Archive of Our Own

Jaskier drove into Morhen, a small market town in the height of the Cotswolds, three weeks earlier than planned and minus his fiancé. He didn’t actually have a fiancé anymore. It made Jaskier sad, but it also made him feel a little bit free. Something he was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to feel if you were in fact madly in love with someone. But he had loved Valdo, it had just not been as all consuming as he knew it could be.

He turned the car into his parent’s cul-de-sac. The semi-detached houses hadn’t changed much in the ten years he’d been away, a few had new fences, one or two had a new shed. Ten years...that was crazy to think about. Jaskier hadn’t meant for it to be that long, everything had been such a whirlwind of recording and touring, he’d barely stopped. Of course he had seen his parents during that time, they’d just visited him in London. But now, he was home. He wasn’t nervous, per say, but something still twisted in his stomach as he parked outside of the house he’d grown up in. After taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the car.

His mother saw him entering the garden through the kitchen window. Her face lit up, mouth pulling into a smile that he’d inherited from her. She dropped the pan she was holding, Jaskier laughed at the spray of bubbles that hit her chest as she pulled off her washing up gloves and rushed to the front door.

“Julian!” She exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug as soon as he was in reach.

“Mum,” he sighed, leaning down into the embrace. It was nice, considering how he was feeling.

“I’ve got your dinner on a plate for you,” she informed him, pulling back and ushering him inside. “It’s only spag bol.”

“That sounds delicious.” He’d missed his mother’s cooking. The room was incredibly warm after the cold outside and he shed his coat, hat and gloves while his mother placed a full plate in the microwave for him.

“Son!”

At his father's voice Jaskier turned, grinning at the image of himself from the nose up, the only differences were the defined crows feet and grey in his father’s brown hair. If he looked half as good as his father at fifty-seven Jaskier would be more than happy. Whereas his mother’s hug was soft, his father’s was brusque and hard but no less warm.

“It’s good to see you!” He smiled, slapping Jaskier on the back before releasing him.

His mother pushed him towards the kitchen table and Jaskier sat willingly. A steaming plate of spaghetti bolognese was placed down in front of him with a knife and fork. It smelt amazing. His mother sat down to his left and his father to his right and it settled something inside of him. There really was no place like home.

Jaskier knew he couldn’t avoid Geralt forever, for two reasons. The first being that his parents lived next door to Geralt’s parents, the semi-detached properties even shared a driveway. The second being that every year Jaskier’s mother hosted a party on Christmas Eve and Geralt and his family were always invited. So it was unavoidable. However Jaskier had still hoped he’d make it more than three days before running into him but things were apparently working against him.

As he walked up one of the many rows of Christmas trees at the local gardening center with his parents, he spotted Geralt walking down it. And not only Geralt, also his mother and father, Nenneke and Vesemir and his daughter, Ciri, who he recognised and knew was six because he’d never deleted Geralt on Facebook. Father and daughter had the same white blonde hair, impossible to miss amongst the greenery, although truthfully, Geralt was just impossible to miss.

A few moments after he’d spotted them but before he could find a reason to turn his family around, his mother noticed her neighbour and friend. “Nen!” She shouted up the row, making Jaskier want to bury his head in his hands. “I thought you went tree shopping during the week?”

“Hey Sonya, Ciri wanted to help pick,” Nenneke smiled, trying to pat her granddaughter's head but Ciri ducked out the way.

What followed was possibly one of the most awkward half hours in Jaskier’s life. After greeting Nenneke and Vesemir, being introduced to Ciri and saying an incredibly forced hello to Geralt, hugging him stiffly at both of their mother’s expectant looks, they all trekked into the garden center for a coffee in the cafe. Somehow Jaskier ended up next to Geralt, who kept glancing at him and looking like he was going to say something, looking at their parents and his daughter and then seemingly thinking better of it and leaning back in his chair. After the third time Jaskier began ignoring him and paid attention to Ciri instead.

She happily told him about all of the sea creature facts she’d learnt from the kids encyclopaedia she’d gotten for her birthday while doing one of those free colouring sets most places provided to try and keep anyone under the age of ten quiet.

“The lines,” she’d told him very seriously, “are just guides. Real art only happens if you draw outside of them!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, my Mummy said so,” she’d chirped before resuming her recitation of everything she knew about clownfish. Which was a lot. Far more than Jaskier himself knew.

And all throughout he was hyper aware of Geralt. At one point the man accidentally brushed Jaskier’s knee with his own, blushed furiously and grunted an apology. Jaskier didn’t know whether to be charmed or to shout at him.

Of course their parents went on as if everything was fine. As if they were still best friends and all of them meeting for coffee was a regular occurrence. He couldn’t decide whether they were doing it on purpose or not. His mother had asked a few times over the years why he and Geralt had stopped speaking to one another, never happy with the way he always avoided the subject.

“What are you doing here?” Geralt ground out halfway through Jaskier’s explanation to Ciri of why he likes to call crabs ‘snip snaps’.

Jaskier threw him a look and finished talking to Ciri, only then straightening up to give Geralt his full attention. He could just give some mumbled half truth about wanting to spend the holiday with his parents but Geralt didn’t deserve the nice pretty half truth. “My fiancé broke up with me.”

“Why?”

“That’s a very personal question.” He was aware their parents had fallen silent too. Ciri, thankfully, coloured on, not giving two shits about what the adults were doing. Geralt at least had the good graces to look bashful but Jaskier wasn’t going to let him off quite so easily.

“I’d served my purpose,” he shrugged, trying to act like it didn’t bother him. It did, of course it did, he may feel free but that didn’t make him okay with being used. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve rather made a name for myself in the music industry. Dear Valdo had a great time capitalising off that but I suppose eventually decided I’d taken him as far as I could.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt mumbled, not looking him in the eye.

“I’ll get over it.” The I got over you went unsaid but was very much implied. After a brief, horrendous pause their parents started up a conversation about something apparently scandalous that has happened in the cul-de-sac. Jaskier half listened, sipping on his terrible latte and trying not to grimace at the way it was simultaneously too sweet and too bitter.

“This coffee is awful,” Geralt grumbled, putting his cup back onto the table with a tad more force than necessary.

“Isn’t it! I think that last time I had coffee this awful was the first time you tried to make it with that horrid instant stuff,” he recalled, the memory presenting itself crystal clear at the forefront of his mind.

“In my defence, I had no idea what I was doing,” Geralt said.

“Still, a tablespoon of coffee! I almost gagged, in fact I think I did gag.”

“You did,” he snorted.

They smiled at each other and then Jaskier realised what he was doing and turned away, forcing himself to have another sip of the god awful coffee.

The sound system started playing a Christmas song he’d recorded and released a few years earlier. It was a catchy song, very festive, but not something he wanted to hear in a garden centre while sitting next to whatever the hell Geralt was to him. And he was enjoying getting to be normal and hearing himself singing was kinda cutting into that. So as a distraction he did possibly the worst thing he could and asked Geralt, “How’s Yennefer?”

Geralt gave him a particularly unimpressed look out of the corner of his eye and then heaved a sigh. “She’s okay. She’s in Switzerland at the moment..”

Through an incredible amount of social media stalking that Jaskier wasn’t proud of and by asking his mother some very nonchalant questions he knew the whole melodrama that was Geralt and Yennefer. The whirlwind romance, the summer wedding, which Jaskier’d been invited too but hadn’t been able to face, the stories of finding a surrogate for the pregnancy, the couple of years of parenting before Yennefer realised she didn’t actually like small town life and wanted to continue being the badass environmental lawyer she was, not something you could really do from a tiny town in Gloucestershire, trying to do long distance, that failing somewhat spectacularly and the subsequent divorce. He knew Geralt and Yennefer were friends and could co-parent for Ciri’s sake, again thanks to secondhand information from his mother, but Jaskier had always wondered just how Geralt really felt with the whole thing.

Jaskier wanted to ask all manner of questions about it but knew it really wasn’t any of his business. Just because Geralt had put his foot in it earlier didn’t mean that Jaskier was going to trade blows with him for it. He was an adult, or at least he tried to be.

“Have you been seeing anyone else?” He asked because apparently he hated himself. Not that he was bothered, Geralt could of course do whatever he wanted, Jaskier was just making polite conversation, or was trying to. He really hated small talk though.

“I’ve been too busy making sure this one grows up to be a functioning human being,” he said, reaching out and stroking a hand through Ciri’s hair. She didn’t duck out of the way of his touch. Looking at his daughter, Geralt’s face totally changed, his eyes softened, his jaw relaxed and his mouth turned up at the corners. It was incredibly clear that Geralt loved his little girl with his entire being.

Seeing Geralt soften in such a way did something funny to Jaskier’s stomach, which was not very helpful because Jaskier was over Geralt. Totally and completely, one hundred percent, never considering that again, over Geralt.

“I don’t think you ever actually told me exactly what happened with Geralt,” Priscilla said, Jaskier could hear her frown in the tone of her voice through his phone's speaker.

He was in his room, well it had been his room, but after he’d had all of his possessions shipped to London, his parents had turned it into a guest bedroom complete with generic cream walls and floral duvet covers. It was now far nicer than he’d ever kept it as a teenager.

Jaskier thought for a moment before saying, “You know, I think you’re right.” The incident with Geralt had still been horrendously fresh when he’d met Priscilla. Even at his most drunken, Jaskier had never been able to get the full story out.

“I usually am,” she agreed.

“He did me dirty,” Jaskier sighed, flopping down onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. “We lived next door to each other, and had been best friends since nursery. I reckon I’d been in love with him for ages but I actually realised it when I was maybe fifteen,” Jaskier explained. “Like it was a bit shit at times because he was straight but I figured I’d get over him eventually. Fast forward a few years to the summer after we finished school. We’d been out for a few drinks one evening, I can’t remember why, we’d only had maybe two pints each. We were saying goodbye at the gate like normal and he kissed me! It was a good kiss too.”

Jaskier paused for a minute, sitting up and staring out of the window at the bare gardens below. “Ended up back in my kitchen. I sucked him off like the absolute champion I am and then he gave me a hand job, kissed me goodbye and went home.”

“Oh no.”

“Suffice to say, eighteen year me was ecstatic. I went round the next day and Geralt was acting normally, it didn’t phase me over much, his parents were around so I thought he wasn’t ready to share it with them, which was fine. But then they went out to walk the dog and I foolishly tried to hold his hand.”

“Oh no.”

“He wasted no time telling me that he wasn’t gay, and that I could keep my hands to myself because even if he did like men, he would never be with me.”

“Bastard!”

“Yeah. I mean, now, I can look back on it and recognise that he was just discovering his sexuality and was scared and probably kind of confused but it was still really shit.”

“What did you do?” Priscilla asked gently.

“I went back home, it’s not like it was far to go. I wasn’t particularly fond of myself back then but I still knew the whole situation was fucked and that it wasn’t okay for him to treat me like that, especially after so many years of friendship. I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since, and then there he was in the bloody garden center.”

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“It’s made me remember how much I miss him,” Jaskier admitted, pulling a face. “Is it silly to miss him, considering?”

“Maybe. I think it depends on how much it still bothers you.”

“It does and it doesn’t. I don’t know. I just…don’t know,” he sighed, lying back down on his bed. “Enough about this mess, how was your latest date with Renfri?”

It was late, his parents were in bed but Jaskier was still up watching television. Snow had been forecast but Jaskier hadn’t really believed it would until he caught sight of white flakes drifting slowly past the living room windows. Having not experienced snow in years, he shoved on a pair of boots, donned a coat and hat and let himself out through the French doors, stepping out onto the back deck, the outside light clicking on at the movement. It was bitterly cold, and Jaskier blew on his fingers before shoving them in his pockets.

The snow wasn’t sticking, melting as soon as it touched the ground but it was still mesmerising to watch. Jaskier shuffled from foot to foot, he was already quite relaxed but a sense of deep calm settled over him as he leaned against the railing at the end of the deck. He lost himself for a little while, letting his mind empty.

The back door of Nenneke and Vesemir’s house opened, drawing Jaskier back to the present. He turned and watched two dogs trot warily out into their back garden, separated from Jaskier’s parents by a low fence. Vesemir’s little Jack Russell, Joy, was followed by a fawn whippet Jaskier didn’t recognise, although the mystery was soon solved when Geralt stepped out after them. Hardly the person Jaskier wanted to see.

“Evening,” Geralt grunted, pulling his coat tight around him, eyes on the dogs sniffing around the garden.

A part of Jaskier wanted to retreat back indoors but a larger part of him thought fuck doing that. It was his family home, he wasn’t going to be moved from his own garden just because Geralt had shown his face. He would not be the first to go back inside.

“You alright?” Jaskier asked, taking in his profile. Straight nose, proud brows, high cheekbones, strong jaw, just the same as it had been when they were teenagers, albeit with more facial hair.

“Yeah, you?”

“Fine.” There was a beat of silence and then Jaskier asked, “Have you been up to much today?”

“Work and then Ciri was adamant she wanted to help her Grandma and Grandi with dressing their Christmas tree so we came over, did that. Now they’re all asleep and I’m here.”

“Right.” Jaskier didn’t really know what to say.

“You?”

“Oh you know, watched television, scribbled some lyrics down, did a short interview over the phone.”

“Was it with anyone decent?”

“Pardon?”

“The interview?”

“Just something with the BBC.”

“Oh, right.”

It was so painfully awkward, Jaskier wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The sensible part of him knew that he could just go back inside and it would all be over but the far more contrary part of him didn’t want to give in under any circumstances even if he’d look back on this conversation for years to come and cringe.

They both stood in silence. A few questions sat on the back of Jaskier’s tongue but he held them back, not sure if he had permission to ask them just before midnight on a Saturday while it was snowing. They weren’t particularly invasive questions but still, that didn’t mean he was going to ask. In fact he’d rather-

“Do you want a cup of tea?”

“What?” Jaskier asked, pulling a bit of a face, the question was just so unexpected.

“Tea? Do you want a cup? There’s decaf, my mother is very hard on no caffeine after three.”

Jaskier stared at him for a moment, just blinking and really taking a moment to process what Geralt had asked. It was possibly the last thing he thought Geralt was going to ask, up there with dedicating his next album to him and asking for his hand in marriage. He was going to say no to the tea, firmly and unequivocally, but there appeared to be a disconnect between his brain and his mouth because the stupid traitor said, “Okay.”

The next thing Jaskier knew, he found himself hopping over the dividing fence, saying hello to the dogs and then following Geralt inside. The living room looked like Christmas had exploded. Hanging garlands of different patterns and colours were strung across the ceilings and windows, the tree was covered in tinsel, lights and a variety of baubles, bought and homemade. More tinsel hung from the picture frames lining the walls, the cushion covers were festive and the dog bed in the corner had a snowflake covered blanket on it. The effect was quite something, especially compared to Jaskier’s parent’s red and gold themed tree, which was also the only decoration in their house.

The dogs curled up in the bed, settling down quickly. “What’s the whippet called?” Jaskier asked as he followed Geralt through to the kitchen. That room was also not exempt from the Christmas treatment, with the cupboard doors dressed to look like presents and even more hanging garlands.

“Roach,” Geralt answered as he filled the kettle.

“Why?” He frowned, seating himself at the table.

“After the fish, not the bug.”

“That doesn’t actually explain it or make it better,” Jaskier snorted.

“I just like it,” Geralt shrugged, leaning against the bench, “it suits her.”

Jaskier didn’t tell him he thought it was stupid but he did think it. Wanting to move away from Geralt’s questionable choices of dog name and feeling less inhibited then he had out on the patio, he’d just been asked in for tea so a whole new level of questions had been opened up for him, Jaskier asked, “So what do you do? I remember you wanted to join the marines but you’re clearly not in the marines…”

“You know when I had corrective surgery on my eyes?”

“When you were nine,” Jaskier nodded.

“They didn’t like that so I failed on medical grounds.”

“That’s really shit.”

The kettle boiled and Geralt busied himself making them tea while saying, “I don’t really care, if they’d let me in I likely wouldn’t have had Ciri and I prefer having her.”

“Good.”

“But to answer your question. I run a cafe on the high street.”

“That’s really cool.”

“I like it a lot,” Geralt nodded, “how about you? I know what you do but do you like it?”

“It’s phenomenal, better than I ever could have dreamed. It has its downsides sometimes, most things do, but for the most part I wouldn’t change it for anything.” A cup of tea was put down in front of him so he tacked on a, “Thanks.”

They fell into a less than comfortable silence. Jaskier shifted in his seat and wrapped his fingers around the cup.

“How-”

“I w-”

“You go,” Jaskier said firmly.

“I want to apologise for how I treated you after we were...intimate. The things I said to you were horrible and completely unfair. You were amazing and I was a bastard and I’ve regretted it ever since. From the bottom of my heart, Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt for a moment. Unsure if that had actually just happened or if he was hallucinating, or dreaming, maybe he’d fallen asleep on the sofa without realising it. He let one of his hands slip beneath the table and discreetly pinched his thigh. It hurt and he didn’t wake up.

Geralt seemed sincere, patiently waiting for an answer with a resigned expression on his face. He didn’t think Jaskier would forgive him. Jaskier had imagined this happening many times over the years but he’d never actually thought it would happen. Despite knowing he was awake the whole thing had an edge of surealty to it. He dithered on the fence for a moment, unsure of where he was going to fall. To delay while he continued to think, Jaskier raised the cup to his lips and took a sip.

It was perfect, just the right strength, with just the right amount of milk, and no sugar. Jaskier hadn’t thought Geralt would remember, the fact he did warmed Jaskier’s heart more than he wanted it too and ultimately helped him make his decision.

“I accept your apology,” Jaskier said, holding his cup with both hands again to hide the shaking, “and I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Geralt exhaled, slumping down slightly in relief.

“Whatever you were trying to work out at the time, did it help?” He was curious, sue him.

“Oh, erm,” Geralt laughed, an edge of nervousness to it as his cheeks coloured, “yes. I’m incredibly bisexual.”

“Well despite what happened, I’m very flattered to have been part of your sexual awakening,” Jaskier smirked, winking. He really was flattered, oddly, teenage him would have been crowing to know such a thing. Adult him was crowing quite a bit too, on the inside.

Geralt’s blush deepened, Jaskier wasn’t particularly sure why but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was a pretty look on him.

“So what’s his cafe like?” Priscilla asked. She was shopping, in the background Jaskier could hear the hustle and bustle of many people.

“Nicer than I thought it was going to be,” Jaskier admitted, flicking the kettle on. He was in the kitchen. His parents were still at work so Jaskier was mooching around the house not really doing much. When Priscilla had messaged asking if he was free, he’d jumped at the chance to chat to his friend and while away some time. “I was imagining a greasy spoon but it’s an artisanal place, full of plants, really light and open and the food was amazing. Geralt came out to serve our food and say hello too, which was really nice.”

Jaskier had had a croque monsieur and a slice of blackberry tart that was so delicious he was sure he’d remember it for the rest of his life. The pastry had been so thin and crisp and buttery, the blackberries sweet but with a wonderful sharp edge to them. Before he and his mother had left he’d made sure to tell Geralt, who had been transferring freshly baked individual lemon tarts into the counter, an endearing smudge of flour on his cheek, hair tied back in a loose bun, how mind blowingly tasty it was.

“You’re sounding particularly fond,” Priscilla remarked.

“What do you mean?” He didn’t think he sounded fond and he didn’t feel particularly fond. Jaskier just felt like he used to feel around Geralt, warm and safe and ready to laugh at any moment.

“Just you know, last week I got the impression that you wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire and now you sound fond.”

“Well he apologised didn’t he,” Jaskier said, pouring the freshly boiled water into his cup and stirring, watching the tea leach from the bag, quickly turning the water a satisfying dark brown. He left the spoon balanced on the top of the cup while it steeped.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm what?”

“Nothing, I just find it interesting and don’t want you doing something foolish.”

“Such as?”

“Like falling in love with him all over again.”

“Don’t be daft,” Jaskier snorted, fishing out the tea bag and walking it over to the bin. It landed with a satisfying splat at the bottom. “We’re just friends and I just got out of a relationship. The only kind of falling I’m going to be doing is if I slip on some ice.”

Jaskier was in bed scrolling through his Twitter feed when a message popped up at the top of the screen.

From Geralt: If you’re still up and about, I’m trying some new recipes so there’s free baked goods on offer if you fancy.

Underneath the message was a picture of a kitchen island that contained two batches of cupcakes, only one of which was iced, a batch of scones and a tray of cookies. It had just gone eleven and Jaskier had been in bed over an hour but baked goods were baked goods and it would be nice to hang out with Geralt. He sent off a text asking for an address and then climbed back out of bed again. After throwing on a comfy pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie, Jaskier stuffed his feet into his boots, grabbed his car keys and crept out of the house.

Thankfully Geralt replied as he was slipping behind the wheel and after setting up his satnav, Jaskier was off. Geralt lived on the other side of town but it wasn’t a big town and five minutes later he was attempting the parallel park down the street Geralt’s terraced house. Parking took longer than the drive over, he was intensely glad it was late and dark so no one could witness his shame.

Jaskier sent Geralt a text to let him know he had arrived as he walked up the street, thinking that the man wouldn’t appreciate it if he woke Ciri up by knocking on the door. Sure enough, as he ascended the steps up to the front door, it opened, revealing Geralt. Something flipped in Jaskier’s stomach, he really hoped he wasn’t getting sick, he was looking forward to gorging himself on cakes and he didn’t want it to go to waste.

“Evening,” Geralt said, closing the door behind Jaskier. The same word but completely different to the way Geralt had greeted him in their parent’s gardens. A lot had changed in such a short period of time and Jaskier found he really liked it, having gotten Geralt back he could finally appreciate the hole his absence had left in its wake.

“Hey,” Jaskier smiled, toeing off his boots. “I’m so glad you texted.”

“Well I need your opinion on something.” That was vague but Jaskier still followed Geralt down the tiled hallway and into the kitchen at the end. It was a wonderful space, brightly lit and made all the lighter by the white cupboards and walls, the dark wooden floor and bench tops, coupled with chrome fixtures balancing the space perfectly. The room smelt absolutely heavenly. Roach the whippet lay curled up in a fluffy bed in the corner, she opened one eye and watched Jaskier enter the room before closing it again.

The center island also doubled as a breakfast bar and Geralt pulled out a stool for Jaskier. He took the seat with a quiet thanks. Whereas only one batch of cakes had been iced in the photo, now both batches were, the sight of them made Jaskier’s mouth water.

“I want you to taste this and tell me what you think,” Geralt said, leaning against the bench, fixing Jaskier with one of his intense stares and pushing a small plate towards him, upon which sat a buttered scone.

Feeling ever so slightly self conscious, Jaskier picked up the top of the scone and took a tentative bite. Which was shortly followed by a not so tentative bite. The taste of sundried tomatoes, basil and cheddar cheese exploded on his tongue, delicious and wonderfully familiar.

After swallowing down the savoury morsel, Jaskier said, heart in his throat, “It tastes just like your grandmas.”

Geralt sighed with relief, his shoulders sagging slightly before he smiled weakly at Jaskier. “Good. She left me her recipe book but I’ve only just been able to make myself open it. I don’t usually stay up this late but I got a little carried away.” He gestured to the island.

“It’s really good,” Jaskier reiterated, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. How many afternoons had they spent together in that wonderful woman’s house, whiling away the hours after school doing homework, playing video games on her ancient television, out in the garden or doing jobs for her. Mary had always had a smile and hug for him, and her cake tin had always been filled with goodies. He had another bite to distract himself, guilt pressing against his chest.

“These are all her recipes, I thought I’d include them on the cafe’s spring menu.”

“That’s a great idea,” Jaskier said around his mouthful. The guilt quickly became too much for him and blurted, “I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral, Geralt.”

Geralt’s eyes saddened as he shrugged, “I can’t blame you, we weren’t on speaking terms and you were on tour in Australia.”

“Still I should have-”

“Should have what? I was a wreck, and to be honest the last thing I needed was you turning up.”

“Yeah that’s fair,” Jaskier sighed.

They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to Roach gently snore and then Geralt cracked a weak smile and snorted a laugh. “Remember her super secret brownie recipe?”

“Yes.” Jaskier would never forget those brownies, soft and gooey and full of chocolate chips.

“They were Sainsbury’s packet mix.”

“No?!” Jaskier gasped, genuinely gobsmacked.

“Yes! I was just as shocked.”

“How did you find out?”

“It was scribbled at the bottom of an actual brownie recipe in her book. Word for word it said, ‘sod this, use the Sainsbury’s stuff, it’s nicer.’” he quoted, weak smile turning into a grin.

“What a legend,” Jaskier laughed. His stomach flipped again and he wondered if the salmon he and his parents had had for tea that night had been cooked properly.

Jaskier’s parents didn’t particularly fancy the Christmas stalls that had been set up in the marketplace as they were the same every year. Having not been home in years, Jaskier really wanted to go, so not really liking his chances but thinking there was no harm in asking, sent a text to Gerlt asking if he wanted to join. And after making sure Jaskier would be okay if Ciri joined them, he said yes. Considering Ciri was definitely the most interesting of the three of them, Jaskier didn’t mind at all.

Bundled up against the cold, Jaskier met them underneath the frankly ridiculously large, lit Christmas bauble that marked the entrance to the market. He quickly hugged Geralt and very seriously shook Ciri's hand and then they were off, wandering the stalls and perusing the merchandise on offer. Ciri wanted to look at everything and, much to Jaskier’s amusement, was particularly annoyed that her father kept making her hold his hand. However after being bribed with the promise of fresh donuts from one of the food stalls at the end of their wander, she quickly got over any issue she had with it.

Ciri asked lots of questions, sometimes she was impressed by the adult’s answers and sometimes she wasn’t. Jaskier eventually worked out there was sort of a pattern, whereby if the answer involved an animal, she found it far more interesting than if it didn’t, doubly so if it involved a marine animal. He respected her for that. When she wasn’t bombarding them with questions, Jaskier and Geralt talked about life and the twists and turns it had taken them on over their years apart.

It wasn’t too late, not even half past ten, Jaskier had popped round to Geralt’s for a quick cup of tea after he’d put Ciri to bed at eight but had stayed for longer than he’d intended. That was alright. He liked spending time with Geralt, they’d been best friends as children because of far more than convenience. There was an understanding between them that Jaskier had never quite been able to find in another person and finally able to experience such a bond again, he was loath to deny himself any opportunity to enjoy it.

So he happily found himself in Geralt’s sitting room, stretched out on the smaller of his two, very comfy navy blue sofas, cosy under a soft blanket. Geralt was sitting on the other, his feet resting on the low coffee table that sat in the middle of the room, slumped back and relaxed, looking at Jaskier through half lidded eyes. Roach lay in front of the fire, one of those electric ones made to look like a real one. An overflowing box of Ciri’s toys sat under the window, overflowing being the loose way of saying they were all over the place. Much like Geralt’s parents house, Christmas seemed to have exploded in the room, tinsel and and garlands covering most of the free surfaces and ceiling, and a tall artificial tree dominated one corner of the room. Jaskier felt very comfortable in that room, far more comfortable than he thought he should be.

“And then what did you say?” Jaskier asked, clinging onto every word of Geralt's story about a rude customer he’d dealt with earlier in the day.

“I said-”

A high, terrified scream sounded from upstairs, stopping Jaskier’s heart and pinning him to the sofa. He stared at Geralt, who was looking into the fire with a pinched expression.

“She has night terrors,” he explained, voice sounding pained. There was another scream followed by some senseless shouting. Roach picked her head up and stared up at the ceiling.

“Can you not wake her?” Jaskier asked, thinking surely that would be easier.

“They tell you not too,” Geralt sighed, “it can agitate her more, make it worse and she never remembers in the morning anyway.”

Wanting to do something, Jaskier climbed off of the sofa and sat back down next to Geralt, so close their thighs were touching. Heart in his throat, a little unsure but in for a penny, in for a pound and all that, took Geralt’s hand, pulled it into his lap and threaded their fingers together. In a bid to distract Geralt a little bit, Jaskier told him about his upcoming tour, how difficult they could be to plan but how worth it they were.

Throughout all of it though, Jaskier could tell Geralt was keeping one ear on what was happening upstairs. They were disparaging venues that didn’t read contracts properly when a crash sounded, followed by what sounded like very awake crying.

Geralt moved without hesitation, throwing himself across the room, his feet pounding up the stairs, taking them two at the time. Roach bound after him.

The distressed sobs tugged at Jaskier’s heart and he also, albeit a little slower, scrambled up from the couch, socked feet almost slipping on the floor in his haste. By the time he reached the bottom of the staircase, Geralt was at the top, looking grim with a pyjama clad Ciri clinging to his chest, sniffling, her cries a little quieter.

“This little muffin fell out of bed and gave themselves a fright,” he explained as he descended. True to form, her pyjamas were covered in dolphins.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jaskier asked, ignoring the way his heart exploded at Geralt calling Ciri ‘muffin’.

Geralt reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at him intently, clearly trying to assess something. After a few moments he nodded and said, “If you could heat up a cup of milk for me and get a glass of water I’d really appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

He set about his task, finding everything he needed in the kitchen with a little searching. Delivering the glass of water first, Ciri had calmed somewhat, but she was still allowing herself to seek comfort from her father, cuddling into him and playing with the ends of Geralt’s hair. She paid no attention to Jaskier.

However when he returned with the warm milk she was sitting half on Geralt, half draped over Roach and seemed to have a bit more about her. She stared up at Jaskier, green eyes wide and inquisitive. “Are you having a sleepover?” She asked, curious and a little offended.

“No,” Geralt snorted.

“I just popped round for a cup of tea,” Jaskier smiled.

“But I’d gone to bed!” She frowned.

“You had to be in bed,” Jaskier smiled, a thought occurred to him, “your Dad needed to ring Santa, to ask what type of pie he wanted left out this year but his phone wasn’t working so I lent him mine.”

“You talked to Santa!” She squealed, sitting up and looking between him and Geralt.

“We did,” Geralt nodded, a grin tugging at his own mouth, “he wants the usual mince but the reindeers would like apples instead of carrots for a change.”

“Of course,” Ciri nodded, accepting the answer easily. She looked between them again, clearly considering something before she asked, “Can we watch a film, please?”

“No, you can have some more water, drink the milk Jaskier has heated up for you and then you’re going back to bed,” Geralt informed her.

“Oooh,” she complained, her little eyebrows pulling down into a frown.

“Ciri,” the warning was quite implicit in Geralt’s tone.

“Okay,” she sighed. Jaskier handed the cup to her carefully. Hilariously, she sniffed it and sighed happily, before dimpling up at Jaskier and saying, “Thanks!”

“You’re very welcome,” he returned before retreating back to the kitchen to wash up the pan he’d used to heat the milk.

It didn’t take that long but by the time Jaskier padded back down the hallway to the sitting room, Ciri was laid back out on Geralt’s chest. She wasn’t asleep but there was certainly an aura of tiredness about her, in the slow way she blinked and how she clung to the chain around Geralt’s neck. He was carding his fingers through her hair and softly, so softly, singing a lullaby. His voice rumbled, low and soothing and just audible from where Jaskier stood, like the intruder he was, leaning against the doorway, looking in.

As he watched, hating that he was but unable to look away, his heart hurt with an aching wistfulness. The scene before him, he doubted he’d ever have anything like that but he wanted it, wanted a family. Considering he’d just come out of a relationship though, even if he did manage to someday have the family he wanted, it wouldn’t be for a long time. No, the only thing he had to look forward to was dating uninteresting people and trying to work out if they actually wanted him or just his money and fame.

“Thank you,” Geralt murmured, forcing Jaskier to jolt back into the present. He was looking up at Jaskier with a tired smile pulling at his lips. Ciri was asleep.

“Glad I could help,” Jaskier shrugged, throwing away his own maudlin wishes for the time being. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn’t ignore his aching heart, which was annoying because he wasn’t entirely sure what it was aching for.

From Priscilla: Why have you sent me links to houses for sale in Morhen?

From Jaskier: I just think they look nice, and it’s never a bad idea to invest in property.

From Priscilla: You’re so fucking stupid sometimes. You know that right?

From Jaskier: A viscous attack! You wound me when all I’ve ever done is love you!

From Priscilla: Annoy me more like ;) <3 but really though, why do you want to buy a house in Morhen?

From Jaskier: Because they’re nice houses? It's a nice place to live? It’ll be nice to be near my parents after so long away?

From Priscilla: Try again?

From Jaskier: ????????????

From Priscilla: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

From Jaskier: How’s work?

From Priscilla: Don’t try and change the subject! It’’s great though, I’ve been recording over at Abbey Road the last few days, it’s SO fucking cool!

It had snowed again overnight, so hard in fact that Jaskier got a text from Geralt informing him the school was closed, it was his day off and he and Ciri were going sledging if he wanted to join them. The answer was a no brainer and thirty minutes later Jaskier found himself in gently falling snow, trudging up the hill he and Geralt used to sledge down as kids, except they were adults and Geralt had his own kid which was a little wild to think about.

“Is this her first ever snow day?” Jaskier asked, nodding to Ciri, who was a few meters ahead of them, trying to catch snowflakes in her mouth.

“It is,” Geralt grinned

“That’s so exciting,” he laughed. “I can’t remember ours.”

“I do. We were seven and had a snowball fight with some of the other local boys. One of them threw a snowball at you that-”

“Had a stone in it! Yes I remember now! And you hit him because it made me cry! Oh, Geralt, so gallant, so chivalrous,” he teased, tucking the plastic sledge he was carrying under the other arm so he could elbow Geralt.

“Yeah well, he shouldn’t have done it,” Geralt grumbled.

“Come on!” Ciri shouted back at them, watching a group of older kids flying down the hill and clearly having a great time.

“We’re coming, muffin!” He called. As usual hearing Geralt’s endearment for Ciri made Jaskier want to melt, it was so cute.

“Can we race?!”

“You wanna?” Geralt asked Jaskier, turning to him with an eyebrow raised.

“Obviously,” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Yes we can race.”

The cheer Ciri let out, anyone would think Santa himself had just landed on the hill.

By the time they reached the top, Ciri was practically vibrating from excitement. Jaskier and Geralt lined up their sledges side by side, Ciri sitting securely between Geralt’s legs.

“Three!” Ciri shouted, almost beside herself, “Two! One! Go! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

Jaskier pushed himself off and down the hill. Neither of them were going particularly fast but Ciri could have been on a roller coaster the way she was shouting. Geralt and Ciri pulled ahead but Jaskier didn’t care, he was having such a good time.

He lost count of the amount of times they raced down. Jaskier's legs were starting to burn on the walk up to the top of the hill but he didn’t care, it was fun and Ciri’s joy and energy was infectious.

Jaskier had just reached the bottom and was climbing off his sledge when his feet slipped out from under him, the snow compact and slippy. He made a noise of surprise and Geralt, who was close by, reached out to try and steady him. However instead of staying on his feet, Jaskier continued falling, taking Geralt with him. They landed in a mess of limbs, Geralt on top of Jaskier, the weight of him pressing down on Jaskier’s chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. Beside them Ciri was cackling maniacally having seen the adults slip and fall.

“You okay?” Geralt asked, levering himself up on his elbows, lifting his upper body somewhat. Light brown eyes stared down at him, full of concern and Jaskier’s stomach flipped, heart jolting and a blush threatened his cheeks. He was so beautiful, it wasn’t fair, no one should be allowed to be so breathtakingly handsome while also being kind and competent.

Awareness dawned all at once, understanding hitting him like a battering ram.

“Fine, thanks,” Jaskier mumbled, so far from fine it was laughable.

“Good.” Geralt climbed off him and Jaskier felt bereft, felt like Geralt was taking his heart with him. Ever the gentlemen, Geralt held his hands out to Jaskier and pulled him to his feet. Jaskier went in a daze, unable to do anything but stare at Geralt, caught somewhere between horror and wonder.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He frowned, peering intently at Jaskier’s face.

“Of course!” Jaskier said brightly, rousing himself and slapping on a smile that he hoped didn’t look too forced.

They started back up the hill, Jaskier trailed behind slightly, waving it off as being unfit but really he just needed a moment. Priscilla was right, he really was an idiot.

From Geralt: I’m going down The Goose with some mates around seven if you wanna join, Yen’s back in the UK so Ciri is with her.

After spending the day with his parents Jaskier felt no qualms about heading down the pub after dinner. He walked, The Goose sitting approximately halfway between Jaskier’s parent’s and Geralt’s house. The cool air was bracing and cleared Jaskier’s head. He was going to have to be careful, to reign himself in so as to not give himself away.

How foolish could he be, to fall back in love with Geralt? It was such a stupid thing to do, nothing would come of it except for more heartbreak. He just had to get through another week and once Christmas Day had rolled around he could head back to London. Come February he’d be off around the world on tour and then he could forget all about his feelings for a certain white blond man and how much he wanted to join that little family of two.

A traitorous voice in his mind informed Jaskier that he’d never stopped loving Geralt in the first place but he ignored it. The alcohol would shut that bastard up.

The Goose was a great little place. He and Geralt visited quite often after they’d both turned eighteen and it felt like he’d stepped back in time when he walked through the door. There had been little changes, the upholstery on the chairs was green, where it used to be blue, a large flat screen was on a wall that used to hold a mirror and he didn’t know the people behind the bar. Other than that though it was the same, same bar, same layout, same bare wooden floors, brick walls and large open fire. It was a bit of a shock to the system, and a strong wave of nostalgia reared up in Jaskier but it also felt kind of nice to return.

Full to the brim but not very large, it was easy to find Geralt amongst the groups of people inside. He was sitting at a booth along with two other men who were introduced as Eskel and Lambert. Eskel was a big man with a kind face and an unfortunate scar cutting across his cheek. Lambert was scowling and the first thing he said to Jaskier was not to expect him to fawn over him since people thought he could sing. Jaskier liked both of them immediately.

After buying himself a glass of mulled wine, Jaskier joined them, taking the free seat beside Geralt. The booth was not as large as he remembered them being and he found himself touching Geralt from knee to shoulder. Annoyingly his stomach started somersaulting like an olympic gymnast performing their floor routine. It was going to be a long evening.

It was just after midnight and they weren’t that drunk, they could still walk in a straight line, but as Jaskier and Geralt walked back to Geralt’s house, it couldn’t be denied that they were very merry.

“Wanna come in for a whiskey?” Geralt asked, as then turned onto his street, “For the trouble of walking me home.”

“It was no trouble,” Jaskier smiled. “But I’d love one.” He hated whiskey.

Geralt had to fumble for a minute with his keys, struggling to get them in the lock but he managed eventually, letting Jaskier in first. Upon entry he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his coat, pet Roach hello and then skipped into the sitting room, throwing himself down onto the larger of the two sofas. Jaskier felt so nice, in that syrupy slow place of nicely drunk where everything was great and nothing could make you feel bad.

Jaskier could hear Geralt knocking around the kitchen. The back door was opened and Roach was instructed to go to the toilet, cupboards opened and closed, glasses clinked. Roach must have returned because the door was closed again and then Geralt was sitting down next to him and handing him a glass of whiskey. Geralt looked so loose and relaxed and just lovely, he’d pulled out the band that had been keeping his hair in a half tail and it hung loose around his face, his cheeks were flushed a light pink from the alcohol and his eyes were sparkling.

“Cheers,” he grinned, knocking their glasses together with a smile.

Jaskier took a sip of the whiskey, it hit the back of his throat and burned. Christ he hated whiskey. He only coughed a little bit though so he was quite happy with that and Geralt only raised one mocking eyebrow, so that wasn’t too bad either. Not really wanting to have anymore anytime soon though, he put the glass down on the coffee table and turned in his seat so he was properly facing Geralt, a loose smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m so glad we reconnected,” Jaskier said, sounding far softer then he meant to, heart beating a little faster then should have been.

“Me too,” Geralt agreed, taking another sip of whiskey before placing it next to Jaskier’s.

When he looked back at Jaskier, there was something searing in Geralt’s eyes, so intense it made his breath hitch. That was all the warning Jaskier got before Geralt moved, and the next thing Jaskier knew large hands were cupping his jaw and cheeks and frantic lips were moving against his.

Geralt was kissing him and Jaskier kissed back, helpless in the wake of his own feelings. It was so good, everything Jaskier had ever wanted. His heart pounded as he clutched as Geralt’s shoulders. Quickly becoming overwhelmed, tears threatened, prickling behind Jaskier’s closed eyes. Geralt’s tongue pressed tentatively at the seam of Jaskier’s lips and he opened up willing, oh so willing, It was so much better than when they were teenagers…

“Wait, stop” Jaskier panted, turning away so Geralt’s next kiss landed on his cheek. “I can’t do this again if it’s just gonna be another one night stand. I want you, Geralt, so much, but I have to- to protect myself, you really hurt me last time.”

“I’m so sorry,” Geralt breathed.

“I know, I know you are,” he agreed, rubbing their cheeks together.

“It won’t just be a one night stand, not if you want more,” Geralt said, voice horrendously vulnerable. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, never stopped wanting you. I fucked it up once, I refuse to fuck it up again.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasped, taking Geralt’s head in his hands and kissing him with all the passion he possessed in his body.

When Jaskier woke in the morning his brain felt like someone was firing a nail gun against his forehead. He hadn’t even had that much to drink, growing older was so annoying sometimes. Groaning, he rolled over and into a warm body that grunted at the contact.

Geralt.

Jaskier’s heart began to pound, stomach dropping out in a knee jerk response as he expected to once again be rejected, cast aside. Instead strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, soft lips pressed against the top of his head.

“Mmm, hello,” Geralt rumbled.

“Hi,” Jaskier sighed, trepidation easing immediately.

Everything was going to be alright, they were grown ups, Geralt wasn’t going to shout at him for trying to hold his hand. To prove a point to himself, Jaskier reached out under the covers until he found Geralt’s hand, threading their fingers together. There was no disgust, no exclamation, or misunderstanding, there was only warmth and comfort and everything Jaskier had wanted since he was fifteen years old.

Without opening his eyes because that meant more pain, Jaskier sought out Geralt's lips. Skimming his own along the line of his neck, over his sharp jaw and across his cheek before kissing Geralt gently, tenderly, saying things with his actions that he didn’t feel like he could say out loud yet.

“You shagged him didn’t you?” Priscilla asked, immediately upon picking up the video call, looking very unimpressed. She was sitting on her sofa, her ginger tabby cat Basil was sitting behind her.

“What? No, of course not!” Jaskier argued.

“You have a hickey on your neck.”

“Bugger,” he frowned, tilting the camera to get a better look. It wasn’t a particular large or dark hickey, but it was a hickey, just above the collar of his t-shirt. “I didn’t shag him, we sucked each other off.”

She sighed long sufferingly before grinning wickedly and asking, “Was it good?”

“Oh my God!” He exclaimed, letting just how happy he was show on his face, “It was fantastic!”

They spent the next week sneaking around. Jaskier would arrive at Geralt’s just after Ciri had gone to bed and once they were sure she was asleep they’d, well, they’d make love. It was so much better than any of Jaskier’s previous partners. Emotionally things felt far different and added such a wonderful layer to whatever they did in the bedroom but on top of that, Geralt really seemed to care about making Jaskier feel good.

The end result was stunning but distracting and despite spending so much time together they didn’t really talk about what was happening passed the incredibly brief conversation they’d had after Geralt had kissed him. He didn’t bring it up and Geralt didn’t either but Jaskier wasn’t overly worried and it was fun. Sneaking around and having such a good time doing it, it was everything his teenage self had wanted and he was finally getting to do so with the added bonus of them being adults, so when they said they wanted each other they had experience to back it up.

Sue him but Jaskier wanted to have fun, so he did and he enjoyed every single glorious minute of it. Valdo had tried to call him a few times but Jaskier ignored them, not wanting anything to burst the wonderful, happy bubble he found himself in.

His mother’s Christmas Eve party crept up on Jaskier, caught up as he was in Geralt. Before he knew it he was helping her clean the house and cook what felt like enough food to feed the entire town in preparation of the big event. He barely had time to shower and change before people started arriving. Thankfully they were polite enough to treat him like a normal person rather than someone who was regularly played on Radio One. Small town life really was great for some things.

When Geralt arrived, with his parents, Ciri and Yennefer in tow, his heart leapt into his throat. He wasn’t worried, Geralt had told him weeks ago that they were all spending Christmas at his parents house, sleeping in separate rooms. Really working hard to make sure Jaskier knew that there was nothing to worry about and Jaskier believed him. Still, if he had any less self confidence then he probably would have taken a knock upon meeting Yennefer. She was nothing short of gorgeous, wearing an elegant black and white dress, her hair perfectly curled and when she turned her sharp, knowing eyes on Jaskier, he almost blushed.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he smiled, holding out his hand. But before she could respond, Ciri had barrelled into him, hugging him tightly and knocking the wind from him. She gave him a very enthusiastic recount of her day, which he listened to intently, before bounding away when she spotted one of her friends from school in the sitting room. When he looked back, Yennefer seemed to have softened ever so slightly around the eyes and a small smile was curling her lips.

“Likewise,” she answered before heading off after her daughter.

Jaskier said hello to Nenneke and Vesemir before finally, Geralt stood in front of him, looking delightfully inviting in chinos and a Christmas jumper, hair tied back in a half tail. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do, not wanting to give anything away to the other guests milling about the kitchen. Geralt took the decision from him though and hugged him, his arms strong around Jaskier’s back. He wrapped his own arms around Geralt’s waist and subtly brushed their cheeks together.

“You look lovely,” Geralt whispered in Jaskier’s ears, making a blush rise on his cheeks. He hadn’t purposefully dressed to please Geralt but he knew he looked good in the black slacks and navy shirt he had donned, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The evening progressed, everyone getting steadily merrier with every piece of food and glass of alcohol consumed. It was fun, Jaskier caught up with people he hadn’t seen in years and every so often his eyes would find Geralt across the room and they’d exchange a look so heated it left Jaskier aching, wishing he could drag Geralt upstairs and have his way with him. He was having such a good time, Jaskier felt like he was floating on a cloud, right up until the point he went to answer the door, assuming it was a late arrival, and opened it to find Valdo standing on his front step.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, smile slipping off his face as hurt he’d purposefully buried came welling back up to the surface. Valdo looked exactly as he had the last time Jaskier had seen him three weeks ago. Had it only been three weeks? So much had happened it felt like a year had passed.

“I wanted to check you were okay,” he frowned, as if it was obvious.

“Why are you here?” Stepping outside, Jaskier closed the door behind him, crossing his arms against the cold. Whatever line Valdo was spouting, he refused to believe him. As he stared at his ex-fiancé, Jaskier desperately wanted Valdo to look a mess, to look like his world had fallen apart upon calling off their engagement. Instead his hair was still perfectly styled, his beard that still neatly kept and everything he was wearing had been ironed.

“You didn’t answer my calls.” Valdo sounded heart broken, and it made Jaskier angry, the feeling bubbly hot and righteous in his stomach. He had no right to be acting all sad and forlorn, he was the one who broke up with Jaskier!

“You know I hate talking on the phone,” Jaskier pointed out, testily.

“You always used to answer for me anyway.” He had the nerve to sigh wistfully.

“You gave up that privilege when you broke up with me,” he snapped, shoving a finger into Valdo’s chest. “Why are you here?!”

“Take me back,” Valdo beseeched, looking genuinely like he was sorry and regretful and contrite, “please, Jaskier.” Except he had yet to say sorry, and Jaskier knew he wasn’t going to otherwise it would have been the first thing out of his mouth. The arsehole hadn’t even said sorry when he was ending their relationship.

“What’s the matter? Have your Instagram followers gone down since you broke it off by any chance?” They’d barely had a conversation and he was already tired of Valdo’s smarmy face. Now that he knew what it was like to look into the eyes of someone who genuinely wanted him, who didn’t give a flying fuck about who he was or what he did, he could see how lacking Valdo was.

“Did you ever love me?”

“Of course I did, baby, don’t say that.”

Jaskier wanted to be sick and he was cold, having to clench his jaw so his teeth didn’t chatter. All he wanted to find Geralt and hold him and be held. “Would you just leave, please.

“One last kiss?”

Christ, he wanted to punch him. “No.”

“One last kiss, you’ll never hear from me again and I’ll try to avoid you at any events we both do?”

“Do you enjoy manipulating me?” Jaskier asked. “Fine, one kiss.”

Dropping his brokenhearted act, Valdo grinning and stepping into Jaskier’s space, saying, “Come on, it wasn’t all that bad, we had some good times.”

He supposed they had but that didn’t make how it ended any better, didn’t make Jaskier feel any less used.

“Get on with it,” he grumbled, bracing himself.

Valdo’s lips were cold, and after the first kiss he tried to move them, attempting to deepen the kiss but Jaskier held firm and still, wanting it to be over as quickly as possible. It was all wrong, too wet and his lips were too thin. To think he’d once enjoyed kissing that man, that he once lit a fire in Jaskier’s belly. His touch didn’t even cause a flicker, if anything it made Jaskier want to smack him and not in a fun, sexy way.

When it was over, Valdo had the gall to wink at him before he turned and strode back towards his car. The engine started and a few moments later he was gone as quickly as he came. Relief surged through Jaskier and he took a few steps back, sagging against the front door, knees weak.

Feeling utterly off kilter, Jaskier let himself back inside. He was so grateful for the warmth, and he finally uncrossed his arms, rubbing his hands together to try and get some feeling back into them. No one was in the kitchen, everyone having moved into the sitting room over the course of the evening. Jaskier was glad, it gave him a little bit of time to collect himself. He didn’t want to cry or anything, he just felt off, like his body was out of alignment.

A bottle of port sat on the kitchen counter, grabbing it and a glass he poured himself a generous measure and crossed the room to lean against the radiator, enjoying the warmth and sipping his drink. Everyone was having a great time by the sounds of it but Jaskier felt no compulsion to join them, needing a few moments to himself. By the time he felt ready to face people again, he decided he’d just find Geralt and give in to his earlier wish of dragging him upstairs. Not for anything particularly raunchy, he just really wanted a cuddle.

Jaskier had almost finished his port when Geralt himself stepped into the kitchen. Another wave of relief crashed through Jaskier, he could have wept from happiness at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound bright but missing by a mile, “I was just about to come and find y- Where are you going?”

Geralt had only stopped long enough to give Jaskier a hard look before he’d continued on to the door, zipping up his coat.

“For a walk,” he snarled, opening the front door and heading out into the back garden.

“What? Why?” Jaskier asked, following him outside, his own hurt momentarily making way for confusion. Geralt kept going, walking off like Jaskier hadn’t spoken at all. “Hey!” He shouted, running to catch up, heedless of the cold, heart pounding in his chest. “Geralt!”

“I saw you kiss him, Jaskier!” He shouted, at last turning around, mouth angry, eyes hurt. “I went into the kitchen to get another drink and I saw you through the window!”

Jaskier was stunned, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could only stare at Geralt as his night went from bad to worse. Everything had been going so well and with a knock at the door that had all changed. He didn’t understand, he just wanted to be happy with Geralt, why couldn’t that happen without shit hitting the fan so horrifically hard.

“Was this all just one big joke?” Geralt asked, voice cracking. “To teach me a lesson? To make me feel how you felt when we were teenagers? Because if you wanted to make me feel awful then you’ve done a great job!”

At last finding his voice, Jaskier exclaimed, “What? No! Of course not, I accepted your apology, Geralt. We were just stupid kids, I’ve forgiven th-”

“You said you were looking for me,” Geralt frowned, changing track, “are you getting back together with him? Is that why you were looking for me, to tell me, ‘thanks, it’s been fun but I’m fucking off back to London to be with my fancy fiancé’?”

“I’m not getting back together with Valdo,” he growled. “Not to be crude but I’d quite literally rather touch my sopping wet bollocks to an electric fence!”

“Then what is happening?” Geralt asked, putting his hands on his hips and looking so lost and scared it broke Jaskier’s heart. The realisation that Geralt was insecure came as a bit of a shock, and Jaskier didn’t know why or how he’d become so unsure, but his near constant insistence that nothing would happen between him and Yennefer suddenly made a lot of sense. For the second time that night, Jaskier’s knees almost buckled from relief, insecurity he could deal with.

“He came here to ask if I’d take him back. I very firmly said no,” Jaskier explained, taking a step towards Geralt. “He’s an arsehole and wanted one last kiss, at first I said no, but then he offered to never try and talk to me or see me again if I let him. So I relented and said yes.”

Unable to hide how upset he was, Jaskier’s voice wobbled as he continued, “Seeing him was awful, and I hated every second of it, and I never want to see him again! I wanted to find you because I wanted you to hold me. I feel so awful and you always make me feel better.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Are you okay?” Geralt breathed, closing the distance between them and wiping at Jaskier's cheeks.

“I’ve been better,” he laughed wetly.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, unzipping his coat, taking it off and draping it over Jaskier’s shoulders before pulling him into a hug. Jaskier relaxed against Geralt’s chest, pressing his face into his neck, at last where he’d wanted to be all evening.

“I’m scared,” Geralt admitted, clutching at Jaskier’s back, “that you’re going to go back to London and realise you don’t have time for me and Ciri.”

“I love you,” Jaskier blurted, needing the release, needing Geralt to understand. “I never stopped.”

“Jaskier-”

“You don’t have to say it back, I don’t mind. It’s not going to be easy being with me, there’ll be times when I’m away and people will be entitled dicks about taking photos of us just being people and sometimes I’ll have to have a bodyguard but if that’s something you think you could put up with then maybe after may next tour is over, I could get a house in town. Everything has happened so fast, which is fine because I’m sure about you and about Ciri, Geralt, I’m so sure but seeing him...I do need a little time, a little distance but then there’s nothing I’d like more then to have a life with you. If you want me?”

Gentle fingers grasped his chin and tilted his head back. Light brown eyes, soft and warm gazed into his. Geralt pressed a tender kiss to his lips that Jaskier returned with equal feeling, frowning with the intensity of it.

“I love you too,” Geralt said, clear and firm, “of course I do.” Warmth spread through Jaskier’s chest that had nothing to do with Geralt’s coat or warmth of his body heat. The parts of him that Valdo had unsettled, slipped back into place.

“Thank fuck,” Jaskier laughed, kissing him again just because he could.

“And if you need a little time, that’s fine. I waited for a decade for you to come back, I think I can wait a little longer. You’re worth it.” Geralt’s smile was wide and beautiful, his words so genuine Jaskier wanted to jump for joy.

“I think that’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me and it’s wonderful, please don’t ever stop,” he sighed. With some unwillingness, Jaskier stepped back. Geralt had begun to shiver against the cold so after threading their fingers together he started back towards his parent’s house.

“I know I’ve had fun sneaking around this last week but I think I’d quite like to tell our parents what’s happening,” Jaskier mused as they walked back down the cul-de-sac. “You’re not a secret, I don’t want to hide you away.”

Geralt looked more than a little relieved, squeezing Jaskier’s fingers as he answered, “I’d like that.”

Yes, there was definitely a lot to unpack there, and Jaskier would, slowly over time and hopefully he’d eventually build Geralt back up again. He would need it if he was going to cope with Jaskier’s profession. There was so much to talk about, so much to consider but they had all the time in the world for that, a life Jaskier had always wanted but never quite let himself dream of stretched ahead of him, beautiful and ready for the taking.

Back in the kitchen, Jaskier unzipped Geralt’s coat and left it over the back of a kitchen chair. The bottle of port was still on the bench so he took a swig and offered it to Geralt, “Liquid courage?”

Geralt accepted the bottle and had a long pull before placing it back on the bench. Crowding into his space, Jaskier threaded their fingers together and whispered, “For luck.” Before kissing Geralt soundly and when he pulled back, he smiled and added, “Not that we’re going to need it.”

Hand in hand they rejoined the party.