Work Text:
At the age of twenty seven, Jaskier had admitted that romance wasn’t in the cards for him, and he didn’t care. He had friends that he loved, and who loved him. Essi was like a little sister to him, and he always had a fun time with Pris when she wasn’t in other more committed romantic relationships. He’d never needed romance, and honestly half the time he didn’t understand it, but he was good at faking it for his music because “Love sells, Julian.”
He was happy.
He had been happy.
And then he’d met Geralt.
They’d clicked instantly. Well, Jaskier had clicked instantly, and he’d worn Geralt down eventually and soon enough they’d been almost inseparable. Jaskier had moved in with Geralt to save on rent after he’d spent almost everything evening around Geralt’s flat anyway, and now he had a problem.
A problem he’d thought he’d been immune from.
He had a crush, and it was all Geralt’s fault. There was a strange fluttering in his chest and every damn song he heard on the radio reminded him of Geralt. He couldn’t even look at the fucking sun without thinking of Geralt’s eyes, and he didn’t get and respite at night time. Oh no, no, no, no, at night he had the moon. Silver light that streamed through his windows, as ethereal as the shining silver locks of Geralt’s hair.
The fucking bastard.
It had taken him so long to get to the point where he’d accepted that romantic love wasn’t going to happen to him, and now the bloody idiot had stumbled into his life and ruined everything.
Jesus Christ, he loved him. He loved him so fucking much, and he didn’t know what to do? Wasn’t love supposed to be beautiful? The greatest gift that God had to offer?
Bullshit. Absolutely fucking cock balls.
He groaned and tugged at his hair. “Bollocks.”
“Jaskier?”
Jaskier fell backwards off his chair, landing on the kitchen floor with a thump. He hadn’t heard Geralt come home. His pity party had been so rudely interrupted and now the bloody love of his life was gazing at him with that stupidly fond smirk and Jaskier wanted to punch him in the face.
It wasn’t fair.
Geralt reached out, wrapping his fingers around Jaskier’s wrist as he pulled Jaskier up from the floor. They fell into an easy embrace and Jaskier buried his nose in Geralt’s neck. The scent was supposed to be grounding, but instead it stirred the anxiety in his chest. He pulled away and fiddled with the little aro pride pin on the lapel of his jacket. The green, black, and white stripes were usually so comforting, but now they just made him feel like a fraud.
He handed the pin to Geralt, who frowned and cocked his head. “Jask, what’s going on?”
Jaskier waved at the pin. “Don’t need it anymore.”
“Oh?”
“Went and fell in love, like a fool. A fool in love.. Diana Ross was right!” he whined, burying his face in his hands.
Geralt sighed, gently fixing the pin back onto Jaskier’s jacket. “Falling in love once, at the age of twenty seven, doesn’t mean you have to give up part of your identity, Jaskier.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Geralt murmured, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s forehead. “not unless you want to, but I’m here for you, okay?”
Jaskier nodded. “Okay,” a pause “you know it’s you right?”
Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him back into a hug. “I’d hoped, but I would’ve supported you regardless. You’re my best friend, Jask.”
“And?”
“And I love you too, in whatever way you’ll allow me too.”
The weight fell from Jaskier’s shoulder and he could breathe again. Okay, so maybe love wasn’t so bad after all.