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The bakery is a hole in the wall. It’s so tiny that it barely fits four tables, including the one perched on the pavement whenever the weather is nice enough, and a tiny counter, where the barista for the day has to interact with patrons over the glass case holding the pastries. Eskel was the one who found it, of course. It was over two years ago, not long after it opened, a block away from the Witcher Dojo. He came back one day with a fancy paper box holding a half-dozen mini-pastries and the start of what would become a friendship with the young but talented owner of the Blue Pearl Bakery, Essi Daven.
It’s a badly-kept secret at the dojo that the quickest way to winning Geralt over – or to apologize for three a.m. shenanigans that he had to go clean up again – is to bribe him with some sugary delicacy. His sweet tooth knows very few bounds. It’s a surprise to many when they first find out that the broad-shouldered, brooding kendo instructor will positively melt at the taste of sugar, which is exactly why Geralt doesn’t broadcast it (he has a reputation to uphold, after all). His brothers, however, don’t hold back, and within weeks of Eskel discovering the Blue Pearl, white paper boxes find their way into Geralt’s path almost every day.
Geralt holds out for a whole two months before he lets Eskel drag him to the bakery itself. Within a week of that, he caves and starts coming by himself, and soon enough he can be seen every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning at 10, laptop and folders spread out on the table closest to the counter, working his way through a cup of black coffee and the pastry of the day as he does the books for the dojo.
Jaskier comes later. Geralt is there the day Essi first brings him in and shows him how to work the register, on a quiet Monday morning before the lunch rush. While Essi always remains friendly but professional, Jaskier takes an immediate liking to Geralt and talks his ear off all morning, entirely unbothered by Geralt’s brooding personality.
Jaskier’s shifts at the bakery coincide with Geralt’s free mornings, and at first Geralt honestly considers getting his coffee and pastries to go and working on the books back in his office. It’s not that he dislikes Jaskier, per se. He’s always kind, and easy on the eyes to boot, he regularly gives Geralt an extra mini-pastry on the house even though Geralt knows he isn’t supposed to. It’s just that he never, ever shuts up. He greets Geralt with a wide smile and a compliment on his outfit, or his hair, or his looks, and from there it’s a stream of words, seemingly inexhaustible. Jaskier points out the pastries he helped with, or even baked all by himself (more and more of them as time passes), giving every detail of the process, commenting on Essi’s new experiments and Geralt’s choice of the day and whichever supplier is late again or has recently raised its rates. He keeps an eye on the street outside and spins tales about the passers-by, he sparks conversations with the clients who come in and get their order to go, he gossips (though always kindly) about the neighbours, he comments on the music coming through the speakers, he chats about everything and nothing. None of it truly seems aimed at Geralt and when he asks questions, he seems content with Geralt’s answering grunts and never pushes him to talk. It’s just that it never stops.
It grates at Geralt’s nerves, but for some reason, he keeps coming. He keeps sitting at the same table three times a week and listening to Jaskier with one ear while he does the books. He could do them in his sleep most of the time, it’s not hard work. He’s always been good at maths, which is why Vesemir turned that part of the business over to him. Jaskier’s chatter is at least semi-entertaining, most of the time. Jaskier is clearly smart and educated, almost certainly more than Geralt, who started working at the dojo before he even finished high school and never even entertained the idea of college. It shows in the way he talks about music, or about the books he reads, or even about fashion or one of the myriad of things that seem to interest him.
Geralt can’t imagine being interested in so many things. He has martial arts and the dojo and his students, and the occasional fantasy book to read before bed. That’s enough for him. His family is the most important thing in his life, and he doesn’t need more entertainment. He tries to keep up with a few TV programs for the sake of his little god-daughter, Ciri, but he mostly fails at even that, which is an endless source of amusement for his brothers.
Jaskier, however, seems to constantly have fifteen different tracks running through his mind. On the rare occasions he’s not talking, he’s humming under his breath, melodies that Geralt doesn’t think he’s ever heard – but that’s not saying much. He’s unfailingly kind to everyone who comes into the bakery and seems to love Essi like a sister. And, for some reason, he’s genuinely interested in every morsel of information Geralt deigns to share about himself.
He whoops aloud the day he figures out that Eskel, who comes in on alternating days to get Geralt his pastry on the mornings when he can’t come himself, is Geralt’s brother. A few weeks later, when Lambert walks in to ask Geralt to take over a class for him, Jaskier actually flaps his hands in excitement. He somehow manages to charm an amused Lambert into telling him all about the dojo and their family, and the next time Geralt walks in, Jaskier asks after each of his brothers and even about Vesemir, who comes in with Eskel the next day just to see what the fuss is about.
Geralt gets slowly used to Jaskier’s loud and entertaining presence in his life, feeling a little like the fox in Ciri’s favourite book, The Little Prince. Bit by bit, coaxed by Jaskier’s thoughtful and open questions, he opens up about his life, his work at the dojo, his classes, his brothers. He even tells him about his little god-daughter, who is starting school this year and spends her afternoon at the dojo until her grandparents get out of work, about his still somewhat strained relationship with his ex-wife, about his adoptive father who took in three lost, orphaned boys and raised them while running a dojo by himself. Jaskier makes all the appropriate noises and coos at the pictures of baby Ciri curled up with Geralt’s cat Roach. He asks perceptive questions about his various martial art classes (mostly kendo, but sometimes meditation and iaido as well), the age of his students, the day-to-day running of the studio, and he shows Geralt a bunch of martial art Youtube channels he’s been watching on his spare time. Geralt spends three whole morning watching them with him and critiquing the Youtubers’ technique.
On days when Geralt is frustrated with his work, with Vesemir’s expectations or with Lambert’s tendency to get in trouble, the bakery becomes a refuge. Jaskier, despite his constant stream of words, is actually a good listener. When Ciri comes back from school crying and admits that she’s being bullied, Jaskier has actual advice that doesn’t boil down to ‘punch them in the face and tell them your godfather will kick their asses’ (that was, of course, Lambert’s suggestion). He listens to Geralt’s rant after yet another argument with Yennefer (they can stand to be in the same room, these days, but not when Geralt’s hungover and Yen’s just lost a case). He even holds Geralt’s hand on the anniversary of his Renfri’s death, as Geralt chokes out the tragic story of his childhood friend.
They never see each other outside the bakery, but after seven months of this, Geralt feels like they’ve become friends. He doesn’t make friends easily – in fact, it could be argued that he only has one other friend, Triss, and she’s currently on the other side of the world working for the Peace Corps. He can’t exactly count Yennefer as a friend, after everything they’ve been through since their divorce, and Calanthe and Eist barely tolerate his presence in Ciri’s life. The other people in Geralt’s life are all part of his family. So yes, Jaskier is his friend.
Or so Geralt thinks, until the day he walks into the bakery, and it’s Essi behind the counter.
“Where Jaskier?” he asks as he peers at the pastries, trying to make his choice. Jaskier normally rambles at him about the day’s special and what kind of jam the muffins contain, and he finds himself at a loss without that information.
“Out sick,” Essi says curtly, her brow furrowed.
Geralt doesn’t know her well enough to tell if it’s annoyance or concern. “Is he alright?” he asks.
“He should be back on Monday. Here’s your coffee.”
“Thanks.” Geralt takes the cup and finally chooses a cinnamon bun, for the sole reason that it’s Jaskier’s favourite. He doesn’t let himself think about what that says about him.
The morning is awfully quiet. There’s some music Geralt doesn’t recognize coming through the speakers, but it’s nowhere near enough to fill the silence. Geralt unsuccessfully tries to focus on the boken and Tai Chi balls order form and he doesn’t even manage to finish filling it in the hour he lasts before he can’t stand it any more. He goes back to the dojo over an hour early and snaps at Lambert when he asks why.
Jaskier isn’t back on Monday. “He’s still sick,” Essi says curtly when Geralt asks. The cinnamon bun doesn’t taste as good as usual. The music grates on Geralt’s ears. He gives up after half an hour and goes home.
Jaskier isn’t back on Wednesday. Essi’s face is pinched and she’s even less talkative than usual. Geralt doesn’t bother and he takes his cinnamon bun and coffee to go. He locks himself in his office and forces himself to read through the small print of the contract he needs to sign for Eskel to go give meditation classes in a local private school. He doesn’t even taste the cinnamon bun.
Jaskier isn’t back on Friday. Geralt only orders a coffee to go, and Essi frowns at him, but she doesn’t say anything. He checks with Eskel that Jaskier hasn’t been there on any of the other days either, and he spends the morning working through his forms on a tatami, trying to ignore Vesemir’s Tai Chi class beside him.
He’s snappish through the weekend, even yelling at Ciri when she accidentally breaks a mug. The little girl bursts into tears and Geralt spends the next half-hour apologizing and comforting her, and he feels guilty for the rest of the day. By Saturday evening, Eskel has had enough and he corners Geralt in the corridor between their rooms.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Geralt grits out. “I’m fine.”
“Right.” Eskel watches him for a moment. “Did something happen with Yennefer?”
“No.”
“Then what is it? Is it Jaskier? Have you heard from him at all?”
Geralt grunts. Eskel claps his shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine. Half of my kids were out this week with the flu, maybe he caught it.”
Geralt grunts again.
“Why don’t you go check on him? Or call him, at least?”
Geralt thinks about it. “I can’t,” he says quietly.
He doesn’t know where Jaskier lives. They’ve never exchanged phone numbers. Hell, he doesn’t even know Jaskier’s last name.
The knot in his throat threatens to choke him at the realization. He has no idea what’s going on with Jaskier, because despite knowing him for seven months and Jaskier knowing or at least knowing of his entire family, Geralt know nothing about him.
Jaskier is unfailingly kind, unfailingly cheerful, and unfailingly talkative. And he never, ever says anything about himself.
*
Jaskier is back at work on Monday morning, looking tired but just as animated as usual.
“Geralt! I’ve missed you! Can you believe I’ve barely been gone a week and Essi tried two different new recipes without me? It’s not fair! She said you only got coffee on Friday, did you really go without a pastry ? You just have to get two today to make up for it!”
“Fine,” Geralt grunts. He lets a beat pass – which is more than Jaskier would usually give him – and gathers what little social skills he has to ask what he really wants to know. “Are you alright? Essi said you were sick.”
Jaskier’s face twists for just a split second. “Sure, of course, I’m fine, just that… flu going around, you know? It’s all fine now.”
Geralt nods, unable to bring himself to call him out on the obvious lie. Jaskier is already chattering about something else, anyway, and he lets the voice soothe him as he points at a pastry and Jaskier picks it out of the glass case.
As he sits down and powers his laptop up, for the first time, he pays attention not to Jaskier’s endless chatter but to what he isn’t saying. They haven’t seen each other in almost a week and a half, and Jaskier asks him what he’s been up to, and how each member of his family is by name, but he never once shares where he was.
He also catches the look that Jaskier and Essi share when the latter comes out of the kitchen for her break. Essi looks worried, and Jaskier smiles at her, but it’s brittle, nothing like his usual client-facing beam. He shakes his head minutely as Essi’s gaze trails over to Geralt, and Geralt wonders what that’s about.
It takes him another three days of Jaskier looking progressively more harried and exhausted, underneath his sunny personality, for Geralt to work up the courage to ask Jaskier his number. If Jaskier gets sick again, or whatever happened to him, Geralt wants a way to contact him.
Jaskier appears completely taken aback when Geralt asks, but he beams at him and types his number into Geralt’s phone. Geralt sends him a text with a cupcake emoji, and Jaskier laughs when he sees it. “Is that what I am to you? Cupcake guy?”
“That’s going to be your caller ID unless you give me your last name,” Geralt threatens.
Jaskier’s smile dims a little, but he shrugs. “It’s Pankratz,” he says. “Cupcake guy is fine, though. Or cinnamon bun guy, if you prefer.” He winks at Geralt.
Geralt types Jaskier Pankratz into the field that Jaskier left blank, then he slips his phone back into his pocket, listening to Jaskier going off on yet another tangent, something about smartphones. Jaskier’s phone has a glitter case with a guitar on it, and it’s the only personal thing of his that Geralt has ever seen, since Jaskier always wears the bakery’s uniform. It seems like a perfect match to his personality, though Geralt wonders if he actually plays the guitar.
He doesn’t ask.
*
Jaskier is absent two more times that month. Only one day each time, and Essi stays tight-lipped as to why. Jaskier himself masterfully deflects every time Geralt tries to bring up the subject.
He’s lost weight, Geralt realizes one day. He was almost painfully thin when he started working at the bakery, looking like a lanky teenager not quite finished with growing, even though he’s at least in his mid-twenties. But over seven months of working at the bakery and, no doubt, snacking on the leftover delicacies, he’d filled out a bit. Now he’s back to barely looking healthy, his skin pale and near transparent, his beautiful blue eyes sunken in. His smile still easily distracts Geralt, but he notices more and more often the bags under his eyes. Even his hair, which he’s been growing out, is looking flatter and duller.
“What’s going on with you?” Geralt asks once, interrupting Jaskier’s rant about the neighbour’s dog mid-sentence.
“What do you mean?” Jaskier frowns, but Geralt knows that he knows.
“You’re not looking well.”
Somehow, and Geralt isn’t even sure how, Jaskier manages to smoothly change the subject and also make it clear to Geralt that he overstepped. Geralt isn’t happy about it, but he doesn’t insist. Maybe Jaskier doesn’t consider him a friend at all. Maybe Jaskier is just this friendly to everybody. Maybe Geralt is so desperate for human contact that he built a whole fantasy in his head.
But the next time Jaskier is absent, instead of blowing him off when Geralt asks after him, Essi leans in over the counter. “You’re worried about him,” she states.
Geralt nods, unsure what to say.
“Jaskier…” she starts, hesitating. “I know he doesn’t open up much, but… he likes you. Don’t let him push you away. He needs friends right now.”
“But he won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Geralt frowns.
Essi shrugs. “He’s a giver. He likes taking care of people, and he doesn’t like people taking care of him. And I think he likes spending time with someone who isn’t… involved. Just keep at it. He doesn’t have a lot of people in his corner.”
“Alright,” Geralt grunts, before collecting his coffee and cinnamon bun.
He doesn’t have a lot of people in his corner . Geralt would have thought that someone like Jaskier had plenty of friends. He’s always so extraverted, greeting every regular by name (not just Geralt) and remembering titbits about their lives. But it’s become very clear to him that he knows nothing about Jaskier – because Jaskier won’t tell him anything . Geralt has shared more with him than he has with nearly anyone outside his family, and what he thought was reciprocation was all just wind. What does it take to get him to open up? Is it even worth it? If Jaskier doesn’t want to be friends, who is Geralt to try and force him?
He likes spending time with someone who isn’t involved . What does that even mean? Involved in what? Is Jaskier doing something illegal?
Geralt ponders those thoughts for the rest of the week, through classes and administrative work and one more morning of Jaskier’s endless chattering. He notices even more things, how Jaskier has completely stopped humming or commenting on the music coming from the speakers, how his uniform is starting to sag around his too thin body, how his smile falters whenever he thinks Geralt isn’t looking. And yet he still redirects every attempt from Geralt to ask the questions pressing on his mind.
Finally, Geralt snaps. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks outright, growling under his breath.
It’s only when Jaskier looks truly hurt that he realizes that it came out completely wrong. “If that’s what you think of me—” Jaskier says through gritted teeth, his back stiffening.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Geralt backtracks, but the damage is done.
Jaskier has closed off completely. He takes a step back and grips the edge of the counter behind him. “I know I’m a lot to handle,” he whispers brokenly. “You can just tell me if you’re sick of it. I’ll leave you alone.”
Geralt has fucked up royally, and he’s not sure how to fix it. “I’m not,” he grunts, standing up to put their faces on the same level. “I just… I can’t tell if you even want to be friends, Jaskier. You never tell me anything important! Last I heard, it’s supposed to go both ways!”
Jaskier closes his eyes and turns his face away. “I see,” he grits out. “I was just trying to be nice, but this is clearly not working. I’ll leave you alone, then. See you around, Geralt.”
And before Geralt has time to figure out how to reply, he’s disappeared through the kitchen door. It shuts behind him with a soft click that Geralt feels like a stab in his chest.
He’s still standing there several minutes later when Essi comes out and gives him a look stuck somewhere between disgusted and pitying. “You should go,” she says.
Geralt nods numbly and he gathers his things, unable to think clearly. He almost drops his laptop trying to pack it back into his bag and he curses under his breath. Essi’s glare digs a hole into his back when he pushes the door open.
What the fuck was that?
*
Geralt’s mood during the weekend is so bad that Ciri asks to go back to her grandparents earlier than planned. His brothers give him a wide berth, and he ends up brooding all alone in his room. He doesn’t understand how he fucked things up so much. All he wanted was to get Jaskier to open up, and it turned into… this.
Using his words has never been his forte. It caused the downfall of his marriage, that and the unhealthy co-dependency he and Yennefer developed during the long years when they tried and failed to have a child. Geralt knows he’s not an easy man to love, and his brothers regularly remind him of that, more or less gently depending on how irritated they are.
He replays his argument with Jaskier over and over. His first instinct, after he pushed through the initial shock, was to go back and apologize, try to start again and express his intentions properly this time, but the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders if Jaskier will even want him to.
I was just trying to be nice . He said that like Geralt was just another customer. He didn’t try to argue when Geralt said that he didn’t behave like a friend. It’s clearly not working. Why would someone like Jaskier want to be friends with Geralt, anyway? He’s young, beautiful, smart, social. Everything Geralt isn’t. He charms everyone he meets, while Geralt can barely grunt his way through a greeting before he wants to be as far away from people as possible.
No, clearly Geralt has been deluding himself into thinking that Jaskier even liked him. He probably just talks to Geralt because he’s the only customer around in the morning and he’s bored. That’s all. There’s nothing else there. There never was.
It’s easier to think that than to feel guilty for fucking it up, a voice mutters at the back of Geralt’s mind. It sounds like Triss. Fuck off, he answers, and he spends his Sunday afternoon hacking at a mannequin with a shinai. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
He doesn’t go to the bakery on Monday. He makes himself shitty coffee with the dojo’s machine and locks himself up in his office all morning. It’s fine, he can get more work done this way, anyway. Jaskier’s chatter may have been entertaining, but it wasn’t exactly conductive to productivity. He puts on some random web radio and tries to ignore how the music grates at his ears, because the silence is worse.
Eskel brings him a muffin on Tuesday. “What the fuck did you do?” he barks at Geralt, tossing him the box. “Essi almost jumped at my throat!”
Geralt grunts. “None of your business. Or hers, for that matter.”
Eskel frowns at him for a moment before deciding to let it go. “Whatever.”
Geralt doesn’t go to the bakery on Wednesday. He has better things to do, he tells himself. He bribes Lambert into switching their classes and he teaches karate to a bunch of preschoolers for an hour. At least they’re noisy, and he doesn’t have to listen to the accusing silence.
Eskel doesn’t bring back anything on Thursday. “You’ve barely said a word to me in a week,” he tells Geralt. “Whatever it is, go sort it out yourself.”
Geralt sighs. He doesn’t go to the bakery on Friday, either. He naps in his office and he dreams of cinnamon buns. He grabs one of Lambert’s cereal bars from the break room, but it doesn’t even come close to satisfying his sweet tooth, and Lambert yells at him for ten minutes for stealing it.
On Saturday morning, Eskel has had enough and he texts Triss. Five minutes later, Geralt receives a Skype call. It takes Triss another ten minutes to get him to crack and tell her everything. He’s talked to her about Jaskier before during one of their bimonthly calls, but she’s been in Turkey for almost a year now, so she’s never had a chance to meet him.
“Does he matter to you?” is her question once Geralt is done relating the story, cheeks heated up in shame at his fuckup.
Geralt takes his time to think. “Yeah,” he sighs.
“Then go and apologize. If he really doesn’t care about you, he’ll tell you. But if he does and he’s just going through a rough time, then not only you’re losing a friend, but you’re hurting him unnecessarily on top of that.”
Geralt runs a hand through his hair and rubs at his eyes. “I should,” he says. “I’m just…”
“Are you more afraid that he’s angry with you or that he isn’t?”
“I don’t want him to hate me.”
Triss, sweet, gentle Triss, rolls her eyes sympathetically. “I’d wack you up the head if I was here. Go apologize. Stop overthinking.”
“Fine,” Geralt sighs. “I will.”
*
As it turns out, he doesn’t need to. When Geralt comes back from dropping Ciri back home at five, he finds a tearful, shivering Jaskier in the shaded courtyard of the dojo. He’s curled up on the stone bench under the bamboo, still in his Blue Pearl uniform and a pair of rainbow converses, rocking back and forth in a self-soothing motion.
“Jaskier?” Geralt calls out, frowning.
Jaskier stops rocking and looks up at him. His eyes are red and puffy and his hands are shaking. “Geralt,” he sniffs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know where to go.”
“Come on inside,” Geralt decides, extending a hand. “And you can tell me what’s wrong.”
Jaskier stares at it for a second before he takes it. Geralt leads them into the building, past the dojo itself where Lambert is teaching to a group of teenagers, and into the break room. It’s more comfortable than his office. Eskel is stretched out on the couch, reading a book, but he jumps up as soon as they come in.
“What’s going on?”
Geralt shakes his head to say that he doesn’t know and he gently prompts Jaskier to sit down on the second couch with him. “What happened?” he asks.
Jaskier sniffs again and wipes his cheeks with his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “He was at the bakery and I couldn’t… I didn’t… Essi told me to go and…”
“Who’s he?” Geralt gently prompts.
“Valdo. He’s… my ex.”
“You didn’t stay friends, I presume?”
Jaskier snorts softly. “Not exactly, no. He was…” he trails off for a moment, then he seems to gather himself together. He squares his shoulders. “He’s not a good person.”
“Why is he at the bakery?” Geralt prompts him again.
This is nothing like the Jaskier he’s used to, always a chatterbox. It’s usually impossible to get him to shut up, but now Jaskier is staring at nothing, sitting in what has to be an uncomfortable position with his back hunched, like he doesn’t even notice. Geralt experimentally wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Jaskier leans against him gratefully. His whole body is trembling with tension, and he’s so thin that Geralt can feel his collarbones.
“I don’t know. I think he’s trying to get me fired. I just… I left Essi there, she told me to leave, but what if he hurts her…”
Geralt throws Eskel an alarmed look. “Is he violent?”
“Not physically, he never hit me or anything, but…”
“I’ll go check on her,” Eskel announces.
Jaskier focuses his eyes on him, like he’s just noticing his presence. He stares for a moment, then he gives a little nod. “Thanks…”
“Jaskier,” Geralt says when Eskel has left. “This Valdo, did he abuse you?”
Jaskier closes his eyes and buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder with a whine. Geralt’s throat knots up. He pulls Jaskier into a full hug, holding him tightly until Jaskier gradually stops shaking.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe.”
After a solid minute, Jaskier gently disentangle himself from the embrace. “Do you perhaps have a glass of water?” he asks sheepishly, his voice rough from crying.
“Of course.” Geralt stands up immediately to get a glass from the kitchenette and fill it.
“Thanks. I… I guess I owe you an explanation.”
Guilt churns in Geralt’s stomach. “You don’t owe me anything. I want to apologize for what I said the other day. You have a right to your privacy and I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
Jaskier laughs weakly. “No, you weren’t wrong. I don’t like talking about myself, but it’s not fair if I know so much about you and you know nothing about me. Friendship is a two-way street.”
“Still, you don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I just… I can’t help feeling like if I dump my mess on you, you’re gonna freak out and leave. Realize I’m not worth the trouble.”
Geralt closes his eyes, feeling even more guilty now. “Jaskier, you absolutely are worth the trouble. You’re the kindest person I know. Whatever it is that’s going on in your life, I want to know because I want to help.”
He reaches out again. Jaskier sets the now empty glass down on the coffee table and settles under his arm again. It feels almost natural, like they’ve been doing this all their lives, and Geralt thinks of Triss’s words. She was right. He really doesn’t want to lose Jaskier.
“Did you ever wonder why Essi hired a guy with no baking or selling experience whatsoever?”
Geralt shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Not really,” he admits.
“She was doing me a favour.”
That’s how Jaskier launches into the sordid tale. He started dating Valdo while they were both studying music in Oxenfurt. Valdo lived off-campus in a flat, and Jaskier moved in with him after four months. Everything was good at first, until Jaskier started meeting some success with his songs. Nothing big, he told Geralt, just a few contracts to write for established singers and a bunch of local gigs for his band, for which Essi is the backup singer. But Valdo got jealous. He resented Jaskier’s perfect grades, his easiness with writing verse, and soon even his social grace and his ability to make friends. He turned nasty, especially after a few glasses of wine, and started to constantly undermine Jaskier, while also forbidding him from keeping in touch with his friends.
“Essi’s the only one who kept trying,” Jaskier sobs in Geralt’s shoulder. “We’ve known each other since middle school. Everyone else just gave up. Valdo told anyone who would hear it that I was stealing lyrics from other artists, that I cheated my way through college.”
“Why didn’t you leave?” Geralt asks softly.
“I tried. At first I still loved him, I thought he just needed help and I could… I don’t know, change him. By the time I realized I needed to get out, I had nothing. Nowhere to go, no friends, no stable job, just a bunch of student debts. He got me mostly blacklisted from the industry. I… I couldn’t sleep, I stopped eating, I even stopped singing. I left a couple times, slept in a motel or even under a bridge once, but he always managed to convince me to come back. He told me that… that he was the best I could hope for, that no one else would ever want me.”
“Oh, Jaskier,” Geralt mutters. “He was wrong.”
Jaskier sighs. “He’d made me change my number and delete my socials, but one day I bumped into Essi in the supermarket. She took one look at me and she made me come back to her place. I had nothing but the clothes on my back, but I threw my phone down the toilet and I never went back. She let me crash on her couch and showed me around the bakery, said she needed a barista anyway. That’s when I met you.”
“I had no idea.”
“I know. I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want anyone to know. I was selling pastries and learning to bake them and I couldn’t even eat more than a couple cereal bars a day. I was a right mess.”
Jaskier meets Geralt’s eyes at that, for the first time today, as if challenging him to leave. Geralt shakes his head and tightens his arm around Jaskier’s shoulders.
“You got out,” he says slowly. He’s far out of his depth here, and choosing his words carefully. “That was very brave.”
“It didn’t feel brave,” Jaskier sighs. “It felt horrible. I almost gave in and went back so many times. It was like… like I was addicted to him.”
“But it got better,” Geralt says, because looking back, he saw it. He didn’t know what he was seeing, but he saw Jaskier lose his almost unhealthy pallor, gain some needed weight and smile more and more genuinely.
“Yeah. Thanks to you, mostly. Essi’s wonderful, but she’s busy and she couldn’t just drag my sorry ass out of that hole on her own. But talking to you, seeing you day after day, I started feeling human again. Like I could… like I was worth something.”
Geralt makes a small wounded noise. “You’re worth so much,” he mutters. “So much more than you know. You lifted me up, too, you know. I don’t have a lot of friends.”
Jaskier gives him a small smile. It lights up his face for a moment, until he seems to remember the situation, and he sighs again. “I thought I was making progress,” he says, his tone turning to frustration. “Getting up in the morning didn’t feel like a chore any more. I looked forward to seeing you.”
“The last few weeks…” Geralt hesitates. “What happened?”
“Valdo got a record deal. With songs he stole from me.”
“ What ?”
Jaskier nods dejectedly. “It was stuff I wrote in college, when we were still okay. I left my laptop behind when I left, along with pretty much everything I owned. He knew all my passwords.”
“The fucker,” Geralt says between gritted teeth. “Is there anything you can do about it?”
“Suing him would take money and energy I don’t have,” Jaskier sighs. “Besides, the damage is done. I’ll never work in the music industry again. But I… it threw me straight back to the start. It was like after everything I’ve done to get away from him, he was still taking things from me. I just wanted it all to stop.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t eat again. Hardly slept. I caught the flu and I felt like I was dying, and I kind of wanted to.”
Geralt has to force himself to let go of Jaskier’s shoulder before he crushes it. “That was when you were out of work,” he says.
“Yeah. After I got better, it was a toss up every day whether I managed to get out of bed or not. I tried to stop thinking about it, but the only time I could do that was when I was with you. I just… it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t know what a fuckup I am. I guess it was selfish of me to want to keep you away from this mess.”
“No,” Geralt says. He nudges Jaskier into facing him. “It wasn’t selfish. I was selfish for asking more of you than you wanted to give. I… I was complaining to you about my little problems and you were going through something so much worse and I didn’t know…”
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier sobs.
Geralt pulls him back into a hug. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all that on your own. I’m sorry I pushed you.”
“I… Valdo, he showed up at the bakery earlier. I don’t know how he found me. I hadn’t seen him since I left. I started panicking before he even saw me, and Essi pulled me to the back. But I could still hear them, and I couldn’t , I couldn’t listen to him tell her how worthless I am, I couldn’t… ”
“If you think I’d listen to a word that comes out of that pig’s mouth, you’re not giving me enough credit,” comes a voice from the direction of the door.
Geralt and Jaskier both look up in alarm, letting go of each other, to find Essi and Eskel standing in the door frame.
“Is he gone?” Jaskier asks weakly.
“He’s gone,” Essi confirms. “And he was given a piece of my mind. I don’t think he’ll come back any time soon.”
Jaskier sags against Geralt. “Thank you.”
“If he does, call me straight away,” Geralt tells Essi. “I’ll get rid of him.”
“Your brother already offered,” Essi shrugs. “But I can handle him myself.”
Jaskier looks between them and starts laughing. “Oh god,” he chokes out. He starts coughing, and Geralt pats his back. “I’m actually kind of hoping he does come back.”
“I’m not,” Geralt says firmly. “And I’m going to put you in contact with my lawyer to see what you can do about the record deal.”
“But—” Jaskier starts protesting.
“She’s very good at what she does. If there is a way to get you your songs back without making it too draining for you, she’ll find it. And she’ll take you on pro bono if I ask her as a favour.”
“Take it,” Eskel advises when Jaskier tries to protest again. “Yennefer’s terrifying. She’ll eat him alive.”
“Your ex-wife?” Jaskier chokes out toward Geralt.
“And the best lawyer in the city.”
Jaskier laughs shakily. “Okay. I… I’d really like to get those songs back.”
“I’ve never even heard you sing,” Geralt smiles.
“Then we need to correct that,” Essi decides.
Jaskier looks a little lost, still shaky and hoarse from all the crying, but he nods with a new determination in his gaze. “I’d need to get my guitar,” he says. “It’s back at Essi’s flat.”
Geralt gently pulls a strand of hair out of his face, accidentally running his thumb over Jaskier’s cheek. “Then lead the way,” he says, pulling them both up.
Jaskier smiles, a real, genuine smile. “Let’s go.”