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Jaskier was starting to get worn down. He’d been travelling with Geralt for over a decade and he’d always enjoyed their adventures. It wasn’t every year, sometimes he wouldn’t see the witcher for a few years at a time but the last three years they’d met up like clockwork just outside Oxenfurt.
Only this year Geralt had really left his manners behind at Kaer Morhen. He’d been unbearable. Jaskier couldn’t even order them both a drink without Geralt grumbling about coin or quality or the fact he could order his own damn drink. Jaskier had ‘accidentally’ knocked Geralt’s mead all over the witcher’s lap after that one.
Tonight Geralt was taking umbrage with the way Jaskier had set up the camp whilst he’d been hunting. Despite the fact they’d had this routine for the best part of ten years, Geralt had suddenly decided that Jaskier knew shit all about camping.
“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier!” The witcher spat, baring his fangs in a way that should have terrified Jaskier but in all honesty he found it a little bit sexy.
“Oh what have I done now? Forget to angle the shelter towards the dying moonlight? Use four logs instead of three? Perhaps I forgot to pray to the forest spirits for their blessing?” Jaskier put his hands on his hips.
Geralt’s mouth snapped closed and he practically growled at Jaskier which just made him go weak at the knees.
“Shut up.”
“That’s what I thought. Now stop your grumbling and let’s eat.” Jaskier rolled his eyes and perched on the log next to Geralt.
Their legs brushed together as he shuffled trying to get comfortable. There was a twig prodding him in the arse and it was fucking annoying. Geralt snarled and jumped up, glaring fiercely down at Jaskier.
“Don’t touch me.”
Jaskier sighed and pressed his fingers to his forehead, a bad habit that he’d picked up from Geralt. “It was an accident, my dear.”
“And stop calling me that!”
Jaskier flinched. He knew he had a tendency to overuse pet names. He always had but Geralt had never minded before. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, running through his favourite nursery rhyme in his head. “Fine.” He said calmly. “Just. Fine.”
He stood up and brushed the dirt from his trousers. Geralt refused to look at him, stubbornly glaring into the fireplace.
“I’m going for a walk.” Jaskier muttered. “I’ll take the crossbow if you don’t mind. It’s dark and I’d rather not get killed.”
Geralt just grunted so Jaskier pulled the bow and a handful of bolts from Roach’s saddlebags and headed out into the trees. “Stupid, idiotic witcher,” He grumbled as he kicked a stick. “Thinks he’s so great. ‘Ooh I’m Geralt of Rivia and I’m a scary monster. I don’t need anyone and the last thing I want is someone needing me’” He lowered his voice for the last bit, imitating Geralt’s gruff voice.
He looked up at the stars shining through the trees. “Except he sort of does need someone.”
He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh then ran a finger along the bow string. It wasn’t as comforting as the strings on his lute but he made do. “He needs me. I’m the only fucking friend he has. I didn’t need to set up camp. I didn’t even have to travel with him this year but he found me! I wasn’t exactly going to say no, the bloody git.”
The more he thought about it, the more it angered him. Why was Geralt being such a cock about it when he was the one that had asked Jaskier along this year? It wasn’t as if Jaskier had clung on to him. Those days were long since past.
Fucking bastard.
He stormed back to camp with a bolt in his hand. He wasn’t going to fire it at Geralt, he wasn’t that mad, but he thought waving it about might help make his point. He tripped over a hidden tree root as he neared the clearing and almost stabbed himself in the thigh with the bolt.
“Oh cock!” He cursed and he fell through the trees. He grumbled and carried on, ready to let rip at Geralt.
Geralt was too busy talking to Roach to notice Jaskier’s approach. Jaskier took a deep breath and raised his arms, ready for battle.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Geralt muttered as he stroked Roach’s neck. Jaskier froze and narrowed his eyes at the pair of them. “Yes. I shouldn’t have shouted.”
“Too right.” Jaskier muttered under his breath.
“Stop it, Roach.” The horse butted the witcher’s face. “I’m just.” Geralt cut him self off with a sigh. “I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want him to realise that I don’t deserve his company.”
Jaskier covered his mouth to prevent himself from squeaking too loudly.
“It’s better if I make him leave. At least I can control that.” Geralt pressed his face into Roach’s mane.
“Fuck that!” Jaskier announced. “I don’t want to leave you, Geralt!”
Geralt spun round, his face redder than the fire. “Fuck. I didn’t mean. I thought.”
“You weren’t bloody thinking!” Jaskier put both hands on his hips. “It’s my choice, Geralt. Not yours!”
“Jaskier.”
“No, witcher. My choice.” He sat down right in the middle of the camp. “I. Am. Staying.”
“But—”
“Just stop yelling at me.” He sighed and finally smiled sheepishly up at Geralt. “Please.”
Geralt chuckled and sat down opposite Jaskier so their knees bumped together. “I’ll try. I’m sorry.”
Jaskier reached out and patted Geralt’s knee. “You’re my best friend and I love you. Just. Just let me stay with you.”
Geralt covered Jaskier’s hand with his and nodded with a warm smile. “You can stay.”
Jaskier heard what Geralt didn’t say.
I want you to stay.