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“Geralt,” Dandelion said slowly.
“Where’s your food?” Geralt looked at him strangely. Granted, it was an unusual occurrence for Dandelion not to immediately acquire food and ale upon reaching a tavern, but for once, he had a good reason.
“I’m not hungry, as it were,” the bard lied easily. “Ah- you see, Geralt I actually, well-”
“Not hungry?” Geralt frowned. “Are you ill?”
Dandelion wanted to put his head in his hands. Gods why do I have such an attentive friend, he thought to himself. It made sense though, biologically. Geralt was an alpha - he was entirely certain of it, everyone who got within a hundred feet of the Witcher could guess that. He was too big, too powerful, to be anything else. But he lacked the cruelty Dandelion had grown to expect from Alphas, which was the only reason he felt comfortable asking him for favors.
“I need a favor,” Dandelion said slowly. Geralt raised an eyebrow. His stomach churned uncomfortably. “I- there’s something I need to buy-”
“Broke again, poetaster?” teased the Witcher. He shook his head, almost scoldingly. “Don’t worry about it, Dandelion, I’ll buy your supper.”
“It’s not that,” he said awkwardly. “Its- it’s something else, as it were, Geralt. Something I really need, you see, it’s important to me-”
“What?” the Witcher asked around a mouthful of food.
Dandelion’s heart raced. “I- I’d really rather not say,” he confessed.
The Witcher seemed surprised, tilting his head and studying Dandelion for a long moment. His cat eyes always gave Dandelion the impression that he saw a bit too much, that perhaps he knew everything after all. Nonsense, thought the poet. If he knew I were an Omega he’d never let me travel with him.
But Geralt didn’t comment on Dandelion’s second gender or anything else. He didn’t even tease him further, as though he’d realized how important the situation was. “How much do you need?”
His stomach balled itself into knots. “Ah, ten orens?” It was, he was aware, a hell of a lot for a man who rarely had anything. But Dandelion only had five himself, because he’d had a sore throat and been unable to perform for nearly a week, and Geralt had just finished a contract which had paid sixty orens. So he knew the Witcher had it, even if he’d spent a few on his supper and their room for the night, but he still felt guilty asking for it. “I’ll pay you back, you know,” he mumbled.
“Ten?” Geralt seemed surprised, and for a moment, Dandelion was afraid he would refuse.
He’d never get enough without Geralt’s help, not before he ran out of suppressants, and then what? He’d go into heat, Geralt would know what he was, and- he wasn’t certain what Geralt would do if he went into heat. Which would be worse? If he fucks me or leaves me? I’m honestly not certain, but it would fuck it all up, and I’ve finally found a nice friend for once and it’s not fair-
No. He wasn’t going into heat. He wouldn’t allow it. He’d have to beg to get the coin. Geralt or anyone he could find. Or he could sell his ring, he liked it, but he wasn’t overly attached to it-
Geralt’s voice broke through his thoughts, “Dandelion, I said alright, here you are, poet, stop struggling with your thoughts, they’re evidently winning.”
Dandelion blinked. Ten orens were stacked on the table in front of him, clearly put there in the time he’d been panicking about begging. “Thank you,” he whispered. “This should- this is large help, Geralt.”
“Dandelion what-” he cut himself off and shook his head. “Never mind, I can tell you don’t wish to tell me, and that’s fine.”
“Thank you,” he said again, aware that he was repeating himself over and over. Fifteen might be enough, if he was lucky, although if he went to the market first and placed for a while he might get a bit more, which would allow him to buy a larger amount…
“Is this enough?”
Dandelion blinked, caught off guard again. He’d been tapping his fingers on the table, and studying the coins. “It will get me close, and I’d planned to play in the market, before I went shopping-”
“Dandelion,” the Witcher said firmly. “Do you have enough to buy what you need outright, this instant?”
He chewed his lip. “Ah, I’m not entirely certain, it’s- well, I don’t know exactly what it will cost, you see, and- it’s very close Geralt, I do know that-” the price of suppressants tended to vary wildly, depending on shortages, the time of year, and any other factors.
Geralt studied him, then did the last thing Dandelion expected. The Witcher pushed his coin pouch across the table. “Take this,” he said quietly. “Get what you need, and bring me whatever is left. Do you understand?”
Dandelion’s heart sped up. Gods, he thought. He knows. He must know, that’s the only reason he’d do this. What if- no he wouldn’t- but- He’s going to demand payment isn’t he? I haven’t got coin so he’ll take it out of my ass instead-
“Geralt, you don’t need to-”
“Dandelion, I don’t know what it is that you need, but I’d rather you get the coin from me than from someone who might demand repayment. I’d rather be out a few coins than have to save your ass from creditors.”
“I’ll pay you back,” Dandelion said quickly, but Geralt shook his head.
“You don’t need to,” the Witcher promised, returning to his meal. “Whatever it is that you need, I can tell it’s important, so don’t worry about it, poet.”
He paused, studying Geralt for a moment. Perhaps… perhaps he doesn’t actually know. Dandelion nodded. “Thank you, Geralt,” he whispered.
“Dandelion,” Geralt said quietly. “I don’t know where you’re going or what you’re buying, but tell me this: will you safe? I can come with you, if you like-”
“No Geralt,” he said quickly, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. Truly, truly, thank you.”
When he returned, Geralt took his coin pouch back without a word. He didn’t even look to see what was left or ask how much Dandelion had spent. Instead he only asked, “Did you have enough?”
“Yes, Geralt,” he said. “Thank you. Truly.”
He’d planned to go without supper, having spent all of his coin (and, unfortunately, a lot of Geralt’s), but the Witcher surprised him, saying, “Come on poet, I promised to buy you supper, after all.”