipped it face down so that he wouldn’t see Jaskier’s reply and ignored the buzzing notifications. He wasn’t sure why he’d even texted in the first place. It had been one of his dumber ideas, that was for sure.
(Geralt knew exactly why he’d texted Jaskier. He missed the other man, god damn it. Because he had a painful, stupid crush , like he was a teenager, or something. The universe was unfair like that sometimes.)
With a loud groan, Geralt leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to feel the exasperation that was boiling up in his chest. It was his own damn fault that he was in this situation, as little as he wanted to admit it. He should’ve just said no.
Geralt stood and scrubbed his face with his hand. He walked over to the pile of dishes sink; he could at least try to get something useful done, instead of lying about and pining over someone who didn’t want him.
His phone was staying suspiciously silent where he’d left it on the table. It had rung, twice, and Geralt had let both calls go to voicemail. He’d hoped that would be the end of it, but he’d clearly underestimated Jaskier. Geralt was a little surprised at how quickly Jaskier had managed to get to his apartment building; it wasn’t exactly a short walk. The timing meant that Jaskier must’ve already been on his way over when Geralt had texted him, but Geralt shoved that out of his head at record speeds.
“Geralt Rivia, you answer this door right now,” his friend’s muffled voice came from outside. “Or I will kick it, and then I’ll break my foot, and you’d feel really bad about that, wouldn’t you? Sitting in your apartment while I die of a broken foot right outside. I’m kicking in three, two--”
Geralt wrenched the door open. He had no doubt that Jaskier would follow through on his threat, and then he’d be the one stuck taking the idiot to the hospital. “Why are you here?” he asked gruffly.
“You sounded upset when you texted,” Jaskier admitted with a shrug, like it should’ve been obvious. “And as your friend-- which I hope we still are, by the way, there were some mixed signals on your end-- I wanted to come check and make sure that you weren’t being held hostage, or something. It was a valid assumption! You’re acting quite strange, if I do say so myself.”
Geralt blinked in surprise at the onslaught of words. “I’m fine,” he said, the words sticking in his throat. He didn’t move from the doorway to let Jaskier in, though; he didn’t know that he could handle the closeness, only to lose it again.
Jaskier huffed and pushed past him anyway. “You’re not,” he said, looking at Geralt like he was daring him to bullshit him. “You texted me, which you never do. Anyone else, I’d assume they were just bored, but you? You like boredom. You’d never text me to interrupt your regularly scheduled hour of sitting and staring at the wall in silence--”
“ Meditating, ” Geralt huffed.
“--hence, there’s something wrong,” Jaskier finished with a flourish. “So, talk to me. What’s going on in that emotionally constipated brain of yours?”
“Nothing,” growled Geralt, hoping that maybe if he was prickly enough, Jaskier would get annoyed and stop prying. Damn, he knew sending that text was a terrible idea.
Jaskier leveled him with an unimpressed look. “We are well past that,” he said, crossing his arms. “Geralt, I’m not an idiot. Now, we can stand here and stare at each other, or you can talk to me.” Geralt stayed stubbornly silent. “I can definitely irritate you into telling me. It’s my talent, you know? If there was an award for being irritating, you know I’d have won--”
“Fine!” Geralt said loudly, silencing Jaskier’s ramble. “You want to know what the problem is? It’s you!” Jaskier gaped at him, looking hurt, but Geralt was powerless to stop the words. “I can’t get you out of my head, Jaskier, and it’s driving me insane .”
Jaskier’s face went through the entire spectrum of human emotion and then some, finally settling on somewhere between neutral and hoping. “Well,” he said after a beat. “I can’t say I was expecting that.”
Geralt scrubbed a hand at his face. “It’s fine,” he said, turning away. “Just… go, okay? I’m fine.”
“Hang on just a moment,” Jaskier’s hand was a warm weight on Geralt’s shoulder. “If I’m understanding this right, you have feelings for me, correct?” Geralt nodded miserably. “Then why the fuck are you trying to get rid of me? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, dancing in the streets? What do you do to celebrate things?”
Geralt didn’t know how to respond to that. “Because it’s not like you want me,” he settled on, shrugging Jaskier’s hand off.
“You’re the stupidest man I’ve ever met in my entire life,” this time, Jaskier’s touch was more forceful, spinning him around until their eyes met. “I’ve been flirting with you for ten years, half in love with you for pretty much the same. How could you say that I don’t want you?”
“No,” Geralt shook his head. “No, that’s not true. I would’ve noticed.”
Jaskier laughed out loud, which was a little bit mean, but Geralt detected nothing mocking behind it. “No, you wouldn’t have,” he said confidently. “And you didn’t. Because you’re an oblivious idiot, but you’re my oblivious idiot.”
“Yours?” Geralt raised a questioning eyebrow. He wasn’t opposed, of course, but…
Jaskier flushed bright red. “And I’m yours,” he said quietly. “If you want us to be that way. If not, I understand, it’s fine, I shouldn’t have assumed. Actually, I probably should see myself out now, now that I’ve made a massive fool of myself. Wait, what are you--”
Geralt shut him up with a kiss. It took Jaskier a moment to quiet and get with the program, but once he did, Geralt was pretty sure his brain melted out his ears. Damn , Jaskier was a good kisser. Geralt lost himself in the slide of lips on lips, the heat of Jaskier against him, the way Jaskier’s hand felt against his cheek. It was easy to overindulge in the sensation, in all the feelings that Jaskier stirred in him that Geralt didn’t want to lock away, not this time.
It wasn’t technically a perfect kiss. The angle was odd, and their teeth clacked, and Geralt couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. But it was Jaskier , and that was what mattered.
Geralt pulled away for air regretfully. In front of him, Jaskier stood flushed and panting, and Geralt was pretty sure he looked much the same. Jaskier’s smile was tentative, but contagious. Geralt wanted him to smile all the time.
“That was nice-- nay, amazing -- but you are not allowed to kiss me every time you want me to shut up,” Jaskier huffed.
“Hmm,” Geralt could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth as he brushed a lock of hair away from Jaskier’s forehead. “Does that mean you don’t want another kiss?”
Jaskier looked positively offended. “I never said that,” he said. “Actually, as punishment for such slander, I think you need to come and kiss me again.”
Geralt hummed, only too happy to oblige.
Much, much later, curled up in his bed together, Geralt noticed that Jaskier wouldn’t settle. For all of his normal energy, the man tended to sleep like the dead as soon as he was in a bed, so Geralt was a little confused. Jaskier kept almost dozing off, only to jerk himself awake and watch Geralt through lidded blue eyes, like if he closed them for too long, Geralt would be gone.
Geralt couldn’t find the words to tell Jaskier that there was literally nowhere else he’d rather be right then. Instead, he turned his gaze on the other man, cocking an eyebrow expectantly as he waited for Jaskier to tell him what was wrong.
Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s bare chest. Geralt waited, breathing evenly, for Jaskier to find his words. Unlike Geralt, he really did have a gift for them.
“I thought I’d ruined everything,” Jaskier whispered finally, like a guilty secret he didn’t want to admit. “Asking you to fake date me; it was weird, I made things weird. I thought I’d thrown away our friendship because I wanted to impress my mother. I just… I don’t want to wake up and realize this was a dream, okay? I know, it’s pathetic.”
“Not pathetic,” Geralt rumbled. He understood completely; he didn’t want to close his eyes, either. “Not ruined, either.”
Jaskier’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Not ruined,” he repeated softly. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming, though? Because this really does feel too good to be true.”
Geralt pinched his arm sharply and Jaskier yelped. “Pretty sure, yeah,” he teased, a smirk on his lips.
“Rude!” Jaskier spluttered indignantly. “I should get out of bed right now to protest this... this… this horrible injustice! This is an affront to-- mmph! ”
Geralt took his rambling as a cue to do his new favorite thing: shutting Jaskier up with his mouth. There would be time later, he knew, to discuss everything unsaid between them, but for now, Geralt was content to lay in bed, Jaskier’s hand in his, and just be . If Jaskier had any complaints, for once, he didn’t voice them. That could’ve been due to his mouth being otherwise occupied, but the point stood.
Geralt pulled Jaskier on top of him, and after that, there was
definitely
no more talking.