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“... me now, I’m having such a good time, I’m having a ball -”
The door had barely opened when Geralt froze in his tracks, one hand stuck on the handle and the other already reaching up to cover his ears.
Well, ear. Even a single one would do.
“It’s karaoke night. Let’s go elsewhere.”
He could barely hear himself over the cacophony of cheers, boos, general chatter and dulcet tones of whoever was absolutely slaughtering Queen right now, but his brothers were typically unsympathetic.
“Geralt, we just got here. Let’s at least have one drink.”
“Karaoke? Fuck yeah, we’re staying.”
Lambert pushed past them both immediately, beelining for the bar and not seeming to care who he bulldozed out of the way to get there. Eskel just looked at Geralt and shrugged, before breaking out into a grin at the expression on his older brother’s face.
“Come on, Wolf. It won’t be so bad. One drink, and I’ll drag him away again. Promise.”
Geralt knew when he was beaten, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Scowl firmly fixed in place, he grunted in defeat and nodded to Eskel to go in first. The whole experience would be sensory overload for him, but he could manage a beer.
Probably. Maybe. If they were quick.
He’d also be making sure Lambert paid for it.
—
“And now, the act you’ve all been waiting for. We’re lucky enough to be his local, or he’d be charging you all entry just to stand in his presence - which, judging by the noise some of you make, you’d happily pay. Sling us a few quid at the bar instead, ey?”
A roar of good natured boos and catcalls coursed through the crowd as the MC grinned, knowing full well that nights like this propped up said bar almost single handedly. He probably should speak to the singer about doing a paid gig - splitting the profits, a win-win situation for both parties - but for now, it was time to give his precious punters what they’d all left their sofas and their TV dinners to see.
“Coming straight off the back of his most recent national tour, without further ado, it’s Julek!”
“Another round?”
Lambert stood up at the precise moment the next contender came out onto the tiny stage, blocking Geralt and Eskel’s view with his gym-honed bulk. They didn’t actually hear him say the words over the screams, stamping and clapping that had suddenly filled the room, but Geralt had grown adept at lip reading over the years and shook his head in response. They’d already had three pints each, two more than he’d originally agreed to, and his patience was wearing thin. Despite Eskel’s promise to leave after one, he seemed to be enjoying himself as much as Lambert, and it was probably only a matter of time before he offered himself up for a song.
Geralt had already slouched down as far as he could in his seat, his back to the wall and his knees bunched up uncomfortably under their tiny table. They’d been lucky to get it, Lambert pouncing when its previous occupants had gone outside for a smoke, defending it with his famous “don’t fuck with me” face when they’d come back in and looked ready to throw hands.
“I’ll come with you, I need a slash.”
With every single person in the room now turned to the stage, it was a good time to go, but Geralt knew there’d be hell to pay if he abandoned their seats back to the masses. Crossing his arms and cursing Eskel, he had no choice but to watch his brothers leave and sit through the next song with zero distractions, wishing regretfully he’d said yes to a drink after all. If there was anything worse than being at a karaoke gig, it was being at a karaoke gig still sober.
The man on stage now was wearing an outfit so bright it almost hurt Geralt’s eyes to look at, and it took a while for his senses to catch up with him and tune into the music itself. It was a loud, fast, energetic kind of pop song that he vaguely recognised, and whilst the crowd were clearly loving it, he couldn’t personally see why this was so much more popular than anything else he’d heard that night. The guy had quite a good voice, smooth and loose and confident, but by the reactions of everyone around him, you’d have thought Elvis himself was in the building.
“...he’s gotta be sure and it’s gotta be soon, and he’s gotta be larger than life, larger than liiiifeee!”
The first chorus ended and the room exploded, most people already up on their feet and dancing away. Geralt tried to peer through the mass of swaying limbs and pumping arms towards the bar, checking on Lambert’s progress, but it was useless. He couldn’t see anything except bodies keeping time to the rhythm as the next verse began, and there was even less hope of spotting Eskel amongst them.
Reluctantly, he looked back at the stage, noticing how the performer was smiling and pointing at various people in the audience as he sang, clearly utterly comfortable and in his element. He looked younger than Geralt had expected, not used to that kind of confidence in others, and his hair kept flopping into his eyes as he bounced around the raised platform. It irritated Geralt just to watch it, and he subconsciously reached a hand up to brush away a few fronds of his own that had escaped his ponytail.
“I need a hero! I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the niiiighttt -”
People near the front seemed to actually be swooning , and Geralt was pretty much the only patron still sitting. By chance, it afforded him one of the best views in the room, his head at exactly the right height and angle to look down the row of tables spanning from one side of the pub to the other. Admittedly, he hadn’t paid much attention to the first handful of acts, but whoever this Julek was did seem to be in a league of his own. From what the MC had said, Geralt presumed he was some kind of local amateur artist taking part as a bit of fun, the crowds coming out to support one of their own.
“Up where the mountains meet the heavens above, out where the lightning splits the seeea, I could swear there is someone somewhere watching meeee…”
As the act - Julek - started in on the second verse, he happened to look directly in the direction of Geralt’s table, their eyes meeting as Geralt stared back. The singer’s eyes widened in shock as he continued on, his voice faltering for a split second as he reached for the high notes.
Geralt tore his gaze away in embarrassment and shame, a flush already working its way up his neck. He knew he was unusual, his scars standing out angrily against a pale complexion, his hair as white as the snow that covered their little town for five months of the year. He’d lived here for so long that everyone around him had finally stopped staring by now, used to his unconventionally coloured eyes and albino appearance. It had reached the point where he’d forgotten that strangers’ reactions to him were usually full of fear and suspicion, and he wanted nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow him.
It didn’t seem that many other people had noticed, or at least nobody was turning to gawk at him, but the singer’s own response had been enough. He’d clearly been terrified of Geralt, scared or disgusted enough to get distracted from what he was doing, and Geralt hated himself both for causing it to happen and for feeling guilty about it. His brothers had always been able to shake off the taunts and the questions and the stares, but each one still felt like a knife to him. He needed to go, now, before he did something else that upset someone, but Lambert and Eskel weren’t back yet and -
In desperation, he half rose up from where he squatted, scanning the room to see if any of them were close. He was just about to give up on them both and leave anyway when he locked eyes with Julek again, the other man staring at him unashamedly as he sang.
“I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night, he's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast, and he's gotta be fresh from the fightttt.”
As the song paused for a few seconds of instrumental, the singer continued to hold Geralt’s gaze. To Geralt’s shock he was now smiling, a twinkle in his eyes that was both friendly and innocent and also kind of… hot.
“I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero till the morning lighttt, he's gotta be sure and it's gotta be soon, and he's gotta be larger than life.”
There was no mistaking the fact that he was looking at Geralt by choice - his eyes now roaming down Geralt’s chest and across his arms and back - and by the expression on his face, he didn’t seem to hate what he saw. In fact, if Geralt wasn’t convinced that absolutely nobody sane would find his mutated body attractive, he might suspect that Julek was checking him out.
He dismissed the thought and berated himself for having it as soon as it arrived - the guy could clearly have his pick of any of the men or women in here, the crowd was making that abundantly obvious - and he prayed for Eskel or Lambert to return and block the line of sight between their table and the stage. He couldn’t bear to be the butt of anyone’s joke, especially someone as popular as this Julek, and if he was hoping that Geralt would make a fool of himself and become yet another adoring fan, he was as delusional as he was clearly gifted. That had to be it - Geralt was the only person in the room not fawning over him, and guys like Julek would probably see it as some kind of challenge to have entire audiences falling at their feet. He wasn’t about to play some stupid game, and the sooner he could get out of here the better.
“I need a hero… I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night.”
The song finished as abruptly as it had begun, Julek choosing to speak the final words in his normal voice rather than belt them out as Geralt - and the crowd - had clearly expected. There was a sudden hush which amplified his lilting voice and carried it straight across the room, and if he’d added the word ‘Geralt’ on the end it couldn’t have been clearer who he’d been talking to. One by one, the other punters were turning to stare, finally cottoning on to the fact that their darling boy hadn’t looked away from Geralt’s corner for at least a minute, and the cleverest ones were starting to put two and two together and make five. Whooping and catcalls mixed in with the thunderous applause when it came, and Geralt could just about make out a few “Go get him, lad!”s and “You should be so lucky, mate!”s in and amongst the numerous “WE LOVE YOU, JULEK!”s.
Luckily for him and with impeccable timing, Eskel and Lambert suddenly arrived as one, Lambert balancing three pints and three shots on a precariously slanted tray and Eskel fist bumping him as soon as he’d safely deposited them on the table in front of them.
“Got you one anyway Ger-bear,” Lambert grinned, shoving a dark bitter and all three of the shots in Geralt’s direction. “And they’re for dutch courage - you gonna go snog that twink or what?”
Eskel whooped as Geralt choked on his first sip, the blush from earlier darkening to a deep red as he coughed foam and liquid down his beard.
“I’d clean up first,” Lambert carried on, looking like the cat that got the cream. “Don’t think we didn’t notice how much he was clearly gagging for you -”
Eskel cut in as Geralt went to protest, furiously wiping the sticky beer from his face.
“It’s true and you know it. The guy sung a song for you!”
“It wasn’t for me ,” Geralt said at last, his voice low with annoyance and panic. “It’s karaoke. He was singing it before he even noticed me -”
“So you DO admit he noticed you! Thank god, I thought I was gonna have to bang your head against that wall.”
“Lambert, if you don’t shut the fuck up -”
“He’s coming over, ” Eskel hissed, successfully shutting up both his brothers in record time.
Geralt and Lambert both whipped their heads around at the same time, Lambert back to grinning like a Chesire cat and Geralt wishing once more for a person-sized sinkhole to suddenly develop right where he was sitting. It was true, the man they knew as Julek was fighting through the crowd and seemed to be aiming straight for them, clasping hands and giving air kisses to those he passed on the way.
“What the fuck do I - how - what -”
“Breathe, Geralt,” Eskel said, grabbing his pint and gesturing for Lambert to do the same. “We’re just gonna - er - go outside. For some fresh air.”
“Be safe, yeah?” Lambert winked, following suit and laughing wickedly as Eskel led him away.
Geralt cursed the day that all of them, including himself, were born, before clenching his hands together and risking another look at the singer. He was young, with smooth skin and kind eyes, chestnut coloured hair and a peacock coloured silk blazer over a buttercup yellow shirt. A couple of necklaces swung across his chest as he moved slowly towards where Geralt was sitting, matching the silver and brass rings littered across his fingers.
He could do nothing but stare numbly as Julek reached their table, not asking for permission to sit and leaning straight into Geralt’s personal space.
“I’m Jaskier, but this lot know me as Julek,” he said, his voice light and happy. “And I am absolutely dying to know - who are you? ”
—
The music ended and Geralt took a deep breath before the record started up again, looping around so many times he’d lost count. They’d always considered this to be their song, even though it wasn’t one of Jaskier’s originals.
Geralt had learnt on that first night they met that Jaskier - or Julek - was a bit of a pop sensation, his band Julek and the Buttercups steadily growing in popularity across the continent. He’d started out doing the karaoke night at their local and had stayed loyal to it, performing a song every time it ran and never growing too big for his own boots.
He’d joked back then that he’d been rewarded for that with Geralt, falling in love at first sight right up on the stage, but Geralt knew it was nothing more than luck that had brought them together. He’d refused to believe in fate or any kind of higher power since he was a little boy - no kid that young should have faced the things he’d fought, seen the things he saw - but Jaskier’s death had been the nail in the coffin of any chance of a religious or spiritual revelation.
It was ironic, after all Geralt had suffered through and survived, that Jaskier should have been taken first. Cruel that he had been taken at all. They’d enjoyed just ten years together, ten years of love and companionship and joy and Geralt finding the only place he’d ever considered home. Funny to think that after so many decades of wandering and searching, safety had been a person for him, in the end. Not a place after all.
Now, uprooted and devastated, he didn’t know if he’d ever get over this kind of grief. In the five years since Jaskier had passed, his music had been the only thing still tethering Geralt to reality, but he’d still never managed to listen to their song . He couldn’t understand it, it wasn’t even as if he had a recording of Jaskier singing it - only the original Bonnie Tyler version - but something had always stopped him from putting it on, and he’d leave the room if it started playing on the radio. Perhaps it was the last of his self-preservation, protecting him from a pain even he couldn’t withstand.
Not today, though. He’d woken up and gone through the motions as usual, forcing himself to make and drink coffee, to eat breakfast, to get dressed. It was the five year anniversary of his husband’s death, and although he wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and never wake up, Geralt knew that Jaskier would be appalled by any failing to fully honour his memory. It was almost on autopilot that he’d selected this record for the first time in over half a decade, playing it quietly as he gathered together the flowers he’d take down to the cemetery that morning.
Jaskier had had a buttercup in his lapel when they’d met, and a bunch of them mixed with foxgloves, dandelions and lupins when they’d married. Today, and every year on this day, he got a whole bouquet, spilling across the headstone in a riot of colour, yellows and purples and blues so bright it almost hurt Geralt to look at them. On the card, he always left the same inscription, a nod to their beginning in defiance of the end.
He finished writing it this time and gathered his keys, sniffing loudly and wiping his eyes before gently cradling the flowers in his arms. He didn’t have a free hand to stop the music, but that didn’t matter - he’d leave it playing for when he got back. He’d quickly grown to hate how silent the house was without his husband in it. Once a lover and defender of solitude, Geralt hadn’t realised then that being alone wasn’t the same as being lonely.
As he left the room the record suddenly stuttered, catching itself and repeating the same line again and again, stuck until it scratched its way right through the vinyl.
“Somewhere just beyond my reach, there's someone reaching back for me….”