Chapter Text
Geralt wakes up at dawn.
This isn’t, by any means, an uncommon occurrence. He’s usually up and about when it’s still dark outside, going for his morning run at what he’s been reliably informed it’s unholy early. He likes it that way: there’s less people out in the street and the crisp morning air does wonders for him. Sure, when he first moved into the neighborhood people called the police on him a few times because a man running down the street in the wee hours of the morning is a bit suspicious, but by now they’re used to him so even if someone sees him, they don’t even blink.
Dawn is in fact a little late for him. He only sleeps late (late for his standards anyway) when he had a rough night and went to bed well past midnight or when he’s hungover. Then again, he hasn’t been properly drunk since his first semester of college, so--
Someone mumbles something against the back of his head and that’s when Geralt notices the arm wrapped possisevely around his middle. Ah, so it’s option number three: he has company, which ever since his divorce is such a rare occurrence that he had completely forgotten it was an option.
He’s quite familiar with this particular embrace though and he’s also aware that escaping it won’t be an easy feat. Normally he’d have no qualms about waking Jaskier up (after all, he knew what he was getting into whenever he slipped into Geralt’s bed) but his friend has had a couple of rough weeks and Geralt figures he can cut him some slack.
Slowly, barely daring to breath, Geralt untangles Jaskier’s limbs from his. It’s not only the arm around his middle, but a leg thrown over his hip and the other hand holding tight onto Geralt’s shirt. It takes some effort and Geralt has lost practice, not having had to untangle himself from his friend in several years, but eventually he escapes Jaskier’s octopus-like grip.
Once free, he goes hunting for his workout gear and gets ready in silence, so well acquainted with where everything is that he has no trouble finding his way in the dark. From the bed he can hear the sound of Jaskier’s peaceful snores and a fond smile comes unbidden to his lips.
He’s know Jaskier since they were in kindergarten, when Geralt saved him for the first time from the boy that Jaskier called, even to this day, his nemesis, one tall and heavy rascal named Valdo Max.
At the time, Geralt had been five, going six, a big boy ready to leave kindergarten. Jaskier, a three year old in his first year at school was a baby as far as Geralt was concerned and he needed to be protected. They had become friends, sort of (Geralt found him a little annoying from time to time, but tried to be understanding because Jaskier was a baby and Geralt was a big boy and he needed to be patient) but when Geralt had left for elementary school, he had thought that’d be the end of it, only to run into Jaskier two years latter, when the younger boy was a first grader and Geralt was in third grade. The age difference would push them apart for high school once again, but by then Geralt had figured he and Jaskier were in it for the long run.
He hadn’t been mistaken. Jaskier has been a constant in his life for far too many years now, their friendship resisting every bump on the road. They’ve been together through thick and thin: Jaskier’s parents messy divorce, his many break ups, Geralt’s slightly crazy high school years, his oddly friendly divorce, Ciri’s very complicated adoption process. Geralt isn’t entirely sure what he did to deserve a friend like Jaskier, but he’s thankful for him all the same.
True, once, a lifetime ago really, Geralt might have wanted more than friendship. But he quickly sort himself out, convincing himself that any chance of romance was not worth putting their friendship at risk and so he had shoved his messy feelings to the back of his mind, never to think about them again. Shortly after that he had met Yennefer and he had been even happier with his decision then: why risk the best relationship in his life when he could get the romance he was craving elsewhere?
And Yennefer had been-- well, he had loved Yennefer a great deal. He still does, in a way, but now it’s in a more friendly manner, rather than the passionate love they once shared. And of course she was the one who convinced him on adopting Ciri, which was clearly the best decision he’s ever made, so of course he’s also very thankful for his relationship with Yennefer.
He huffs, amused. Look at him, taking a trip down memory lane when he should be getting ready for his morning run. Looking in the direction of the bed then proves to be a terrible idea; despite the low light, the sight is terribly appealing and he’s half tempted to slip back into bed but--
No. He’s going out for his morning run and that’s final.
Never mind how tempting his bed looks.
When he comes back, Jaskier is still asleep.
Geralt huffs, watching the other man sleep, looking extremely young like this. At some point in the last decade Jaskier just stopped ageing, which he insists is thanks to his very through moisturizing routine and that Yennefer says it’s bullshit, but the fact remains: Jaskier looks pretty much the same he did when they were freshly out of college.
Again, Geralt is half tempted to crawl back into bed and let Jaskier wrap his lean limbs all around him once more, but he reminds himself that he’s just gone for a run and he’s in serious need of a bath. Still, the image is too tempting and while he knows Jaskier will protest if he in fact got in bed while being all sweaty, he has a hard time convincing himself not to do exactly that.
It’s just-- well. You wouldn’t know it by just looking at Geralt, but he’s big on cuddling. Yennefer hadn’t been, which had worked for them in the sense that Geralt wasn’t tempted to linger in bed instead of doing his morning exercises, but Jaskier is . When they were in high school, Geralt spent many nights at Jaskier’s house, holding one another for sleep: it had been nice for several reasons even though Geralt’s heart had felt like it was going to burst half of the time. They carried on like that into their college years, which many of Jaskier’s partners (and some of Geralt’s, to be fair) had found odd but it was a thing they both enjoyed and it was strictly platonic, regardless of what others seemed to think and so they kept the habit right until Geralt married.
They still cuddled on the sofa, when Jaskier was over and they were watching a movie, which always made Yennefer roll her eyes, but she understood. It wasn’t a romantic thing, it was a friends thing and that was all.
And now that Jaskier is staying here…
Well. Technically speaking, the house does have a second room in which Jaskier could stay in, while he figures out what he’s going to do with his life now that his father has (officially) disowned him. But that room is also technically Ciri’s, even if she spends most of the week at Yennefer’s. It’d be rude, he thinks and he truly doesn’t mind Jaskier sleeping with him so--
It’s all for the best, truly.
The doorbell rings just as Geralt is finishing making breakfast. He does believe that a five year old like Ciri needs more than pancakes to survive, but since he only has her on the weekend, he figures he gets to indulge her tastes. Yennefer had glared at him when he had said as much, telling him she resented having to be the not fun parent who makes them eat healthy stuff but Geralt thinks she had been joking.
Of course you never know with Yennefer, but if she wasn’t fine with this, she would have let him know by now.
He goes to open the door, glancing at the wall clock distractedly. Yennefer is terrifyingly punctual and today is not the exception, of course. He had to forgo shaving thanks to his little lie in, but he did manage to be ready in time and he thinks he looks presentable enough.
It’s not the sort of thing most people worry about when meeting their exes, Geralt has been told, but Yennefer always looks impeccable and dashing, so he’d rather not look too shabby when they meet.
“Dad!” Ciri yells, throwing her arms around him and squeezing with all her might. Geralt smiles at her, picking her up once she lets go and she squeals, delighted.
“Hello, my little cub,” he greets her, rubbing their noses together. “Hello Yennefer,” he says, turning his attention to the woman, who’s watching them with fond amusement. “Are you staying for breakfast?” he asks, although he knows she is. It’s their long standing weekend tradition and while Geralt is aware most people aren’t this friendly with their exes, he thinks of Yennefer more as a friend than as his ex wife.
Yennefer hums, following them in. Geralt sits Ciri down and starts passing the pancakes out. “Don’t you think you exaggerated?” Yennefer asks, serving Ciri a couple and placing another two on her own plate. There are in fact several pancakes on the plate still, but Geralt made them for Jaskier, knowing he’ll show up at some point.
Before he can open his mouth to tell her that though, a loud sound comes from the bedroom, followed by a groan. Jaskier has always been a bit clumsy when getting out of bed, mostly because he always manages to get himself tangled up with the sheets. Yennefer and Ciri startle at the sound and the first throws a dark look in his direction, but before Geralt can puzzle out what he did to earn himself Yennefer’s annoyance, Jaskier stumbles out of the room and into the kitchen.
“Oh, good morning,” the younger man greets, blushing a little when he notices they’re not alone. Jaskier detests sleepwear, claiming it’s bad enough he must be dressed during the day (regardless of his love for fashion) and so more often than not he sleeps with only his underwear which of course doesn’t bother Geralt but considering their present company--
Yeah, they’ll need to figure that out.
“Uncle Jask!” Ciri exclaims, delighted, forgoing breakfast in favor of throwing herself at her godfather's arms. Jaskier stumbles a little with her weight, but he recovers quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“Well, well, well,” Yennefer says, smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Good morning to you, Jaskier. What a lovely surprise to find you here.” She looks at Geralt, looking positively delighted. “Is this a recent development or have you been holding out on me, Geralt?”
Geralt frowns. “Recent,” he answers, honest. “It’s just been a week.”
“Ah,” Yennefer says, still smiling in that concerning way of hers. She seems entirely too happy at Jaskier’s presence and while she hadn’t minded him before, often including him in their family activities in fact, Geralt doesn’t understand why she seems so delighted at the fact that Jaskier is living temporarily with him.
But he does know better than to ask and so he busies himself with breakfast, ignoring the knowing looks Yennefer keeps throwing in his direction. As usual, Yennefer and Jaskier’s talk turns into bickering, both enjoying ribbing the other for some reason and Geralt is happy to ignore them in favor of talking to Ciri, who’s all too happy to have all his attention for herself, ranting over her week at school, her classmates, her teacher and her mountains and mountains of homework.
Through it all, Geralt smiles, feeling content.
Today’s been a great day so far.
Yennefer leaves shortly before midday, after reminding Ciri to behave and listen to her father. Ciri ignores them both in favour of playing with uncle Jask who’s an amazing tea party’s guest apparently, and they both roll their eyes fondly at her.
“We’ll be fine,” Geralt assures her once they’re standing at the door. “I won’t let them out of my sight.”
Yennefer hums, amusement dancing in her eyes. The thing is, Ciri adores Jaskier, mostly because he lets her get away with a lot, often indulging her in whatever crazy plan she comes up with and sometimes they can get a little carried away, landing themselves in trouble of some kind.
Geralt has always thought that Ciri’s penchant for mischief is mostly Jaskier’s fault. After all, he always was a magnet for trouble, never very worried about consequences because he knew Geralt would be there to save the day if needed.
That of course remains true, for both Jaskier and Ciri: if either gets in trouble, Geralt is always willing to help them sort it out.
“You do that,” Yennefer agrees, pating his shoulder compationatelly. She hesitates for a beat, as if thinking about something and Geralt frowns, confused, trying to remember if there’s something else they needed to discuss. Nothing comes up, no matter how hard he thinks about it and so-- “Listen Geralt, I-- I just wanted to say… I’m happy for you.” She says finally, very quickly, as if already regretting her words. Yennefer has never been the kind of person who talks about feelings or personal matters really. She’s efficient, only saying exactly what’s needed, not sharing her thoughts on most matters, not unless she thinks it’s strictly necessary.
Which of course just makes her statement much more puzzling. “Thank you?” Geralt offers, completely at lost of what he ought to say. What does that even mean?
Yennefer huffs. “I just meant-- It had a long time coming. And I’m glad it finally happened,” she seems to consider her next words, before nodding once to herself. “You deserve happiness.”
“Alright?” Geralt says, still completely at lost but figuring it’s better not to ask. One of the reasons why he and Yennefer worked so well (or maybe one of the reasons why they didn’t work out in the end) is because neither is a big fan of this communication business, relying on their mutual understanding of one another to avoid conflict. To ask what she means might only annoy her and the last thing he wants is to argue right now, so he lets the matter go.
Yennefer smiles at him once more, winking before turning around and leaving, still looking weirdy content. “Good luck!” she calls, half turning to him and giving him thumbs up for some reason. “You and Jaskier will be fine!”
Yes, they will but Geralt can’t help feeling like he’s missing something. Then again, this whole interaction was too weird for Geralt to try to make sense of that particular phrase.
He shrugs, deciding not to worry about it.
Communication is overrated, really.