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Oxenfurt was a notoriously vibrant city. Populated majorly by students from the adjacent academy, the town was full of free-thinkers and artisans of all types. Poetry and music flooded the city, and it was overall a joyous place to live and study.
Geralt, however, despised it.
Unfortunately, avoiding large settlements was not something he could do very easily. There were supplies he couldn’t easily attain on his own and more people often meant more contracts. Not to mention Dandelion often insisted they stay in a city whenever possible, and obliging was the only way he could stop the man’s incessant whining.
Truthfully, it was rare that Geralt would ever turn down a warm meal or a soft bed in the comfort of a tavern. He’d suffer the noise and the crowd to be able to sleep peacefully. Some days, however, were worse than others.
A chill was descending quickly over Oxenfurt, but inside The Alchemy it was warm and the steadily approaching winter was easily forgotten. It was a small inn but that did nothing to deter patrons, as the tavern was packed with revellers. Dandelion was well-known in the area both as a professor and a poet, and students and travellers alike were eager to see him perform in his element.
The bard practically floated around the room, strumming some jaunty melody while throwing bright winks and coquettish smiles to anyone who’d receive them.
Geralt, meanwhile, was tucked into a corner as far from the noise as possible, steadily nursing a pint of ale. It was rare to find the witcher in a good mood, but he was especially irritated within the stuffy air of the tavern.
At their core, witchers were quite sensitive creatures. Perhaps not emotionally, if one believed the rumors, but they had been genetically modified to be the perfect predator. With their enhanced senses every stimulus was multiplied- turning a whisper into a shout and a caress into something more firm. Geralt, like many other witchers, had spent countless years building up walls around these sensitive spots, but he was not invincible.
The sounds and smells of the tavern were overwhelming, and he could feel his walls steadily crumbling apart.
Everything was uncomfortable and overwhelming.
The thick stench of sweat and alcohol made his stomach churn, while the sickly sweet smell of perfume made his head spin. His breaths were shallow and heavy, the air sticking in his lungs like ash to honey. His medallion hung heavily around his neck, the metal chain digging into the back of his neck and pulling at the fine hairs there. Every stud and buckle on his armor was another point of pressure, and he felt like his skin was crawling.
It was too much.
He had to leave.
Geralt quickly got to his feet and slinked towards the door, the sharp, prickly feeling of anxiety swelling in his chest. He could feel eyes on him but paid them no mind, slipping out of the tavern and into the chilled night air.
Dandelion just barely caught his dear friend’s departure, a brief frown creasing his features. That was definitely unusual. While he knew Geralt was never a fan of crowds like this, he always stuck through it for Dandelion. The bard quickly wrapped up his performance, bidding adieu to his (adoring) fans and attempting to catch up to Geralt. It wasn’t the easiest task, honestly, as Geralt was faster than him and he had no idea where the man went, but he found his witcher within a few minutes.
He found Geralt sitting in an empty alleyway several blocks from the inn. The man was sitting on the ground with his back to the wall behind him and his knees pulled to his chest. Dandelion couldn’t see Geralt’s expression as his head was tucked into his knees, hiding his face, but he didn’t need to. He knew something wasn’t right.
He approached with light steps, trying (and failing) not to startle his friend. “Geralt? Are you okay?” He questioned softly.
Like a startled cat, Geralt snapped his head up and stared wide-eyed and alert at Dandelion. His chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven movements. It was frankly unnerving to see him in such a panicked and wholly vulnerable state.
Dandelion’s face pulled into a concerned frown and he stepped closer, reaching a hand out to his witcher. “What’s wrong-”
Geralt recoiled, tucking into himself and away from the bard’s outstretched hand. “ Don’t touch me! ” He snapped, baring his teeth like some cornered animal. Generally he appreciated Dandelion’s company, whether he admitted such openly or not, but now was not the time. Never had he let himself look so vulnerable around anyone, and he didn’t plan on starting now, no matter how long they had been travelling together.
Dandelion halted with his hand outstretched, an immediate look of hurt crossing over his face. He was well-accustomed to Geralt’s outbursts, and he knew not to take them to heart, but they stung nonetheless. However, he dropped his hand and gave Geralt his space as requested, taking a deep breath to quell the momentary spike of dejection in his chest. Fine, then. If Geralt didn’t want his help that was his choice, but he refused to leave the man by himself. So he sat himself down beside Geralt, crossing his legs under him and settling his hands in his lap.
Geralt had returned to his position, effectively shutting everything else out, but he didn’t fail to notice Dandelion’s lingering presence. He prepared to hear some lecture or monologue about how rude it was to leave without telling the bard and how he didn’t appreciate being snapped at, but was surprised and grateful to find blessed silence instead.
He was wound tight like a spring, and Dandelion’s appearance hadn’t helped that. They had been through thick and thin together, but to be so open and raw with anyone was frightening. Frightening, but refreshing.
Slowly he came back to himself, his breathing steadying as the panic and fear of being overwhelmed ebbed away. His heightened senses were still sharp as ever, but it was less jarring now that he wasn’t being bombarded with stimuli. Geralt slowly rose his head, peeking out to look at Dandelion beside him.
The bard sat still with his head leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed against the cool evening air. He was still and quiet, something Geralt rarely saw even when he slept. It was strangely endearing to see Dandelion try so hard to give him peace. They bickered and argued ceaselessly, each ready to point out the other’s faults, but when it came down to it they truly did care for each other. It was an odd sort of banter between them, one who felt everything to an extreme and one who had been taught not to feel at all, but it was genuine and it was theirs.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt spoke after some time, his voice soft and quiet. It was a stark contrast to his usual gruff responses, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
Dandelion opened his eyes, a look of disbelief plastered across his face. Had he just been apologized to? “Excuse me?”
Geralt huffed, looking away in an effort to find the right words. He screwed his face up in an expression that almost looked like pain and Dandelion would’ve laughed had he not been so surprised. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he stated, sighing softly. “I was overwhelmed. But that doesn’t justify my actions.”
Dandelion listened intently to his stiff apology, a soft smile coming to his face. He appreciated the apology, especially since he didn’t think he had ever heard Geralt apologize about anything in all their time together, but it wasn’t necessary. “It’s okay, my dear. I know you didn’t mean it,” he reassured, his bright blue eyes filled with a tender fondness. “I was worried about you, is all. You know I’ll take my leave if you tell me to piss off, but is there anything I can do to help you if this happens again?”
There was no mockery, no insisting, no prying retorts. Simply a genuine want to comfort, and Geralt found it hard to express how thankful he was for it. He didn’t always understand how to handle his emotions, or even how to name them, but Dandelion was always patient and thoughtful with him. He was a blessing, really.
“Just- Sit with me. Like this,” Geralt responded, sparing a quick glance to the body at his side. He could feel the heat radiating off him, and it was a grounding feeling amongst the cold. “If I need anything I’ll ask.” He nearly seemed timid, reluctant to even let himself think of asking for help.
Dandelion nodded, taking careful note of his instruction for future use should he need it. He let the silence fall between them again, letting Geralt take his time and compose himself. He could see the way the tension seeped from the other’s body, and he was glad to see that he was at least feeling a bit better. “Would you like to go back to the inn?” he questioned after some time, an inquisitive but non-judgemental look on his face. “We can go back to the room, where it’s quiet. You’ll freeze out here.”
Geralt took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he looked to his companion. He nodded, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Dandelion smiled and hopped to his feet, offering the witcher a hand. Warm, amber eyes stared up at him for a moment before a hand grasped his and Geralt pulled himself to his feet. Jaskier let go, raising a brow in a silent question of consent before getting another nod and slipping an arm around Geralt’s shoulder.
“Let’s go, then,” Dandelion chirped, ushering Geralt forward and out of the alley. “I’m sure my fans miss me.”
“You’re insufferable.” Geralt huffed, rolling his eyes.
“Eh, you know you love me,” Dandelion returned, a sly smirk on his face.
Geralt was sure, then, that he did, even if he couldn’t put the words to it. With a huff of laughter and a short shake of his head, he returned Dandelion’s gesture and put his arm around the other’s shoulder, walking with him as he had for many years before and many years to come.