When Jaskier woke the next morning, he was in an Aldersberg inn after sloshing through mud all evening. They had to take some... creative routes to get past the vindictive guards. And when ordering their room, Jaskier had to take the lead and Geralt had to pull a hood over his face and play mute manservant again.

Safe to say, the Witcher wasn't too pleased about that.

Despite all his grumbling and dissatisfaction, Geralt let Jaskier bathe first and the bard left this plane the second he crashed down into his pillow.

But now, in the morning light, he realized Geralt was in worse shape than he expected. Not because he was hurt or anything, but the damned man was still in the bathroom, bare as the day he was born (probably), and passed out in the destitute waters.

Apparently, the soothing bath calmed him down a little too much.

If Geralt didn't try to cleave his head off with his teeth, they really needed to chat about how much the guy needed a goddamn nap.

No matter how much his helpless brain would love to ogle the view, he had better plans. After all, Jaskier dragged this man through hell and he wanted to do something nice and thoughtful for him. Particularly the kind of thing Geralt would never do for himself.

But first, he had to wake him up.

Jaskier sighed, placing his hand on the Witcher's shoulder. He chose to ignore all the tense muscles collected there, and instead just gave the man a light shove. "Geralt."

"The fuck-" Geralt's surprised thrashing splashed water all over, but that only made the Witcher's frown deeper. "It's cold."

No shit.

At Geralt acting like a little child discovering something unpleasant for the first time, Jaskier snorted. But the Witcher did not seem to appreciate that and actually growled. Wow, apparently someone didn't know how to laugh at themselves. "Don't growl at me. You're the one who closed your eyes in a bucket of water and didn't wake up until it was chillier than your demeanor."

Despite the angry aura radiating from the thing in the bathtub, which completely ruined any appeal that his powerful physique had, Jaskier tossed him a towel.

Geralt nodded towards him, and stood up shamelessly.

Though Jaskier normally never felt any shame himself, when those legs stepped out of the tub...

Well, he remembered he had other things to talk about as well and it was just very coincidental that he needed to walk over and open his bag and not look at Geralt while doing it.

Blurting out the words, Jaskier said, "We need a fucking win." He could hear Geralt toweling himself off as he rummaged through his bag. With a swallow, sternly internalizing his need to calm himself the fuck down, he added, "That or a fucking nap, but that sounds just tragic and boring at this point."

Only using a single hand to hold up his towel (which, in the bard's humble opinion, was not enough to avoid any lingering thoughts or annoying fantasies), Geralt said, "I don't like where this is going."

That made two of them, because his big dumb thumb was definitely slipping on holding up that towel. And of all things, he did not need that.

If he learned anything from his old nights with Darien, making dumb choices with attractive men who happened to be decent human beings just to stuff up the holes in your own chest don't tend to go well.

Jaskier bit the tip of his thumb and gestured to his bag. Of course, and didn't look directly at anything handsome on Geralt.

If that meant Jaskier could only stare at his sort of weird ears, so be it.

"C'mon. I have some hair dye-"

The Witcher groaned. "I hate where this is going."

He filled his head with wholesome thoughts, the kind that revolved around his master plan here instead of whatever the hell was going on below Geralt's waist. "Well you'll hate it less knowing I want to do this because you were right. There are monsters and men and everything in between. But sometimes it's nice to remember there are good ones out there, too."

"I have you, don't I?"

Taken aback, Jaskier stopped his rummaging, grabbing his materials. No matter how cheesy the sentiment was, and even if the Witcher surely didn't mean it so kindly (after all, the man had to know he was a piss poor excuse for a good man), the bard felt his heart grow two sizes.

Which was bullshit because he told his heart to fuck off every time it started tripping over Kam trauma. It was hardly allowed to show its ugly face now.

All he could do was shake his head. "How sweet, Geralt, really. Warms my twisted little heart. But trust me..." He pulled the final vials of dyes, brushes, and the like out of his small bag. "I'm not enough."

When Jaskier turned around, Geralt had luckily pulled on some trousers and put that friendship ruining physique away behind an ugly, ratty shirt. Good. The Witcher raised an eyebrow, but didn't flinch when he came closer. "You're just going to annoy me if I don't say yes, aren't you?"

Jaskier smirked and said, "You know me so well."

"Fine."

Nothing in his life had ever really surprised him, that is, until Geralt said that. "Really?"

"Ask that again and I won't go anywhere or do anything with you."

Geralt sat down and Jaskier said, "My lips are sealed." Taking a gentle step forward, Jaskier pulled the Witcher's hair into his hands. It would be embarrassing to admit how much he liked the white locks, a moon-dipped beacon in any crowd, but he knew not everyone saw celestial beauty in mutants. He sighed and babbled about something else, anything else, really. "Well, at least about that. But about the hair dye, we should get it going if we want to make it to the tavern by evening. And I have to go find that old makeup of mine and that hat... I'm sure I have an eye glamour or two from a witch, I thought they were quite fun when I was just starting out-"

Those yellow eyes were staring at his own big hands when Geralt said, "So you want a night where the Witcher isn't a problem."

The way his heart fell through his chest, screaming, echoed in Jaskier's head in a way he didn't expect nor like.

But it seemed many things about Geralt were helplessly unpredictable, just like the way the Witcher was trying to hide how vulnerable he felt with stiff shoulders, an angry brow, and a scowl that could make a baby cry.

If only he thought to cover up those trembling of his fingers, too.

Trying to stay casual, Jaskier said, "What? No. I want a night where people treat you poorly for the asshole you are, nothing to do with the eyes or hair or whatever other excuses."

His fingers stopped shaking. "... Hmm."

"Green or brown?" Geralt raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at Jaskier. Bottling up the adorable expression Geralt gave him could net him a fortune, but if he said that aloud the Witcher might chop his tongue in two. Not wanting to be anymore of a snake than he already was, the bard gestured to the glamour potions in his hands, one a grassy green and the other a soft tree bark brown. "I got one of every color. I was curious."

Geralt grunted, but said, "Green."

"So it shall be." For all his grumbling, Geralt was good to work with. Whenever Jaskier needed to really dig into his hair, run the black dye through, he just tipped his head back and let it happen. At first it was exhilarating, but eventually it almost made him sick to his stomach.

Why did he trust him? If he knew what was good for him, he'd be running away, screaming.

But what if instead he just focused on getting those last rebel strands of white into black? That, or just give Geralt the salt and pepper look his age deserved.

Yeah, that sounded about right for the old man of a Witcher.

Though, he didn't have a single gray hair, but to be honest who would expect him not to dye his hair perfect in that case? That is, unless he looked helplessly handsome with some gray mixed in.

Maybe later in his Jaskier years he'd have to try that.

After he washed out the excess dye, he toweled Geralt's hair until it was fluffy and sat him up straight on a stool. Jet-black hair and entrancing viridium eyes, Jaskier swallowed down every thought he shouldn't have. "Huh. It suits you."

The Witcher frowned and grunted, like the most handsome barbarian he'd ever met.

If he just met a man looking like this in a tavern-

Well, his thoughts didn't need to go there, especially when he didn't want Geralt to feel worse about yellow eyes and ivory hair. Especially when he liked them so much.

Coughing, he said, "What an articulate response." Jaskier tucked his hand under his Witcher's chin, scanning every inch. Who knew how alien typical humanity would make his friend look. But what really caught him were those eyes, the kind that pierced right through a person. At least that didn't change, from yellow to green. "Your eyes look like... Like that time I poured blue potion into my piss to see what would happen. It was a beautiful."

Geralt narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

Okay, perhaps he wasn't as eloquent as he liked on the spot.

Turning away from his own failed compliment, Jaskier reached down into his bag and grabbed a relic from another time, when he was just starting out as a bard. He was trying to find a way to distinguish himself, to look unique and bold. Just like the first stage name, Dandelion, he'd abandoned the gaudy purple and blue hat.

Granted, it looked pretty damn fabulous right now.

Jaskier planted it on his head and looked back at Geralt, who was dressing himself in classic black.

"How's the hat look? Too much?"

When Geralt looked at him, he frowned. "Definitely too much."

"Perfect." With their looks settled, Geralt still intimidating but less... obviously so, and Jaskier a more flamboyant man, Jaskier gestured them to the door. It was time to take their new looks on the town and hope for a nicer time amongst humans than the past few encounters. Considering it was a short walk to the local tavern, and the town didn't seem any shittier than the next one, it had to go well enough.

As they walked the streets of Aldersberg, Jaskier said, "Now, I know I won't be the bard playing tonight, but don't be too heartbroken."

"I'll survive."

"I won't blame you if you weeped the second we entered."

"I won't."

"Fine, bottle all those feelings up. I'll be here when you burst."

Geralt was the one to open the door, and the second he did they were threatened by the most boring song Jaskier had ever heard in his entire life. But what he cared more about than the drab music was the way Geralt looked for someone scowling at him, a barren side of the bar to stay safe in, but barely anyone even blinked at him. He wondered if Geralt ever knew what it was like to walk into a room unnoticed.

But then the damned bard started playing an annoying song and that made the Witcher next to him bristle back up and growl a little.

What a punk ass bitch, ruining the momentary peace.

Peering, Jaskier tried to identify if he knew the bard. There were quite a few of them, sure, but sometimes he met a friendly face. And he really didn't feel like offending someone he might not hate.

Oh, good. The man was a glossy, black-haired with a far-too manicured mustache. He could roast the shit out of him.

In his best whisper, Jaskier leaned over to the Witcher. "You said it! This man can play a tune perfectly, but without a single fleck of creativity. It's like he put a damned music spell on his lute." His scan of the tavern had more positive results, though, when Jaskier's eyes fell on a nearby table of grimy men pouring their brains onto the table with a deck of cards. "Ooh! Gwent!"

The witcher raised a black eyebrow, something Jaskier wasn't quite accustomed to. "What's that?"

"Oh my sweet socially inept man. It's the favorite card game of every tavern." Jaskier chuckled. "You really don't pay attention to what people are doing, do you? Lucky me that you even noticed me singing when we met."

Geralt grumbled, but Jaskier could tell, the way his eyes kept following the cards, that the stubborn old man was interested. And that there was this ease to him, getting to watch and no one giving a damn.

So when the next hand began, Jaskier started talking. "Watch them closely and I'll tell you the rules. This is how you play-"

The Witcher stayed close, keeping his ear by Jaskier's hushed teachings. Lessons didn't last long, though. Within a hand or two of observation, Geralt took Jaskier's personal deck and bought himself into a round. Jaskier would be offended if this wasn't the most social initiative he'd ever seen in the man.

And when he beat the town champion in his first round, Geralt flashed the first wide, wild smile Jaskier had ever seen on him. The kind no amount of grump can stifle.

He could watch him play Gwent all night. Which was good, considering Geralt showed no sign of stopping.

For a good half hour or so, it was like he got to see the Witcher experience fun for the first time. The kind of fun that wasn't expected of him, like drinking or fighting, or secret, scandalous sex.

No, just like any other man he was a grinning idiot having fun destroying the pride of other men with flimsy pieces of paper.

But of course the milquetoast bard of the evening had to come over and ruin everything. After one of his more languid songs, he walked up behind Geralt and tapped on his shoulder, this sickly sweet, candy-covered-in-venom grin on his face. Everything he wore was just as sickening, up close. Fashion from last season, prim as if it was just bought off the mannequin, and he had this disgusting paisley silk scarf wrapped ever so lightly around his shoulders. Oh, he fucking hated him right then and there. Even moreso when Geralt's smile fell from his face. "Hello man meat, I appreciate you enjoying your small giggle session and showing off those little playing cards to everyone, but I would prefer a bit less disruption. I'm giving a performance."

The stranger across from Geralt frowned and said, "We're just playing Gwent."

"And I'm just doing my job. Is anyone paying you to do that drivel?"

The longer Geralt's face fell, the more he looked like he was either going to turn full Witcher or fuck off, and in turn the more Jaskier felt his blood boil. When Geralt stood and spoke, he was already right by his side. "Actually-"

Interrupting Geralt, Jaskier slapped on his own bardic bitch smile and said, "Hello! Nice to have you come over, sir...?"

"Marx. Valdo Marx."

"Well that's a dumb name. You should change it." At his words, Geralt's eyes widened. But Jaskier was versed in the language of assholes, and he was going to cover this one. "But besides your terrible stage name, think about it, Valdy-boy: you're getting paid either way, so why not stick a damn fork in it and accept everyone here is far more interested in the cards than your mediocre music? You get an easy paycheck and we actually enjoy our evening. Wins all around, isn't it?"

"Mediocre music? How dare you! I'll let you know that I'm-"

Over his rage, Jaskier laughed the loudest, most obnoxious way he could think of. It sounded a bit like a donkey's bray mixed with a troll chuckle. "Wow! I don't think you even fathom how much I do not fucking care." Grabbing a drink off a nearby barmaid's tray (as seemed tradition), Jaskier spilled it all over Valdo's shirt, which was trying so much harder than its owner. "Whoops! Guess you'll have to take a little break and clean that off."

Valdo lunged towards him. "You little bitch-"

However, sir Marx definitely wasn't prepared for Jaskier to place his hand on Valdo's face, trapping him three feet away, swinging his arms like a wild idiot. Granted, he was one, wasn't he? "What, you wanna pretend you're more important than the patrons here, just because you have a lute? Because trust me, you unseasoned ass, there's not enough salt in the entire continent to make your bland tunes tasteful. If they enjoy Gwent more than you, that's your problem." Jaskier released and Valdo was practically foaming from the mouth.

"You motherfucking-"

Geralt grabbed Jaskier's shoulder. "We're going."

"What? But I was just-"

His eyes, green and soft as they were, couldn't mask the seriousness behind them. "Jaskier. We're. Going."

"Fine." Crossing his arms and glaring at Valdo while he walked by, though, Jaskier said, "But you better believe this isn't over, you self-inflated waste of strings."

All the way back to their room, Geralt was dead silent and Jaskier didn't like it. He was doing him a favor, and that bard deserved a fucking reality check. Why did Geralt have to act so damn cross about it? A few more scathing blows and Valdo would have left out of sheer embarrassment and they might've gotten a few free drinks for the show.

When Geralt shut the door behind them, he pressed his back against it like he was a much older, tired man. "Why did you do that?"

Jaskier threw out his arms and said, "Because he was being an asshole to you. Why else?"

"I could've handled it."

"You always handle it. I wanted you to have a nice evening where you could feel like the world doesn't hate you. And I wasn't going to let some musical wannabe with his dick twisted in a knot fuck that up." Shaking his head, Jaskier didn't like the way it settled in his mouth. Especially since his own behavior was the reason they left. "But I suppose I fucked it up for you anyway."

For a prolonged minute or two, Geralt was silent. But then he opened his mouth and said such a surprising thing that Jaskier half thought he was hallucinating. "It was good."

"What?"

"The night. Was nice." Geralt rolled his shoulders and tugged at his hair, with no affection for the foreign color. "I like Gwent."

While Jaskier's purpose was just that, getting Geralt to enjoy something, it didn't make him feel better about being scolded. "That's good? Congratulations?"

"I'm not-" Geralt put his hands before him like trying to explain a goddamn battle plan. He looked absurd. Why did he feel like he was about to get a lecture? The damned man might as well ignore him; that was easier that this ramshackle shitshow. Hell, Jaskier would probably do a better job of scolding himself. He certainly had decades of material.

Geralt furrowed his brow and said, "You're annoying. And irritating. And make horrible decisions. But-"

"We could stop there, I'm not really in the mood."

"Let me finish." The Witcher's voice cracked like a whip, commanded the air between them like a spell. With their eyes locked, fresh lilypad green slowly fading back to daffodil, Jaskier felt as if he was in a field full of them, soft petals on softer skin, a place no one else would find a Witcher.

But perhaps there was more daffodil in the man than anyone had ever given him credit. Especially one bard who stood before him, silenced.

Straining out the words, his throat taut with every syllable, Geralt spoke: "But you're good. At least, to me." Before Jaskier could melt into a tragic little puddle, Geralt scowled. "Now don't make a big deal out of it or I'm gagging you until tomorrow."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"That's it, out."

As the Witcher stepped towards him threateningly, Jaskier took his own step forward and tucked his hands around Geralt's sides, pulling him close. Maybe this would get him thrown out, but for tonight, it was worth it. "You're good to me, too. More than I deserve. Thank you for bringing me with you." And just as Geralt started tensing up in a way that Jaskier was pretty sure meant he was going to get tossed somewhere, he let go and moved to blow out the light by his bed.

He couldn't look at him, not tonight, not when he made a fool out of himself and he might even have a blush to his cheeks. It was one more thing Geralt could never know. "Goodnight, Geralt."

Before he flopped himself down in his bed and hoped the weird thump in his chest was just some indigestion or a witch's curse (either could come with the shitty tavern scraps he ate), he heard Geralt place something on his bedside table. The Witcher gave a small, "Hmm," but then disappeared into the bathroom.

Only once the door shut behind him did Jaskier dare to turn around, but he was more than surprised to see a visual insult of a paisley scarf on the table.

With a stupid smile on his face, Jaskier turned over and went to sleep.

/

AHHHH Valdo Marx is 10/10 for bonding This chapter also sees a shift in their dynamic that maybe cause some trouble Hope y'all enjoyed :) Thanks for reading, and sugary sweet extra thanks to my patrons: Danyell Jones Amy Connolly See you next week! That or see you on Twitch :) I stream Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays ( /thespacebard)