Chapter Text
On a Friday night in the Summer of 2015, Geralt takes Jaskier aside and everything is wrong. Jaskier almost doesn’t want to listen because he knows what is about to happen. He never took Geralt to be one for clichés and yet, there’s a lot of “It’s not you, it’s me” and “I just can’t commit to someone right now” and “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.” It’s frustrating, but maybe it’s his fault for constantly over-estimating him.
Jaskier doesn’t cry. He doesn’t want to give him that, he doesn’t want to give him that kind of vulnerability because God knows, Geralt has never given him any. Instead, he nods and says he understands because what use is there in protest? None. He can’t make Geralt stay any more than he can force a song into existence without a melody.
And with one last hum, Geralt is gone, leaving behind only silence and it feels like, in that instance, he has left Jaskier’s life for good. And only when Jaskier hears the front door fall shut, he starts crying, alone and heartbroken and cursing himself for ever expecting more than what they had. It was good as a fling and maybe Geralt would still be here if he had never told him he wanted more than that. And maybe that would hurt more, in the long run, but Jaskier never was one for the long run.
He could have had the pleasure of the moment, for just a little longer. And maybe he wouldn’t need more at some point, maybe he would get over that or maybe someone else would’ve come along and it would have been Jaskier with control over the situation.
But that’s not what happened. What happened is he fell in love and had his heart broken. And now he is crying about it because he is only human and watching a man he was hopelessly infatuated with leave for vague, selfish reasons burns a hole into his chest, whether he wants it to or not.
~
Jaskier has never been good with faces. He is convinced he walks past at least three former classmates every single day, without recognizing them simply by virtue of them changing haircuts and hair colors or wearing a different style of makeup than they used to or gaining or losing a few pounds here or there. Or – the worst offense of all – some people grow beards which simply kills every ability for him to recognize anyone. Bottom line is, if he doesn’t see someone for an extended period of time, he may never recognize them again.
But for every rule, there is an exception. And Jaskier is looking at that exception with big eyes and his heart jumping unpleasantly in his chest.
He hasn’t seen Geralt in five years, but not only does he look almost exactly the same as five years ago, safe for his jawline that seems to be even sharper than back then if that’s even possible, he also appears to conduct himself in the exact same manner as he used to. Poise, effortless confidence, unrivaled gorgeousness, it’s all there. And he’s just sitting there, alone at his table, sipping a soft drink.
Jaskier needs to remind himself for a moment that he is standing in line at a Subway and really should be thinking more about composing his order rather than this man he used to know five years ago, before he was who he is now. He tries to shake it off, to ignore the pulling sensation in his chest that is trying to dig up memories that he has tried so hard not to dwell on.
They knew each other for about two months five years ago and yet seeing him here throws Jaskier off his game so completely and utterly that his mind goes blank.
“What would you like, sir?” the employee asks, visibly annoyed at his mental absence.
He apologizes and goes through the motions of his order. It costs him conscious effort to not constantly look over his shoulder and wondering whether Geralt has noticed him. Maybe he doesn’t even remember him. God, that would be fucking tragic, Jaskier thinks and shoves the thought back where it came from. Geralt can’t have forgotten him unless he has been with more than a hundred people in the meantime, all more memorable than Jaskier. And Jaskier would like to think about himself a bit more highly than them. He still remembers his five girlfriends from school, after all, even if he probably wouldn’t recognize most of them and none of them were anything anywhere near a “serious” relationship.
He thanks the cashier mechanically, takes his sandwich and contemplates whether he should talk to Geralt. Would that be a weird move? Just chatting up an ex-whatever-they-were?
Fuck it, it’s been five years, he decides finally and makes his way to Geralt’s table and can’t help but wonder if his favorite soft drink is still peach ice-tea.
“Geralt! What a coincidence, nice to see you!” He almost wants to pat himself on the back for how casual he makes it sound. As if he has literally just spotted him instead of agonizing about his presence for several minutes. “Can I sit down?”
Geralt looks up to him, face as unreadable as ever. He hums – that definitely hasn’t changed – and nods slowly. “Jaskier,” he says, and his voice is still as deep and rough as Jaskier remembers it, “I don’t reckon I can stop you.”
“Hey, I’m not a dick, I would only keep asking for a few minutes, nothing to drastic,” he says, smiling. It still feels so easy, talking to Geralt. He settles down on the chair across from him and unwraps his sandwich. “So, wow, it’s been a while, how have you been doing?” Jaskier knows it’s a lame question, but he figures it’s what he should be asking.
“Quite well, I think. I’m pretty settled,” Geralt says and Jaskier eyes him suspiciously, “You?”
“Oh, I’m great, I’m a journalist now, of all things. A journalist! For sports, though, so that’s… Suboptimal, but well, you do what makes you money, I guess. Oh, and I have a band which is fun, for the most part. It’s been hard to keep it alive, you know, everyone being busy after college and such.” He shrugs and smiles a little awkwardly before digging into his sandwich. “What do you do?” he asks then, his mouth still half full. Very classy, Jaskier, ten out of ten.
“I teach medieval history here.”
Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “You’re a professor?”
Geralt smiles, being just as beautiful as Jaskier remembers him. Maybe even more so. “Yes, it was a good offer and teaching isn’t as bad as I thought.”
Jaskier laughs and nods, “I imagine, I just never saw that for you.” He pauses for a moment. “You’re still a hunter, though, right?”
Geralt nods and looks away. Jaskier has always been uncomfortable with that aspect of Geralt’s life. It’s his single most bothersome feature, honestly, and Jaskier only with pronounced discomfort remembers using it as petty ammunition against Geralt in arguments.
He clears his throat. “I’m… I’m sorry, you know. I was a huge dick about that whole thing. I shouldn’t hold that against you, I was just… You know, a twenty-year-old, I guess.”
“Thanks,” Geralt says, “It’s alright, though, I never accepted that you were uncomfortable with me talking about hunting and all that. Sorry about that, too.”
Jaskier smiles and feels like an idiot. He can’t help it when he looks at Geralt, it’s almost as if his face acts independently of his brain. “Why couldn’t we be this mature back then?”, he reminisces, “Things probably would have gone better…” He tries not to dwell on it, on how things could have gone had they just communicated better.
Geralt just looks at him, his face stoic but soft somehow. “Maybe,” he says and regards Jaskier for a moment longer.
Then he turns his gaze towards the door and lights up in a way that makes Jaskier’s heart flutter in his chest.
And then he hears the single most damning thing you possibly can hear when talking to an ex.
“Hi, Daddy!” a little girl’s voice yells happily and runs up to Geralt and hugs him tightly. She has long, blond hair, is about six years old and full of life. The whole scene raises several questions.
“We were wondering where you were, we wanted to meet up at the station ten minutes ago,” says a woman on her way to their table and it might just be worse than the daughter. With her slender yet curvy frame, flawless face and long, shining black hair flowing down her back, she is easily the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Geralt smiles in a way that makes clear he agrees and gets up from his chair.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, lightly places both hands on her hips and places a tender kiss on her lips. Jaskier feels like he’s in the middle of a movie, watching two ridiculously perfect-looking people kiss while he sits on the sidelines watching, in awe of how beautiful they are.
“That’s Jaskier, by the way, an… old friend,” Geralt says vaguely after they part and gestures in his direction, “Jaskier, that’s Yennefer, my girlfriend.”
Well, at least not his wife, Jaskier thinks somewhat bitterly, but musters up a smile anyway. “Hi,” he says and gives an awkward little wave.
Yennefer looks at him, then back at Geralt skeptically and then promptly laughs. “Old friend, huh. So… ex-boyfriend, got it.” She smiles brightly and extends one hand to Jaskier who feels his cheeks burning brighter than possibly ever.
He hesitantly takes her hand and shakes it. “I, well, kind of…” he stutters, “I’m sorry, I don’t have any ulterior motives, I swear.” Anymore.
Yennefer smirks at Geralt and Jaskier feels like there’s a joke he has missed. “He’s adorable, Geralt, weird you never told me about him. Don’t worry about it,” she assures and drops his hand. Is he really so unintimidating as to elicit not even the slightest bit of jealousy? Well, no, he has some hospital records that clearly state the opposite. But Yennefer seems to be a unicorn of a woman. At least superficially she shows no sign of bother with her boyfriend interacting with an ex. Curious.
“I’m Ciri!” the little girl exclaims, obviously depraved of attention for long enough.
Jaskier smiles at her because of course he does, he’s not going to let out the awkwardness of the whole situation on a child. “I’m Jaskier,” he says softly and shakes her little hand.
He contemplates if he should ask, but shortly before he does, he decides to keep quiet instead. He doesn’t want cataclysm to break lose if he asks since when Geralt has a child when he very clearly didn’t have one five years ago. Instead, he shoots Geralt a quizzical look without receiving any reaction.
“If you have plans with your… family, I obviously don’t want to stop you, Geralt.” It’s almost bizarre to see Geralt with a daughter and a girlfriend.
“Yeah, I should probably go,” Geralt replies. “Little Ciri here,” he picks her up and holds her in his arms as though it’s nothing, “wants to go ice skating, isn’t that right?” He smiles at her and it’s the most genuine thing Jaskier has ever witnessed.
“Yes!” Ciri exclaims happily and, on clue, Yennefer waves with a clear bag with two tiny ice skates in it.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to keep the little princess from ice skating,” Jaskier laughs and looks around aimlessly. Is he supposed to just stay seated while they get ready to leave? “It was… nice seeing you. Catching up and all that. Nice to meet you, too, Yennefer.”
“You too!” she replies, “You should come over for lunch someday, actually. I would never pass up an opportunity to have one of Geralt’s old friend clue me in on some dirt.” She laughs her effortlessly beautiful laugh while Geralt looks mildly uncomfortable and gently puts Ciri back on the ground.
Jaskier glances at Geralt seems too busy side-eyeing Yennefer to pay attention to him. He needs some reassurance from anywhere, but it’s apparently not going to come from Geralt.
Does he want to visit their home? If they’re living together, it’s definitely serious, if the fact that they are raising a child together wasn’t clue enough. There’s not much in it for him, is there? Not a re-kindling of his old flame, at the very least. On the other hand, it’s undeniably easy to talk to Geralt and he does want to see him again, even if it’s not romantic. And hey, maybe they should never have been romantic in the first place. Maybe they should have just been friends and, best case scenario, Jaskier is getting not just one but two friends out of the deal. As they always say, it’s quite hard to make friends as an adult, so maybe even just that would be worth it.
“That sounds lovely,” he says, finally.
Geralt finally looks at him again, their eyes meet for a moment and Jaskier just looks away. “Sure, we’re free on Tuesday, think you can make that?”
Jaskier makes a mental note of how he can totally finish that opinion piece on the second half of the football season before Tuesday or, more likely, on Tuesday evening or, even more likely, in the middle of Tuesday night, and then just says, “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Geralt nods and gets his wallet and pulls a little card from it. “Call me if there’s a change of plans,” he says and hands the little card to Jaskier who can’t help but smirk at it.
“Business cards,” he says, amused, “Thanks. I, uhm, I’d say I’ll be on my way but, uh, I guess you guys are leaving?”
Yennefer nods and smiles at him again. “Yeah, we should be leaving. Nice to meet you, Jaskier, I’m looking forward to Tuesday,” she sing-songs and takes Ciri by the hand. The little angel waves Jaskier goodbye.
“Well, see you then,” Geralt says and lifts his hand in a vague goodbye gesture.
“See you,” Jaskier replies and forces a smile.
And he watches them go, a happy, gorgeous little family. He hasn’t missed Geralt in ages, but now, as he watches him leave this damned Subway, he suddenly feels that longing again and part of him wishes he had snuck in at least one quick touch.