Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier knew when he’d fucked up. Sure, the knowledge usually led to him digging a bigger hole for himself, but he was at least self-aware enough to know that he was, at heart, a massive idiot.
Which was why he was currently knocking on the door to Geralt’s apartment, a box of chocolates held awkwardly in one hand.
“Geralt!” he greeted as soon as the other man opened the door. He held out the chocolates first as a preemptive peace offering, knowing well that he’d need it. “Date me.”
Geralt shut the door in his face.
Jaskier scowled, knocking again. Sure, he hadn’t been the most tactful, but he definitely didn’t deserve to have a door slammed in his face. That was just mean . Grumbling under his breath, he dug in his pockets for the spare key that he had bullied Geralt into giving him. Thankfully, Geralt was not waiting on the other side of the door to punch him in the face.
Jaskier made his way into the apartment, finding Geralt looking unimpressed on the sofa, as per usual. He opened his mouth to speak, but Geralt cut him off with a raised hand.
“No, Jaskier,” Geralt said, not even waiting to hear Jaskier’s perfectly reasonable explanation.
“Hear me out,” Jaskier pleaded, tossing the chocolates at Geralt. “Eat those, they’ll put you in a good mood. I bet you’re hangry, aren’t you? That’s why you’re not indulging your bestest friend in the whole wide world--”
“ Jaskier .”
“Okay, okay, I’m getting to the point, sorry,” he took a deep breath. It was a terrible thing he was asking, part of an even more terrible scheme, but he was desperate. “I need you to pretend to date me for a week. Because I possibly might have told my mother that I was seeing someone, and she potentially is now coming to stay with me for a few days and meet this someone, which was not the original plan, let me tell you, but now I need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend. And you’re the only person who I could think of who wouldn’t laugh in my face, mostly because you don’t really laugh. Ever. Are you, like, okay?”
Geralt threw an arm over his eyes. “How did that even come up?”
“Well, she said, Jaskier, are you seeing anyone? You’re just so lonely, and I worry, and blah, blah, blah,” Jaskier hedged, shifting from foot to foot. “And I, of course, said yes. You know, like an idiot. And she kept asking questions, and you know how I love making up stories, and I got maybe a little too invested, and...” He spread his hands. “Here we are.”
“You told her you were dating me specifically, didn’t you.”
“I panicked,” Jaskier said, neither confirming nor denying anything, though he knew Geralt saw right through him. “Listen, I will owe you for the rest of time. I will either transport or dispose of a body for you if you do this for me. Please, Geralt?”
“Jaskier, the only body I’d need to transport or dispose of would be yours,” said Geralt, but Jaskier could hear him weakening.
“Please, please, please, please, please ,” Jaskier begged. “Trust me, I’m only going to get more annoying if you say no. Pretty please with a cherry on top? Two cherries? Three ? Three seems excessive, but I’m willing to settle for two and a half if you do this for me.”
“Hmm,” Geralt rolled his eyes. Jaskier pumped his fist in victory: that was Geralt’s affirmative, you've worn me down and I can’t think of a way to say no that won’t make you irritate me more hum. Jaskier was proud to say that he was fluent in Geraltese.
“You’re the best and I owe you so much,” Jaskier gushed. He came over to plop down on the couch next to Geralt. “Okay, so my mom will be here in two days. Do you think you can put on a convincing show of liking me by then? Because it’s not too late to flee the country, change our names, and set up new lives somewhere she’ll never find us.”
“Why would I be fleeing your mother with you?” Geralt raised an eyebrow.
“Because your life would be so boring without me, and somewhere deep down, like, very far down there, you’ve admitted to yourself that I’m your best friend,” Jaskier answered promptly. “So is that a yes on the liking me convincingly thing? You're just agreeing awfully quickly. I honestly thought I’d have to bribe you more.”
Geralt huffed loudly. “It depends on how irritating you are,” he teased. “If you’re on your best behavior for your mother, I’m sure I can handle it.”
Jaskier, like the mature adult he was, stuck his tongue out. “Listen, I am a delight all the time,” he grumbled, leaning in against Geralt’s side. He could feel Geralt’s rumbling laughter, but the other man stayed tellingly silent.
Jaskier was starting to melt into Geralt’s warmth when he remembered all at once why this was a terrible plan. He kind of, maybe had a huge crush on Geralt. That was why his mind had immediately gone to Geralt for his lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t expected his mother to jump on it so wholeheartedly. And now he’d managed to convince Geralt to pretend to like him for a week (he harbored no illusions that it would be anything but pretend). Jaskier wasn’t sure how he was supposed to hide his infatuation for the duration, if he was being honest.
He took a deep breath and reminded himself that none of it would be real. That, more than anything else, was like a bucket of cold water, shaking him out of his playful planning. Now, he just had to cling to that feeling. Sure, he’d have to pinch himself several times throughout the coming week, but he could do it.
Focused on his resolve, he didn’t notice Geralt speaking to him until the other man snapped his fingers in front of Jaskier’s face.
“What?” Jaskier blinked himself back to awareness. “I was listening, totally, one hundred percent, but do you mind repeating what you said so I can be certain I understood?”
Geralt flicked his forehead lightly, the way he always did when Jaskier zoned out. It wasn’t mean; it was almost fond, but Jaskier didn’t want to think about that. “I asked if you were staying for dinner,” he said gruffly.
“Well, I have exactly one can of expired Spaghetti-O’s in my apartment,” Jaskier said sheepishly, ignoring the part of his brain that reminded him how much easier it would be to get over Geralt if he wasn’t spending all his time with the man. “If you don’t mind having me, I’d love to.” And, because Jaskier was nothing if not a sadist, he added, “We can work on making our story believable, too. You know, what if my mother quizzes you on my favorite color? Or flower? Or, like, time of day?”
Geralt stood with a somewhat irritated expression, the one that he saved for Jaskier only that was a mix of genuine exasperation and grudging amusement. “Gold, buttercups, and morning, because it’s easier for you to compose after a good night’s sleep,” he ticked off on his fingers. “Now, come help me with the cooking. You owe me.”
Jaskier’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He took a moment to compose himself, to try to calm the flush on his cheeks and his rabbiting heartbeat, before following Geralt into the kitchen.
God, he’d definitely fucked up this time.
-----
Geralt was… not the best with emotions. He could admit that easily, and in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t his worst flaw. Still, he made an effort with his friends, with Jaskier , and that was what mattered.
Still, when Jaskier had knocked on his door and said date me , Geralt was ashamed to say that he backslid tremendously. He’d shut the door right in Jaskier’s face, because talking to Jaskier unlocked a weird box of emotions in his chest that he never, ever wanted to analyze.
He was spared from having to by Jaskier explaining that it was all a ruse, a grand plot to fool his mother into thinking his life was going better than it was. Geralt also didn’t want to analyse how that made him feel, so he shoved the confused hurt into that weird box of things never to think of again.
Of course, it was harder to not dwell on his confusing feelings for the man when said man was laid across his lap, gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke and almost hitting Geralt in the face.
“Logistically, you’re probably going to want to stay with me for a couple days,” Jaskier was saying, an apologetic note to his voice. “But I’ll feed you! And you can bring Roach. I feel like taking care of a pet together increases the believability of our story.”
“You can’t even feed yourself, I’m not trusting you with my cat,” Geralt shook his head. He didn’t say any more; he didn’t have to. Jaskier was already flailing in mock-offense.
“I can feed myself and your cat!” he protested. “I am a grown adult and legally I could take care of another living thing. I had a plant, remember, and it didn’t die for a long time! And, you know, I’m still alive, and that has to be a point in my favor.”
“Not for lack of trying,” muttered Geralt. He ran a soothing hand through Jaskier’s hair to calm the other man. It was a foolproof method of getting Jaskier to settle; Geralt had tried and tested it many times and it had yet to fail him.
Jaskier practically purred under his hands. “That was really mean, but I’ll let it go if you keep doing that.”
“Hmm,” Geralt tried his best to sound put-out, but he indulged Jaskier anyway.
He really didn’t want to think about why.
It wasn’t even that he didn’t know how to handle romantic relationships ( not , of course, that he was classifying his feelings for Jaskier as anywhere near the romantic variety)-- he was still on amicable terms with his exes, and that had to count for something-- but rather, he didn’t know how to handle friendships .
Jaskier was like a baby duckling that had imprinted on Geralt: he’d latched on as soon as they’d met, practically following Geralt home, and he’d refused to disappear after that. After a while, Geralt had even stopped finding him truly irritating. Now, he could readily admit (to himself) that Jaskier was his best friend. And he really, really didn’t want to lose that.
It wasn’t worth pushing for more, to examine the fluttering feelings in his chest when he looked at Jaskier sprawled trustingly in his lap, because one wrong move and he could lose his friend for good. Geralt wasn’t ready to risk that.
At least he had confirmation that there were no… feelings on Jaskier’s end. Jaskier wouldn’t have invited him into this ruse if there was anything there, because Geralt had personally witnessed how Jaskier seemed to lose any modicum of sense when around one of his infatuations du jour. There was no way he’d be able to keep a ruse going around his mother, of all people, if he was useless with affection.
Geralt chose to not focus on the bitter taste that left in his mouth and instead, listen to Jaskier, who was apparently back to prattling on about nonsense. He nodded at whatever the man was saying, because it tended to be easier to just agree. Only, Jaskier wasn’t talking, just watching him expectantly.
Geralt refused to flush under Jaskier’s gaze. “What?” he asked tersely.
Jaskier smiled, the smile that brought crinkles to his eyes, the one that he seemed to flash at everyone but that had a special twinkle for Geralt. “You just agreed to tell me all the fun little details about you,” he smirked. “You know, the normal things that other people share but you would rather cut out your tongue than share. Remember that time I asked you your favorite color and you didn’t speak to me for three days?”
Geralt hummed noncommittally. He really didn’t have anything against sharing those little things; it was just fun to watch Jaskier squirm, sometimes. “Blue,” he admitted finally. Like your eyes . “There. Now can I ignore you for three days again?”
Jaskier scowled. “That’s boring ,” he huffed. “What shade of blue? Come on, I require details if I’m to be convincing.”
“And why, again, do I care if you’re convincing?” Geralt really wasn’t as bought into the idea of this ruse as Jaskier was, but he was also unable to deny Jaskier anything, so there was that.
“Because my mother is a truly terrifying woman, and you don’t want to be on her bad side,” Jaskier intoned. “So, tell me the shade. Give me details!”
“Cornflower blue, and that’s all you’re getting,” Geralt said with finality. Even admitting that much put glee in Jaskier’s (cornflower blue) eyes, so it was worth it.
Jaskier sat up, shuffling so that he was sitting against the arm of the couch with his legs still in Geralt’s lap. “Favorite animal?” he shook his head. “Wait, don’t tell me. I can guess it! Does it lack external ears? I’m getting a seal vibe from you, I don’t know why. Or maybe hooves… is it an alpaca?”
Geralt just hummed in response.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Jaskier visibly drooped, though Geralt knew it was an act. “I’m going to tell my mother your favorite animal is an alpaca, and she’s going to judge you for the rest of time, just so you know. It’s probably easier to just tell me.”
“I don’t have a favorite animal,” said Geralt. It was true; he really didn’t have a preference for any particular furry (or scaly, or feathery) creature. Sure, he liked Roach, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say he liked cats all that much. He considered making one up, but he knew Jaskier would see right through him. He was uncanny like that.
Jaskier looked at him for a moment with that piercing gaze. Something passed over his eyes, something here and gone too quick for Geralt to decipher. For all that he wore his feelings on his sleeve, sometimes, Jaskier was very difficult to read.
“That,” he said after a beat. “Is sad. I’m assigning you a favorite animal, because this is truly a tragedy. From now on, you love wolves. I feel like you’re a wolf guy, somewhere deep down. Like, you’re big and intimidating but you’re actually a huge softie.”
“Wolves kill people, Jaskier,” Geralt couldn’t believe he had to remind Jaskier of that. “If you fuck with a wolf, it will eat you. They are not softies.”
“I don’t believe that,” Jaskier said airily. “I think wolves and I would get along really well. In fact, I’m going to go find one to hug and prove you wrong.”
There were very few people-- one, to be exact-- that could drive Geralt to the edge of insanity. Jaskier made up literally that entire list. He was special like that. “If you hug a wolf, I will leave you to deal with your mother on your own,” he threatened.
Jaskier made a face. “You, Geralt, are the worst fake boyfriend I’ve ever had. Sure, I haven’t had any but you, but of the one that exists, you are the worst.”
“But that means I’m also the best,” Geralt shrugged with a small smile. “You can’t have it both ways.”
Jaskier squinted at him for a second while he puzzled out the logic. “I hate you,” he declared finally.
“Hmm.”
They lapsed into companionable silence. It was rare for Jaskier to stay quiet, but Geralt figured he had a lot on his mind. He got quiet when he was really, truly thinking. He didn’t do it often, in Geralt’s experience, but it happened. Geralt closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the lack of talking. While he didn’t mind Jaskier’s conversation, there was something about blessed silence sometimes.
Of course, Jaskier couldn’t be quiet for too long.
“Hey,” he looked at Geralt, strangely tentative. “You’re really okay with this? I know I sort of barged in here and announced we were doing it, and I figured you’d punch me if you were, like, vehemently against it, but I just wanted to make sure. This is fine?”
Geralt, for once, heard what he wasn’t asking. We’re okay?
“I would’ve said no if it wasn’t,” Geralt reassured him. He could’ve said more, something about of course it was okay, because he was Jaskier’s friend and he’d do what Jaskier needed, but he didn’t. He wasn’t much for words, especially ones that revealed a little too much.
Jaskier nodded, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, standing up. Geralt missed his warmth as soon as he was gone. “Well, now that that’s settled, I’ve probably got to be heading home now. It’s getting late.”
Geralt stood, too, to walk Jaskier to the door. “Get home safe,” he said. He couldn’t help but to feel like he’d just experienced whiplash; Jaskier really was a whirlwind of a person. Most of their conversations left Geralt feeling that way.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, darling,” Jaskier winked at him and blew him a kiss. “Try not to fall in love with me while I’m gone.”
As the door shut behind him, Geralt realized that was going to be easier said than done.