Chapter Text
The bus screeched to a halt, piercing the cheap headphones Geralt was wearing. He jolted forward, nose almost smashing into the plastic seat in front of him. He thrust a big and hairy hand forward to steady himself on the seat. His headphones slithered down to his neck, blaring the last notes of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do.” The Irishman had kept him isolated most of the journey south.
Geralt looked out the window, the sun setting on the desolate main street that was the Greyhound’s last stop. It was only missing a tumbleweed or two to roll through. The one story buildings sat collecting dust and for sale signs. Geralt sighed and collected his duffle bag. Home sweet home at last, Geralt thought bitterly as he stepped off the bus.
He looked around the street as the bus pulled away. Geralt swore and looked down at his phone. His old man had said Lambert would pick him up from the stop but he was nowhere to be found. The bastard would leave him to walk, Geralt thought. He slipped his cheap headphones back on, determined to walk all the way home. The flickering street lamps cast long shadows on the cracked asphalt. Geralt hunched his shoulders and geared himself up for the long haul.
It was about a minute into “From Eden” when Geralt picked up the puttering of a truck engine in his ears. He did his best to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would pass him by if he didn’t acknowledge them. The noise got closer and Geralt scowled, pulling his beanie down lower over his forehead. Geralt moved to increase the volume until he realized the volume in his ears had already been increasing. Confused, Geralt pulled his headphones off, but the sweet sounds of Hozier continued.
Geralt glanced over at the truck. Not only was Hozier pouring out of the car’s rolled down windows, it really was the same damn song. His eyes scrolled along the rest of the truck. It was sky blue, the original white showing through the chipped paint near the doors and wheels. On the side of the truck bed was a pristine mural. A white circle with a two toned red crab in the middle surrounded by three equidistant half yellow half blue triangles. Blue fish and green leaves filled the space inbetween. The whole mural was ringed by intertwined green ribbons. Geralt recognized the art as the cover to his favorite Mountain Goats EP, the Hex of Infinite Binding.
Geralt looked at the man in the truck. “I like the art,” he grunted, turning away again. He knew no one who liked Hozier and the Mountain Goats could be a bad guy, but he was still in a dark, unfamiliar place.
“Well, thank ya, painted it myself,” the man in the truck drawled. “Hey, listen, you look like you need a ride.”
Geralt stopped walking and turned to look at the man in earnest. His goldenrod eyes met a pair of green or gray eyes, Geralt couldn’t tell their color for sure in the dark, but they looked kind, surrounded by those luscious lashes. Geralt only wished he could get lashes like that without mascara, as if he would ever touch the stuff again. Geralt tried not to blink, he didn’t want to stop looking into those eyes.
It was the impossibly handsome man who turned away first. He reached over to the passenger side to unlock the door, and Geralt got a glimpse of his well toned arms. The man’s t-shirt rolled up as he thrust the door open, revealing pale skin underneath in contrast to the man’s otherwise tanned skin. A farmer’s tan to match his southern hospitality. Geralt found it strangely attractive.
“Door’s open if you want to hitch a ride,” the man said, smiling as wide and open as the Texas plains.
Geralt couldn’t help but be pulled in by that smile, plus his feet were already starting to ache. “Sure,” he said, nodding. He circled around the hood and grabbed the open door, slamming it behind him as he hopped on the threadbare seat.
“Probably should have asked earlier, but what’s your name, stranger?” the man asked.
“Geralt.”
“Well, Geralt, I’m Jaskier, but my friends call me Dandy.”
Geralt expected the man to hold out his hand to shake, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned close enough for Geralt to see the two day old stubble across Jaskier’s face. Geralt’s breath hitched as Jaskier came closer, imagining what it would be like to feel that rough stubble on his smooth cheeks. The scent of musk wood by Avon, floral but still masculine, drifted towards him as Jaskier reached an arm over Geralt’s shoulder.
“Seatbelt is kind of hard to find, hope you don’t mind, Geralt,” Jaskier said, tugging the seatbelt down and locking it in place over Geralt. He just managed to avoid brushing Geralt’s chest, much to his disappointment. Jaskier slid back over to the driver’s seat and started getting the car in gear. Geralt sighed, the lingering heat of Jaskier’s body leaving him as soon as he started to enjoy it. Now nothing more than a fleeting moment in his life.
The engine roared to life and Jaskier turned up the radio to cover it. “Let me know if you want the music changed!” he shouted.
“No, no, it’s okay. I like Hozier too,” Geralt admitted, somewhat hesitant.
“Glad to hear it. Now where are you headed?”
Geralt mumbled out his address.
“No way? You’re one of old man Vesemir’s kids? I thought I would have remembered such a striking face,” Jaskier grinned and glanced over at Geralt, waggling his eyebrows. Geralt gave him a small smile in return, trying to gauge if he was flirting or tossing him some kind of masculine bonding compliment.
“Been out of town,” Geralt said.
Jaskier sighed. “Yeah, I can’t blame ya. This place is going to hell in a handbasket.”
Geralt nodded, unsure of what to say next. Jaskier didn’t press him, letting the conversation lull into a comfortable silence. The countryside passed them slowly, soundtracked by Hozier’s ethereal vocals. Geralt shifted in his seat, getting comfortable in the warm air.
Jaskier coughed as the cassette finished and popped out. He grabbed it and threw it in the middle of their connected seats. “There’s some more music in the glovebox if you want to pick something. I burn them all to cassettes myself, so let me know if you can’t read my handwriting on em.”
Geralt nodded, surprised he didn’t feel on the spot. He leaned forward and grabbed the handle to the glovebox and started tugging at it. It refused to open for him. He scowled at it as the car slowed down.
“Shit, sorry that always sticks, let me get it. Just let me know if the light turns green,” Jaskier said.
Geralt leaned back, offering the space to Jaskier. The man leaned over again, placing his forearm next to Geralt’s thigh as his other arm fiddled with the glovebox. Geralt couldn’t help but stare at Jaskier’s back as the muscles rippled beneath his tight shirt. He felt hypnotized by every movement. For a moment, he prayed the light would never turn green.
But it did. Geralt’s eyes glanced up at the light, not wanting to say it had changed. He wanted to draw this moment out forever. “There you go,” Jaskier said and the glovebox clicked open. Jaskier propped himself up on his elbow before placing his hand down on Geralt’s thigh to heave himself back into the driver’s seat. “Oh, sorry about that,” he said, his hands back on the wheel and the shift stick. “Didn’t realize where my hand was.” Jaskier turned to glance out of his window for a moment, and Geralt caught the faintest hints of blush gracing his cheeks.
“It's fine,” Geralt mumbled, even though it was more than fine. He did his best to turn his attention back to the glovebox. Cassettes were crammed in there and Geralt had no idea where to start. He almost felt like picking something at random. He pulled a few out at random, trying his best not to cause a plastic avalanche. As he was browsing the titles of a few albums, he heard a gasp from Jaskier.
“I was wonderin’ where that was!” Jaskier exclaimed. He thrust his hand into the glovebox, his knuckles brushing against Geralt’s, and came out with a rainbow pin. “Hey, can you hold on to this for me, I don’t want to lose it in all this mess again.”
Geralt blinked. He looked at the rainbow pin in Jaskier’s loosely cupped palm. “Sure, sure, yeah,” Geralt said, trying to play it cool. A pride pin was the last thing he expected to find in this backwater town. Jaskier gently placed the pin into Geralt’s hand, his hand lingering a second longer than it needed to. Geralt stared down at the pin before closing his fingers over it, holding it tightly. With his free hand he slowly tugged his beanie off, letting his wavy, silver hair down. It reached just passed his shoulders. This small act felt like the first time since he left Boston that he hadn’t been hiding himself away. Maybe Jaskier was just good at bringing out that side of him. Confidently, he popped a cassette in, rolling his shoulders as he leaned back in the seat.
“Good choice,” Jaskier said, smiling. The opening notes to Fruit Bat’s “When U Love Somebody,” filled the car. “This is one of my favorites,” he continued, glancing over at Geralt, “might not be able to help myself from singing along.”
“Go ahead.”
Jaskier tapped his fingertips on the steering wheel. He started humming along until the lyrics started. “Baby, remember on the bus,” he sang, “And my hand was on your knee?” He met Geralt’s eyes on the word knee before quickly looking back at the road. “When you love somebody / It's hard to think about anything but to breathe.”
As if I didn’t know that already, Geralt thought. He took a shaky breath, feeling like that was all he could do to focus when they were this close. The song played on in the background, but all Geralt could hear was Jaskier’s melodic voice wash over him.
When the song ended and they were stopped in front of Vesemir’s house, Jaskier turned to Geralt again, as if it was the last chance he could get. It was the first time he was able to get a real look at Geralt. “Yeah, I would’ve recognized you, hair like that, face like that, yeah you stand out.”
Geralt stared at Jaskier, unsure of what he was going to say next.
“Sorry, I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Jaskier said, throwing up his hands. “Just more handsome than most of the men around here.”
The porch lights flicked on, dragging Geralt’s eyes away. “That’s my stop,” he said awkwardly.
“Well then, g’night, good lookin’.” Jaskier tipped an imaginary cowboy hat, as if he was used to wearing a real one.
“Good night,” Geralt said quietly. He scrambled for his bag and reached, unsure of what to say. He stepped out into the cold night air and Jaskier sped away as fast as that old truck could go.
Geralt took a deep, shaky breath, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder. Time to face the music. He tensed and untensed his hands, unable to move. He felt the pin, warm in his hands, the metal grounding him as it pressed into his palm.
Vesemir let out a shout. “Come on in…G-Geralt!”
Geralt cringed at Vesemir’s hesitation at his new name. It was a step towards acceptance, and he had to take a step back towards his family. If Jaskier could take a chance on a stranger off the Greyhound, he could take a chance that things would go well this time.