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It’s the day of Jaskier’s dreams. Well, every Friday is. And every other Saturday. And every third Sunday. But that isn’t the point.
The point is that it’s a visitation day, and Jaskier’s just as excited as he usually is. He digs into the tater tots and sausage links in front of him, careful to go slow after Miss Priscilla had cautioned him to do so just a few minutes ago.
He looks up when another food tray drops down in front of him at the table and frowns as Valdo Marx takes a seat across from him. His curly black hair is a little more styled today, probably to impress any visitors that come around, and his green eyes are bright with malice. Jaskier grips his blue blanket, his most prized possession, to his chest and staunchly looks back down at his breakfast, his enthusiasm curbed for the moment.
“Ew, you’re eating with your fingers?” Valdo sneers, holding up his fork pointedly before stabbing it into a sausage link. Jaskier winces at the force of it.
Jaskier doesn’t grace him with an answer and just continues to chew, though he’s lost his appetite. Valdo’s in the room above him, the Kid Room, and has disliked Jaskier since he came a few months ago, though Jaskier has no idea why. He always pushes Jaskier from the parts of the playground in the back that he wants to play in, takes the toys he picks out when they’re in the blended playroom, and makes fun of the little songs Jaskier likes to sing to himself to soothe. He’s a bully through and through, but Jaskier knows there isn’t much the workers of the Care Center can do, so he lets it be. His parents had always encouraged him to kill with kindness, and by gods will he try to murder Valdo with it.
Valdo harrumphs at the lack of reaction and shoves the piece of sausage into his mouth, speaking as he chews, “You look cute in your little shortalls. Like a sweet little baby.”
Jaskier grits his teeth and mashes a tater tot under his thumb. “I’m not a baby,” he mumbles.
Valdo laughs and Jaskier recoils in disgust as some food flies from his mouth and onto the table between them. “Oh, yeah, you’re a toddler, right? I still don’t know if I believe that, I don’t think toddlers have as many accidents as you do, or suck a paci.”
Jaskier’s cheeks heat up in embarrassment and he fidgets in his seat, flushing further when it makes his pull-up crinkle. “Doesn’t make me a baby,” he says, trying not to raise his voice. It was the usual stuff Valdo said to get under his skin, yet every time it gets him riled up, just how Valdo wants it. He takes a deep breath, trying to settle himself, ready to take his tray somewhere else, maybe over by-
“How long have you been here again?” Valdo asks, not looking up from where he’s picking the dirt from underneath his nails. “Two years, right? That’s a long time to be undes–, uh, undesir–, not wanted.” Even through his slip up Valdo grins wickedly, stabbing at a tater tot and dunking it in ketchup. Jaskier didn’t think tater tots were a food that needed utensils, but he doesn’t bother saying so. “Even babies get taken faster than that.”
Jaskier bites his lip and fiddles with the pacifier clipped to his shortalls, its blue shield matching his shirt. He has been here a long time, though he doesn’t think that’s his fault. He thoroughly believes that everyone has a special match and he just hasn’t found his perfect Caregiver quite yet. Well, that’s what Miss Priscilla’s told him. And, though he isn’t typically described as patient, he’s waited for so long for someone to see him and know that he’s the perfect Little for them. Is it discouraging every week to go back to his bed knowing he hasn’t found that person yet? Maybe a little. But he’d rather take his time and wait for the best Mommy or Daddy for him than end up with someone he’s unsure about.
But, as he watches Valdo get ketchup on his hands and cheeks, he starts to fret. What if they don’t come? What if he’s stuck here just as he has been, watching Littles be picked up and taken to be loved forever? It’s always heartbreaking to see someone else be hugged or hold hands with someone who’s pledged to love them. What would he do if that were to happen? Waste away playing with the same toys, playing on the same playground, watching the same movies in the playroom until he was kicked out for being so undesirable?
Sure, he can be a little loud (and annoying, as Valdo enjoys telling him) and messy, but he makes it to the potty most of the time, and he’s really good at making up games to play. He remembers arriving at the Redania Care Center after a tearful goodbye to his parents and being walked up to the building by a firm government representative. Miss Priscilla, her smile wide and brown eyes inviting, had taken one look at him and whispered, “They’ll be eating you up, dear. You’ll be out of here in no time.”
But she had been wrong. Time after time Jaskier had watched as Littles came in, stayed for a while, then left in the arms of a Caregiver, leaving him behind with short friendships and hollow promises that they’d come to visit him.
That thought makes his eyes hot and he deflates, breakfast forgotten. He barely registers that Valdo’s still talking at him. He doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s gotten under Jaskier’s skin yet again, but as he opens his mouth to say something Miss Priscilla claps her hands at the front of the dining hall and grins at everyone at the tables. “Time for visitation, my dears! Everyone come with me into the blended room, please!”
Valdo smirks at Jaskier as he stands, still looking spiteful despite the ketchup and crumbs staining his face. “Good luck, Jaskier. You’re gonna need it.” With a snort he turns and takes his tray towards the washroom, leaving Jaskier alone with big thoughts and big fears. Maybe it was a day of nightmares instead.
***
Visitation days are always alight with activity as the caretakers of the center make sure everyone looks their best and behaves for the Caregivers that come in. After a trip to the bathroom, Jaskier and the rest of the toddlers are ushered into the blended room. Jaskier watches as the others - a boy named Piotr, a girl named Lucille, and another boy named Filip - make their way towards their usual corners, taking out coloring books and blocks and toy soldiers. He hesitates by the door next to Miss Priscilla, still feeling off-kilter. Normally he’d go straight for the craft corner, eager to get into the glitter he rarely got to play with in the toddler rooms, but today he feels unsure. What if that’s one of the reasons he hasn’t been chosen, because of the messes he makes? He shifts from foot to foot, rubbing the silk lining of his blanket between his fingers nervously.
He feels a hand on his arm and looks down at Miss Priscilla. Maybe it’s his height, he thinks forlornly. He’s much taller than the other Littles, standing at nearly six feet. Who would want a Little taller than them? It would probably be horribly embarrassing.
Miss Priscilla pulls him from his thoughts with a concerned look, “Everything alright, little guy?” She asks quietly.
Jaskier thinks about telling her his thoughts, what Valdo had said and how it had made sense, how he’s worried he’ll never be adopted, but he decides against it. Visitation days are busy, and he knows Miss Priscilla has paperwork she has to get through, and watching the other children so they don’t get themselves into trouble. Perhaps he can tell her tonight, after story time as he’s being tucked into his bunk.
So for now he shakes his head and steps forward, looking around the room. He winces at the sound of Valdo and some of the other Littles cheering at a video game against one of the walls and decidedly walks in the opposite direction of that. He finds himself in a quiet corner of the room near the back, a warm patch of sunlight shining through a window onto the colorful mats lying on the carpet. On some shelves in front of him are little instruments, simple xylophones and chime pianos and drums, and he smiles pleasantly as he pulls a beanbag over from the wall. Well, if nothing else will cheer him up, some music can help lift his spirits. He settles down and pulls the colorful chime piano from its shelf and taps away at the little keys, taking what comfort he can from the plinking notes.
***
He hasn’t been sitting at the instruments long before the chatter in the room heightens. He doesn’t bother turning around, knowing that some potential Caregivers have made their way into the room. When he had first arrived he had been nervous that strangers were allowed to walk amongst them, but Miss Priscilla had quickly explained that they’re vetted and checked within an inch of their life before they can come in to make sure they would never hurt anyone. It made him feel a lot better, eager to find himself in the arms of anyone willing to give him a glance
Now he keeps his back to the room and continues to make up little songs for himself, his typical excitement soured as Valdo’s words echo through his head. What would make today any different from the last hundred he’s spent in this room, longing and waiting for someone to take him in and love him? He scrubs at his eyes as they begin to water and sniffs, shoving his pacifier in his mouth to soothe.
He sits there for a while longer, playing little chords on the few keys the toy provides, when the sound of heavy footsteps brings him out of the haze he’d settled into. His heartbeat quickens as the steps stop right beside him and he turns slowly to look at the man that’s kneeling to his left.
He’s had many people come up to him over the last two years on visitation days. Pretty ladies and kind-looking men have sat with him to put a puzzle together, or color a couple of pages from a coloring book. But he’s never had a visitor like this. What catches his eye first is the man’s hair, long and white and juxtaposed to his younger face. It’s tied half back to keep it out of his eyes. And, oh, his eyes. They’re a light brown, nearly amber in the light from the window, and seem to stare straight through Jaskier…but they’re still friendly, he can tell. The man is dressed in black, his boots shiny and his t-shirt a faded gray. It looks awfully soft and Jaskier wants to touch it. Sitting on his chest is a round medallion, a wicked looking snarling wolf etched into it.
“Hello,” the man says, voice gravelly and warm. Despite not wanting to get his hopes up, Jaskier can already envision that voice reading him a book before bed, or asking what he’d like to eat for dinner. “I’m Geralt. What’s your name?”
Jaskier feels uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden and he ducks his head to pull himself from that gaze. “Julian,” he mumbles, rubbing at a key, “But, I like Jaskier.”
He hears a low chuckle and looks up to see the man giving him a small smile, just barely showing his teeth, “Buttercup, huh? Is that your favorite flower?”
Jaskier can’t help but give a small smile back before nodding, “Yellow’s my favorite color,” he says proudly, finally taking his pacifier from his mouth and letting it dangle from its clip. “It’s poisonous, though. Did you know that?”
Geralt raises his eyebrows and nods, “I did. Very clever of you to know that.” Jaskier blushes at the praise, looking away and fiddling with his fingers in his lap. He looks up again as Geralt asks, “May I sit next to you?” and nods in allowance.
Geralt sets himself on the ground next to Jaskier and nods to the piano sitting on Jaskier’s knees, “You were playing something when I walked up. Did you write it yourself?”
Jaskier blushes and shrugs, rubbing at his blanket with the hand not keeping the piano in his lap. “It’s just chords,” he mumbles. He could do more on the old upright piano in the entrance hall, but he didn’t want to bother Miss Priscilla or another caretaker to take him out there to play it a lot. So he settles with what toys they have.
“They sound lovely,” Geralt says, voice low and he smiles up at Jaskier. Jaskier can’t help but grin, always happy to hear compliments to his music, as simple as it is on a toy.
“Do you play any other instruments?” Geralt asks and Jaskier, shyness forgotten, goes into the many instruments he can play. His parents had allowed him lessons in guitar, piano, flute, and a couple others that he hasn’t been able to really keep up since he came here. Miss Priscilla allowed him to very carefully play her guitar at times and those evenings were his favorites. Miss Priscilla was also his favorite because she’s very nice and has such pretty hair and lets him pick the dessert after dinner sometimes–
The sound of Valdo laughing on the other side of the room shocks Jaskier out of his ramblings and he flushes in embarrassment. Valdo’s words from breakfast hit him, about how he's loud and annoying, and he clamps his mouth shut immediately. His blathering on could very well be the reason he hasn’t been adopted, and here he is talking this kind man’s ear off.
“Jaskier?” Geralt says quietly, his voice sounding surprisingly concerned and Jaskier looks up at him, ashamed. “What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, and, gods, he seems so genuine.
“I…” Jaskier starts, glancing nervously over at where Valdo sits at a gaming console. He grips his blanket with both hands, tempted to shove the silky corner into his mouth but deciding against it. “I’m annoying when I talk a lot,” he finishes, fearing that bringing attention to it will make the man realize that Jaskier is annoying and he’ll make his way to a quieter Little-
“Who told you that?” Geralt sounds angry, though Jaskier can tell it’s not with him, much to his relief. He’s already looking over in Valdo’s direction, noticing Jaskier’s glance that way.
Not wanting to get Valdo in trouble (he doesn’t want to be called a snitch on top of the other insults) Jaskier waves his hands urgently, bringing Geralt’s striking eyes back to him. “It’s okay! I–“
Geralt frowns and shakes his head, scooting a little closer to Jaskier, “No, it’s not okay.” He pauses, as though searching for what words he wants to say and Jaskier waits with bated breath. “What you have to say is important, you deserve to be listened to.” Geralt gives him another smile, still small but still kind, “Besides, I don’t talk much myself. I’d say we make a good pair.”
Jaskier feels the weight that’s been bearing down on his chest lift at Geralt’s words and feels happy tears build in his eyes. Without even thinking about it he pushes the piano from his lap and launches himself into Geralt’s arms, bringing his arms around his neck. The chain of his medallion is warm against his arms. “You’re very nice,” he mumbles into Geralt’s shoulder.
His stomach sinks when Geralt doesn’t immediately hug him back and he bites his lip, starting to pull away. He’s always been tactile, something else that could attribute to–
Geralt’s arms come up around him and he feels a big hand in his hair, smoothing it against the back of his head. “Thank you,” Geralt rumbles with a chuckle Jaskier only knows is there because he’s pressed against Geralt’s chest. A look over Geralt’s shoulder gives him a clear view of where Valdo’s sitting, glaring at him, and Jaskier can’t help but smile into Geralt’s shirt. He smells like pine.
Geralt lets him hug him for a while, Jaskier sniffling into his shirt, until Jaskier pulls away and rubs at his wet eyes with his blanket he had never let go of.
“If you’re up for it, I would love to hear another song,” Geralt says quietly, nodding to the piano Jaskier had abandoned on the floor.
Jaskier sniffs one more time and nods, happily pulling the piano towards him. Geralt doesn’t seem to mind him sitting in his lap (he is awfully comfy) so he turns to face out, getting his fingers on the little keys. He hums a little tune as he plunks out a couple of chords and is delighted when Geralt joins in not too long after, all thoughts on Valdo and his cruel words far behind him.
***
The bell signaling the end of visitation hours chimes and Jaskier startles, his fingers pausing on the drum he’s been rhythmically tapping on. Jaskier’s heart stops at the sound and he looks back at Geralt with tears already prickling in his eyes again.
Geralt’s been so nice, truly a man of few words but happy to sit and listen as Jaskier told him stories and sang him songs. He had played along with Jaskier’s snack games when they had been brought out, and, though his face seemed very stoic, he gave Jaskier’s the most genuine smiles he’s ever seen. His fear from earlier creeps back in, fear that Geralt has had his fill and won’t want to see Jaskier again, or he will come back but won’t want to play with Jaskier, which sounds like the worst option. He can’t imagine watching Geralt talk and play with Valdo or one of the other toddlers or kids. His throat closes at the thought and he whimpers.
Geralt makes a noise himself, something rumbly, and turns Jaskier in his lap so he’s facing him once again. “I had a lot of fun today,” he says earnestly.
Jaskier nods and rubs at his eyes with his blanket, trying not to hiccup on the sob he can feel clawing its way from his chest. He had a lot of fun, too.
“I believe tomorrow is also a visitation day, right?” Geralt asks quietly. Jaskier pauses and thinks that yes, tomorrow is the second Saturday of the month. He gulps, not wanting to get his hopes up but feels them rise nonetheless.
“Well, my schedule happens to be free. How about yours?”
Jaskier can’t help but giggle wetly as he nods. Geralt gives him another smile, and this time Jaskier can see his teeth as he grins. “Well, I’d like to play with you again if you’d allow it.”
Jaskier’s heart does a flip in his chest and he nods exuberantly, grinning back. “Yes, please,” he says as well, just to make sure.
He reluctantly gets up from Geralt’s lap and follows him to the door of the blended room, watching as the other visitors take their leave.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Geralt says quietly, placing a warm hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and squeezing it lightly. Jaskier leans into the touch.
“See ya,” Jaskier mumbles around the blanket in his mouth and Geralt gives him a fond look and nod before walking out. He turns and gives Jaskier a wave before he’s out of sight and Jaskier waves back, smiling around the cloth between his lips.
And as Jaskier settles into his bunk later that night, Miss Priscilla having turned out the lights and his blanket pillowing his head, he’s reminded why Fridays are his favorite, Geralt’s kind smile gracing his dreams all night.