Chapter Text
“We should celebrate,” Yen declared, hauling herself up into the passenger seat of the truck and pulling the door closed behind her.
Geralt grunted in agreement, unable to keep himself from smiling slightly. He did feel like celebrating. “Where to?”
“Geralt,” Yen rolled her eyes. “It’s your thesis draft that was just submitted to your advisor for review. You get to choose where we go.” There was a stubborn expression on her face, which told him that he wasn’t going to be able to avoid making the decision. She was going to make him choose, and he swore that she took some kind of perverse satisfaction in forcing him out of the passive role he favored when he was out with anyone. He much preferred to keep the peace and go along with what everyone else wanted, even if it ended up being something he didn’t much enjoy. Yen knew this, and she also knew that his therapist had been working with him to start feeling more comfortable about being upfront about his wants, not to mention his needs.
“Hmm.” Geralt absently tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He knew what he wanted, but it wasn’t anything that would have even come up on Yen’s list of options if she’d been the one choosing where to go.
Fuck it.
“Waffle House,” he grunted, and didn’t miss the short, sharp sigh that she let out in response. But she didn’t criticize or object to his choice.
“You and your breakfast food,” she said fondly. “Fine, let’s go.”
They ended up at the Waffle House that was just a few blocks away from Geralt’s apartment, which was one of the better locations he’d been to around town. He’d been to more than he cared to admit to anyone, but breakfast food was comfort food, they were open all the time, and they were cheap and fast. He knew that favorite restaurants were supposed to be quaint little independent places with unique menus full of authentic cuisine. But he liked what he liked, and he was starting to get over the feeling that he had to apologize for it.
“Oh shit,” Yen said, pausing before going through the door that Geralt had opened for her. “Ciri?”
“She’s at Eskel’s,” Geralt reassured her. “Didn’t know how late I’d be. We’ve got time, she’s fine.” Though he almost wished that Ciri was with them, since she was the only person he knew who liked Waffle House as much as he did. Granted, she was eight years old.
“Evening, folks!” The waitress called cheerfully as they sat down at a table. “Be with you in a sec!”
There weren’t many people at this time of night, which was a little too late for dinner. This meant that the other customers were mostly regulars, which was exactly how Geralt liked it.
“Hey!”
Geralt looked up to see the waitress – Triss, he remembered, and double-checked her name tag to make sure he had it right – smiling warmly at him. She remembered him. He was hard to forget, with his long white hair pulled back into a messy knot, and his eyes which usually got a second glance from most people.
And his scars.
“What can I get for you?” Triss asked, pulling a notepad and pen out of her apron pocket.
“Just coffee,” Yen said, after barely glancing at the menu.
Geralt frowned. He’d have to order a side of hash browns as a buffer to protect his own food. Yen always said she ‘wasn’t much for eating,’ but never had any problem with helping herself to anything from his plate.
“And for you, honey?” Triss turned toward him, pen raised expectantly.
“Two egg breakfast with bacon,” he said shortly. “Smothered hash browns, eggs over easy. Coffee to drink. And a side of chunked hash browns.” He shot Yen a knowing look, and she smiled innocently.
“Sure thing, I’ll get that right out.” Triss smiled and walked back to the counter to put the order in.
“Relax, Geralt,” Yen said, seeing him shift in his seat. “Your advisor is going to be really pleased with what you have so far – you’re almost there.”
“I’m just hungry,” Geralt grumbled. It was true, he was hungry. And he was looking forward to breakfast for dinner. God, how long had he been in the library fussing over his thesis draft? It felt like days.
He took a sip of his coffee and pulled out his phone to distract himself, texting Eskel to let him know that he’d be by soon to pick up Ciri. Yen already had her phone out, tapping rapidly at the screen and no doubt telling all of her Twitter followers about what poor taste in dining experiences her sort-of boyfriend had.
“Here we go,” Triss said, sliding the plate with the side of hash browns toward the middle of the table while setting the larger one in front of Geralt. “Enjoy. Just holler if you need anything, I’ll come by and check on your coffees in a moment.”
Geralt’s stomach growled loudly as the greasy and slightly fried smell of the food hit him, and he turned his plate, orienting the food placement so that he could start properly. There was an order to these things. First he would break the eggs and let the yolk mix in with the hash browns and onions. Then he’d cut the rest of the eggs into small pieces that he could fork onto a wedge of toast, which was the primary method of food delivery for this kind of meal. The bacon he would save for last. He always saved the best part of the meal for last.
His fork cut easily through the first egg, but the yolk didn’t ooze. It wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t as though it were pale yellow, it wasn’t quite cooked hard, but it was definitely not cooked easy. He tried the other one without much hope. Its yolk didn’t ooze, either.
Geralt’s whole mood dropped like a stone. He’d been hitting the books hard for weeks. Months. He’d been working on his first draft, and he’d spent so much time at the library today, hunched over his laptop at one of the study tables to the point where he could definitely feel it in his neck and shoulders, and he hadn’t eaten since some stupid protein bar at like eleven in the morning, and he was hungry, dammit. And this wasn’t what he’d ordered. It wasn’t what he wanted.
“How’s everything tasting?” Triss asked brightly, stopping by to top off Yen’s coffee cup. Her face fell slightly when she saw Geralt staring morosely down at his plate. “Something wrong?”
He shouldn’t say anything, the eggs were edible. They’d probably taste just fine. Only assholes sent their food back, especially in a Waffle House. But…he really had wanted them over easy.
“Eggs are a little overcooked,” Geralt said grudgingly. “But it’s fine, I –”
“Oh no!” Triss bit her lip, which got Yen’s attention. Yen was upfront about being bisexual and she definitely had a type when it came to women. Triss, with her curly dark hair and the adorable smattering of freckles over her light brown skin, fit the criteria almost perfectly.
“It’s totally fine,” Yen said, flashing her dazzling smile at the waitress. “But if it’s not too busy right now, maybe the cook could give the eggs another try.”
“Absolutely, hon, I apologize. Just give me two minutes.” Triss bustled away.
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Geralt muttered.
Yen reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “I know. That’s why I did it for you.”
Geralt gave her a small grin and squeezed her hand back, then nudged the side of hash browns toward her. “Go on, you know you want to.”
She only rolled her eyes slightly before grabbing a fork and digging in.
A low-voiced argument taking place at the counter drew Geralt’s attention, his eyes taking in the scene between Triss and a man wearing a full-length apron spattered with grease, and a black baseball cap with the Waffle House logo. The man was turned away enough that Geralt couldn’t get a good look at his face, but he tensed slightly, not wanting to see anyone get a hard time just because he wanted runny yolks.
But the argument didn’t seem to be angry or abusive. Triss’s body language was annoyed but also resigned, in spite of the smile that she plastered onto her face as she headed back to their table after taking the plate that the cook was shoving at her.
“I’m, um, I’m sorry, the cook is in a mood tonight,” Triss said apologetically, placing the plate down on the table. “You won’t be charged. In fact, I’m happy to comp your meal –”
“No,” Geralt said shortly, staring at the freshly scrambled eggs, which were blatantly not even close to what he’d asked for. “No need, this is fine.” He tried for a smile when he glanced up, and Triss looked slightly reassured.
Yen was trying to stifle her laughter, and Geralt glared at her. He ate both the scrambled eggs and his now cold over medium eggs without further complaint, never one to waste food, and not once trying to look up past the counter at the asshole cook who apparently couldn’t handle one simple order.
He left a large tip on the table when he and Yen finally got up to leave.