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“You look amazing, darling.”
Jaskier scoffs as a pair of arms slithers around his waist hugging him the same time a chin rests on top of his shoulder, and then a peck finds itself behind his ear.
“Don’t shower me with compliments when we both know you’re only doing that to keep me on board this ridiculous idea of yours, Radovid.”
Radovid chuckles then kisses Jaskier on the neck before turning him around. “But we both know I will never need excuses to shower you with compliments.” He hooks his finger on Jaskier’s chin as he stares at him tenderly. “You’re beautiful, Jaskier, right now, later, tomorrow, and even yesterday.”
How could anyone not melt on those words said with a pair of eyes looking at you as if you are holding the greatness of the galaxies?
To brush off the welling emotions, Jaskier clicks his tongue and picks up a bowtie and a necktie. “Which one?”
“Neither. Phillipa specifically mentioned not to wear those.”
“Well, since when did I ever give two shits about her terms.”
Radovid laughs. “Until now, I cannot understand where you get your confidence on riling her up.”
“That’s my charm, my prince.” Jaskier endearingly but teasingly flicks his finger on Radovid’s chin. “Do I really look okay? I look like someone auditioning for Romeo at Broadway.”
Biting his lip, Radovid runs his eyes from Jaskier’s styled hair down to Jaskier’s magnificent black boots with 3-inches platform block heels. Sometimes he just can’t help but ask himself: how lucky is he to be bestowed an opportunity to love such a person?
“All right, Mister completely-head-over-heals-to-me,” Jaskier says whilst doing jazz hands. “I get it. Let’s go now.”
“Okay,” Radovid says with the happiest smile before kissing Jaskier sweetly.
They finish up on their looks then head down the stairs of their two-story flat. Radovid’s car waits for them by the curb in-front. It still takes Jaskier’s breath away to know that his boyfriend owns a luxury car whilst looking so modest in the most simple looking clothes.
“For the record, I still think this is a bad idea,” he says as he puts on his seatbelt.
Radovid chuckles whilst turning on the ignition. “I know, but you said to yourself that you love bad ideas and that you love me.” He bats his eyelashes at Jaskier who blushes on his seat then turns to the window.
As the scenery on his window looks like one-direction brushstrokes, Jaskier feels his chest hollow on the thought of what can happen later this evening. It dreads him yet it makes him anticipate it too.
“This is ridiculous.”
Yennefer rolls her eyes on hearing Geralt say those words for what feels like the twelfth time since the afternoon they met up at the bistro on the corner of the street. They’ve arrived at the venue where the reunion is being held. Convincing Geralt to accompany her in their college reunion took ten years of her life, is what it felt like. He is insistent not to come.
“Yenn!”
“Triss!”
The two ladies run to each other for a gleeful embrace. Triss Merigold is a dear friend to her since the first day of the first semester of their freshman year.
“I’m so happy to you,” Triss says when they both step back from the embrace. She smiles the sweetest, kindest smile.
“Me too. It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How’s it been?”
“Oh, I’m still a florist. Nothing much more than that. And you?” Her gaze catches on a tall figure with a very familiar grey aura. “Geralt?” She meets his topaz eyes then turns back at Yennefer’s purple ones. “You’re together again?”
Yennefer brushes the chills that run cold on her spine with a laugh. Geralt on the other hand bows his head, as usual keeping his mouth shut to avoid saying or answering questions that concern his personal relationships. A very known character trait of Geralt of Rivia.
Triss invites Yennefer and him to their table. Timingly, a pair arrives and the room holler in welcome. A heart sinks by looking.
Jaskier knew people would definitely cause a commotion upon seeing Radovid (or him with Radovid ). Is it his fault if he and the Prince got off along and are in a relationship now? Truth be told, the commotion is not the thing that is making his chest tight and his hands clammy but the feeling of a pair of topaz orbs gazing at him.
“Julian!”
Oh, great, if it isn’t the one and only person I would love not to see anymore in all my lifetimes.
“Nathan! Hey.”
Here’s the thing about Valdo Marx—long story short, Valdo is what Jaskier believes to be the biggest truth in his whole life, the greatest enemy he is not expecting to have. In all honesty, Valdo is a fine singer but he is just too obnoxious and loves himself more than anything except his singing career. Jaskier once believed they could be friends but Valdo made it very clear on the start that they are more compatible as enemies than friends who will later on stab each other at the back. Harsh.
They’re exchanging judgmental observing stares on each other. But then Valdo puts his eyes in the other direction—suddenly flashing his (fake) bright smile at Radovid.
“Your Royal Highness,” he says in a particular tone whilst curtsying. His band members follow suit, flashing the prince and Jaskier giddy, more genuine, smiles. “It’s such an honour to meet you again. You don’t look like you’ve aged a day.”
Jaskier’s microexpression sours while, in contrast, Radovid gives a kind smile and curt nod at the compliment.
“Thank you. You still look like yourself, Valdo. How’s your music?”
Valdo lets out a loud chortle as if Radovid just asked him the most fluttering question. Thankfully the MC calls on everyone to settle on their chosen table. Of course, Valdo invites Radovid to their table.
“He only mentioned you.”
“Come on, Dandelion. You know he looks like he missed you too.” Ah, Radovid, as optimistic as ever. Kind hearted too.
“Well, he sure does have an interesting way of showing it,” Jaskier replies as he is about to pull the chair but Radovid beats him to it. Couple-y gestures still get him stunned even though two years have passed. “Thank you,” he says, then kissing Radovid on the cheek.
The program starts and the gaze from a certain person never leaves him.
“He’s here.”
“He is.” Hesitant, Yennefer thinks while following Geralt’s unmoving eyes in the direction where Jaskier is sitting with his back on them. “Would you like to say hi?”
With a heavy sigh, Geralt closes his eyes and shakes his head. His head hangs low as he answers, “No.”
Complicated things are not really complicated if only…if only people choose to say the exact words in their heads rather than what their fear is dictating them to say.
Everyone is having a great time and are surely three glasses deep in liquor which explains the more loose vibes on all tables. Valdo and Jaskier are actually sharing a friendly but a little snarky banter about the competitions and shits they’ve done to sabotage each other's rehearsals and performances. It’s all child’s play but looking back those actually became their greatest motivation on working harder until they get to be the best version of themselves. Like they said, a worthy component is the best inspiration.
And then the sharing starts. Funny, embarrassing stories, even confessions, are shared on the stage, eliciting a positive, at some points awkward, atmosphere in the room. That is until someone calls on Jaskier to talk about his songs.
They are all insistent. Radovid is supportive even though there is a visible line on his eyes that says he is a bit uncomfortable. Jaskier is simply laughing condescendingly as he declines to be in the spotlight.
“Oh, come on, Jaskier, your muse is literally on the table across the room,” someone says from the other table. And that is when an elephant walks in the room.
“Oh yeah, isn’t he the one Jaskier is talking about on that song?” A woman asks from the table behind Geralt.
“Yeah, he is,” a man and a woman answered in unison.
“How about sing us one, Dandelion?” Someone from somewhere asks which starts the chant.
Jaskier likes, love even, attention but not this kind where personal matters are being resurfaced. A hand finds a place on top of his..
Radovid squeezes his hand, comforting and reassuring. “You can if you want,” he says, “if you don’t, Valdo will distract them.”
“Yes,” Valdo says. “I love this kind of vibe and attention,” he humors. Jaskier appreciates that.
Then he looks at Radovid, placing his hand on top of Radovid’s. “One song.”
Radovid gives him the most endearing look and most comforting smile. “All right.”
Then they lean forward, kissing in jest, which causes the whole room in hollers of cheers and wolf whistles. Of course everyone nowadays encourages public displays of affection, especially in college reunions.
“Wish me luck. All right, here we go.”
To see Jaskier in flesh since what feels like forever is one thing. To watch Jaskier walk up the small stage is another—taking him back on the times before. Times as in in-plural, several times before.
The MC gives Jaskier a microphone, then asks him if he will need an instrument. Jaskier is nervous to look at the crowd—to look at anywhere really. He musters everything to meet those topaz that have been looking at him from the beginning. Funny how the things you’ve left in the attic, or basement, or in a vault still have that magnetising effect on you.
He tears away his eyes. “Do you, by any chance, have a lute or a guitar?”
“Oh, I’ll ah ask the staff,” the MC politely answered, seemingly as excited as everyone in the room. “Ah, wait here, sir. Just a moment.” Then she is off somewhere.
Now he stands along on the stage, a limelight focused on him. His hands suddenly get more clammy but what has his entire life been shaping him to be to deal with situations like this?
He puts on a big smile. “Hi everyone. I hope y’all still remember me.” There are hoots and ‘yeah’. “Yup. Um—Hm, well, what would you like me to play?”
You know, they say that there are two wolves inside you. For Jaskier, there are two songs that define a reoccurring stage in his life. “Toss a Coin!” and “Burn, Butcher, Burn!”
Unicornically, two heads slump back, not surprised but nonetheless so done with the people only knowing two songs among the dozens that Jaskier have performed and composed through their college years. Oh
They both catch on each other after lifting their head back. For five seconds of understanding they both shared the same thoughts, they lightly chuckle on where they are. As much as it brings them into a lighter mood, there is also bittersweetness at how nostalgic their positions are; Geralt is watching among the crowd, and Jaskier is on the stage looking through the crowded room but only seeing one person.
The MC runs back with a staff carrying an electronic keyboard. She explains that it is the only instrument in the whole building. Jaskier accepts it with great gratitude.
Once everything is in place, Jaskier thinks. Thinks. And thinks about his songs. Songs that are not just songs as some of the greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of many things. Those had been what he sang most of the time.
“Ahm, there’s…there is actually a song I’m working on. Maybe I’ll need some thoughts from the crowd.” He receives positive, encouraging replies. And so he smiles then presses the keys.
It is a simple song—that’s what he tells himself at least.
Radovid sits up, recognizing the melody that he has heard Jaskier humming some mornings and afternoons. His heart begins to skip a beat. Contrasting from Valdo whose eyes are sparkling on seeing Jaskier behind a piano—the only person he considers to make pianos enchanted. On the other table, Geralt takes in a deep inhale.
Jaskier sings.
”How many days will it take/ How many shots to make me say “Oh I’m over it”/ Maybeee/ I could’ve said, could’ve done something else/ But all of the “could’ve” mean nothing to you now/ So just playing back the moments that I’ll never get back”
He knows he shouldn’t look up, shouldn’t dare to tear his eyes away from the keys because he is doing himself a favor. He is doing his heart a favor. But he’s been an artist all his life, and all artists are poets, and this is what poets do—sing the sacred unspoken words.
He gambles—he tears his eyes from the piano and quickly meets those same topaz eyes that are watching him with adoration and sadness.
”Maybe next time I’ll be enough/ You’ll give me everything instead of giving up…/ Maybe next time won’t be a waste/ You’ll be the one and not the one that got away/ So I’ll count on the days/ Till I won’t have to say…/ Maybe next time….”
He presses the final keys he remembers then hits the last one. Without the piano or him singing, the room has fallen silent for, what turns out to be, the whole time he started.
The tension is thick enough to be cut through by a knife.
People are silent not in a bad way but in a sense that they are all taken aback, and not realizing that they maybe shouldn’t have been persistent knowing there is an elephant in the room standing between two people.
Valdo and his band start clapping, Radovid follows, and then the next thing is everyone is giving Jaskier’s glimpse of his new song a standing ovation. Even Geralt is standing and clapping.
Jaskier wouldn’t have been able to stand that gesture from Geralt but that would be the version of him in the past. He smiles and bows, thanking everyone’s kind response. He goes back to his seat, and the program carries on.
“That is beautiful,” Radovid says.
“Thank you.”
“It’s one of them, isn’t it? One of your songs is about him.”
Jaskier refuses to neither confirm nor deny.
While waiting for Radovid to get the car, Jaskier stands by the curb when someone taps on the shoulder.
“Yennefer.”
“Hi, Pankratz.”
“Hi to you too,” he says before pulling her in a hug. “Missed you, my witch.”
“Pfft, stop with the nicknames, you devil.” They burst in laughing on the banter.
Another presence approaches them. “Hello, Jaskier.”
“Hello, Geralt.”
Yennefer steps aside, holding a small smile whilst the two are exchanging sad gazes. Geralt then offers a smile.
“You still sing very well.”
“Heh, thank you. And you look…look well, Geralt.”
“Ah, I will say goodbye to Triss,” Yennefer announces. “Be nice to each other,” she says as a tease but the three of them know what she really meant.
Geralt thinks. Thinks. And thinks about his words. Words that should’ve been said long ago but were swept in the vault. Those words have been eating him alive, and he can tell that it was not just him that has been haunted by those.
“It’s a beautiful song.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m told to be good at writing beautiful songs.”
“Right….” Geralt thinks—No, he is tired of thinking. “Jask—“
“No. No, no.” Jaskier cuts him right away, having a feeling where this might go. “Whatever you will say, think it through, Geralt.”
“Right.” Geralt ends up saying those words with his eyes. Jaskier’s breath hitches.
A car arrives at the curb.
“I’ll be on my way. It’s great to see you again, Geralt. Tell Yenn I’ll catch up with her some time.”
“All right. Have a safe ride. See you around.” He received a nod.
Right before Jaskier gets hold of the car door, a hand holds his.
“Can we catch up with each other too?”
Jaskier looks at Geralt then on Geralt’s hand holding his—everything is suddenly bringing him back. No! He can’t be pulled back.
So as gentle as he can, he touches Geralt’s hand that is holding his, and then moves Geralt’s hand off of his. And just like the last time, he offers Geralt an apologetic smile, saying more than what needs to be said.
“Maybe next time.”