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For the first year he knew Geralt, the Witcher spent every bit of his spare coin on him. Food, drinks, inns, even a bottle of perfume that he knew Dandelion liked.
He didn’t go north that winter, which Dandelion would later realize was an anomaly, instead going south, into the far less populated regions of the continent where monsters - and coin - were more plentiful.
Dandelion loved every moment of it. Geralt was perhaps the best traveling companion - nay, friend - he’d ever had. The man was kind, funny, thoughtful, and good for conversations. The fact that he was a Witcher, and therefore capable of protecting Dandelion from monsters and cuckolded spouses was merely an added bonus.
There was only one problem.
Geralt kept giving him things.
It had started out innocently at first, Geralt giving him a bag of hard candies that he claimed he’d been given by the woman he’d gotten a contract from. Then he’d started paying for Dandelion’s food when they stopped in inns, and then insisting on being the one to pay for their room, even though Dandelion thought they ought to share the cost.
Perhaps it’s a Witcher thing, he’d reasoned to himself.
Besides which, Geralt was insistent that he was only giving Dandelion extra things - or that (like the rooms at inns) it was things he would have bought even if he were alone.
Then Geralt’s leather jacket had worn out, no longer good enough to keep him warm from the winter chill. He’d managed to find a well paying contract, which Dandelion assumed he would use to fund a new jacket.
He’d been wrong.
When Geralt returned from his contract with a fur lined cloak which he put around Dandelion’s shoulders, the bard knew he had to put his foot down.
He just wasn’t certain how to do it without upsetting Geralt.
“Geralt,” he said softly. “What about your jacket, my friend? Oughtn’t you replace that?”
“I could hear your teeth chattering on the road,” said the Witcher.
Dandelion had been cold - who wouldn’t be in that weather - but he was also perfectly capable of buying his own cloak, he’d simply chosen not to because why should he when he had a warm blanket? He could just wrap up in that while they rode.
He chewed at his lip as Geralt crossed their rented room, kneeling by the fire and holding out his hands to warm them.
He needs gloves as well, Dandelion decided. Gloves and a new jacket so he doesn’t freeze in this dratted weather.
But he still couldn’t decide how to best approach the matter in words - a predicament he wasn’t used to. Instead, he decided to use actions, since that seemed to be more Geralt’s style.
Before they left town Dandelion stopped by a tailor and purchased a fine set of leather gloves. He’d have bought a jacket, but he didn’t know Geralt’s measurements.
When he offered them to Geralt as he finished checking their tack (something he insisted on, even though Dandelion was capable of doing his own), the Witcher only stared at him.
“Your gloves wore out a week ago,” Dandelion said cheerfully, pressing the gift into Geralt’s hand and closing his fingers around them. “As you bought me a cloak, I thought it only fair to return the favor.”
Geralt stared at him blankly, then looked down at the gloves. “This isn’t- you don’t have to- this isn’t reciprocal.”
Dandelion tilted his head. “You gave me gifts, Geralt. So I gave you some in return. Isn’t that how it works?”
The Witcher seemed as confused as Dandelion felt. “They’re not… gifts.”
“Then what are they?”
Tilting his head, Geralt pushed the gloves toward Dandelion. “No one spends time with Witchers if they aren’t paid,” he said bitterly.
Dandelion squeaked loudly, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Oh you stupid git,” snapped the poet. “No amount of gifts would get me out in this fucking weather unless I wanted to be.”
Geralt only stared at him.
“Geralt, my friend- we are friends, you understand that, don’t you?” Dandelion opened Roach’s saddlebag and put the gloves inside, then turned back at stare at Geralt, resisting the urge to pull at his hair.
“I- you said that.”
Dandelion groaned. “Geralt, I swear- if this is one of your stupid ‘everyone can’t stand Witchers’ things-”
“It’s true-”
“Well, I can!” As much as it offended him that Geralt had thought he needed to be paid, he could honestly understand where it was coming from. It seemed that no one had ever treated Geralt as an equal, leaving him second guessing every scrap of affection he was shown. “In fact I’ve decided that I rather like Witchers, you in particular, so don’t you dare think of paying me for my time. I’m not a whore, Geralt.”
“I know, Dandelion,” the Witcher said quickly, but he seemed to have finally started to understand.
Dandelion leaned into the comparison. “Geralt, I understand, I truly do, you’ve not had many friends before, but listen here, if you pay people for their time they’ll think that you think little of them? Do you understand?”
“I do, Dandelion,” he said slowly. “I didn’t mean it in that way, I merely thought-”
“I know what you thought Geralt,” Dandelion said softly. “But I’m not planning to leave you just yet. And even when I do- because I don’t intend to travel forever, you know- we’ll still be friends, and I’ll travel with you again.”
The Witcher studied him, then smiled. “Thank you, Dandelion.”
“Excellent,” said the poet. “Now put on those gloves and let’s get moving before I do freeze.”