#bsate part 1

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Bright Smiles and Tired Eyes ~ part 1

(i posted this the first time as an answer to a prompt. but i’m adding more so i’m gonna post them in parts as i write them! I’ll try and ad links to each of the previous parts but i’m forgetful so no promises, i’ll be adding the chapters on my ao3 as well so i may just link to that as i go, it’s easier! this is just the original part! i’ll update once i get the second chapter finished! enjoy guys!!! <3)

Summary: Modern Au, Punk!Jaskier, Creature!Jaskier. Geralt needs a new roommate to help him pay rent. Jaskier answers his ad. Through a handful of circumstances and series of events... there’s bed sharing. And some angst.

Word Count: 5990

Ao3

Finding a roommate had been… more difficult, than anticipated. Geralt wasn’t sure why he was surprised, people didn’t want to room with him for the same reasons no one wanted to give him work. Witcher’s were… disliked, to say the least. Yennefer had helped him put an ad together, his had been… short winded. She’d worked her magic, no pun intended, and wrote him an ad that was at least promising. She’d refused all his grumblings about her just moving in with him, to help him out. She refused to live with ex’s, even if they were still very good friends. The ad helped. His appearance and… profession, did not.

He’d met with several people already. At least ten, maybe more, he’d lost count and was getting tired. Tired of people coming into the small shop and sitting in front of him, reeking of fear. Tired of people seeing him and turning right around again to march out the door, not even giving him the curtesy of a ‘no thank you’. Tired of being gawked at, and refused, and glared at. He’d been spit on once and had put his fingers through the edge of the table, gripping it tightly, instead of putting his fist through their head. He liked the girl who ran this shop, she was nice, sweet, and she wasn’t afraid him. She was also dating Yennefer and he didn’t want to get on, either, of their bad sides, by starting, and finishing, a fight.

It had been three weeks, if he didn’t find a new tenant soon, he’d have to move, and that would just be worse, he’d never find another place that would give space to a witcher. He moved his finger in small circles on the table top, looking up when he heard the bell on the door chime. The man who walked through was… not human. Not entirely at least, there was a very strong other smell to him. Geralt couldn’t pin it down though, it was buried under the scent of his cologne, and something else that smelled like… cinnamon. His hair was spiked into a bright blue mohawk, tattoos were scattered across the skin that Geralt could see, his flannel stopped at his elbows. There were piercings too, Geralt could see them catching the light as he moved to the counter and ordered a coffee, something sickeningly sweet.

Geralt watched Renfri make the order and hand it to the man with a smile. He nodded his thanks and then turned gracefully, his eyes, bright as fire in the night, scanned the room. His shinning eyes landed on Geralt and he nodded, Geralt wasn’t sure if he was nodding at him or to himself so he sat still, his eyes going back to the table top. He heard the man approach slowly.

“Geralt? That you? From the ad?” his voice was like honey and Geralt’s stomach dropped. He looked up at the man and nodded. He smiled down at him in return, and pointed at the seat across from Geralt, his eyebrows arched in question. Geralt nodded again. He sat.

“So umm… I feel like I should maybe open with the fact that I’m not human. And uh… clearly, you’re… a witcher. So if me being… not human, isn’t okay for you, I can go. I just-“ his hands were fiddling nervously next to his coffee cup.

“I just wanted to be honest up front. And not just because I’m worried you’ll kill me.” He laughed, awkwardly, cleared his throat, and took a very large swig of his coffee. Geralt watched him, watched his fingers wrap around the cup, his eyes moving over the music notes tattooed across his knuckles. He let the man set his coffee back down before he spoke.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Geralt said, picking up his own cup, bringing it to his lips.

“Yet.” He said and took a drink, trying not to smirk as the man squirmed in his seat before smiling softly, catching the joke. And that… was new. The man nodded, his mohawk not moving at all on his head, Geralt eyed it and then moved his eyes back to his face, he was wearing eyeliner, like those eyes needed any help standing out, and there were two lip rings shining against his bottom lip, more scattered in his ears. Geralt watched him take another sip of his coffee and thought he saw a tongue ring too as the man’s tongue ran quickly over his lip.

“So what are you? If you don’t mind me asking.” Geralt laced his fingers together on the table and watched the man in front of him. His cheeks reddened, and there was something in his eyes. Geralt thought it looked suspiciously like shame.

“Uh… A uh.. a siren. Well half of one, anyway. On my mother’s side. And I don’t- I don’t use it. The- the siren thing. It’s just- it’s just sort of there. I don’t use it on people, that would be…bad.” He finished lamely. His hands clasped together on the table, tightly, the scent of shame pouring off of him in waves. He was staring at the table, and for the first time since he’d seen the man, the scent of fear hit Geralt’s senses. Geralt stared at him, looked at him for a very long time, he knew that look, and he knew that smell. It wasn’t just fear. Or shame. It was both, dancing together across the man’s skin. He wasn’t afraid of Geralt, not the way he probably should have been, he was afraid of Geralt’s reaction. No doubt trained to be frightened of it through past experiences. Geralt felt an odd urge to reach out and comfort the man, he frowned and shoved the urge deep.

This man, who wasn’t just a man, was sitting in front of him, not afraid of the witcher in front of him, but afraid that the person in front of him, would hate him. Hate him solely for what he was, despite not knowing him, just knowing what he was. Geralt looked at him, and knew that feeling well.

“What’s you’re name?”  The man’s eyes shot up from the table, he stared at him, blue eyes shining. Geralt raised his eyebrows, and waited.

“Ah! Um, Jaskier. I’m Jaskier.” He reached his hand out, clearly an instinct, his eyes flashing with worry immediately as his hand crossed into Geralt’s space. Geralt lowered his eyes to the hand extended to him, he watched it move back, the smallest amount, an unsure movement that was, somehow, endearing. He moved his hand up and placed in the hand that was offered, the man, Jaskier, smiled at him, and they shook.

“Geralt.” Jaskier smiled again, dropping his hand back on the table, fingers tap out a small rhythm.

“The room’s yours if you want it.” Geralt knew this was probably a bad idea. And he knew more, that Yennefer was going to yell at him, call him irresponsible, and, most likely, a great many other thing. But as sat here, looking across the table at the shining blue eyes of this shame filled siren, he knew he’d let her call him whatever she liked.

“Really? Are you sure? I mean, if you’re at all uncomfortable- I don’t want to impose or anything or- or get in your way. Or get you in… trouble. With the… witcher…people.” He narrowed his eyes, obviously knowing he sounded like an idiot as the words staggered out of his mouth. Geralt took a sip of coffee to hide his smirk, at least he knew he sounded ridiculous.

“The… Witcher people, will be fine. And I’m sure.” He slipped his fingers into his pocket and slid the small business card across the table.

“That’s the address, you can move in as soon as you want. Do you need any help?” He wasn’t sure why he’d asked that. He’d never offered his help to anyone before, well, to an extent. He’d offered to kill monsters, but never to help someone move. He didn’t even have a truck, or a car, no vehicle to help move anything. He furrowed his brow, mainly at himself.

“Oh no, I’m alright. I don’t have much.” He slid his hand across the table top, pulling the card to him, it disappeared from his fingers before Geralt’s eyes and he found himself wondering for the first time if Jaskier was maybe something other than just half a siren.

“But thank you.” His voice was soft. He drummed his fingers for a moment, filling the silence spreading between them, and then slowly stood up. He waved, took a couple steps and then turned around again.

“Seriously thank you. I’ve been looking for a place for ages. No one- no one seemed to want to give me a chance.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes glancing between the floor and Geralt. Geralt nodded and felt his lips move into a small smile.

“I know the feeling. See you soon Jaskier.” The man, Jaskier, smiled down at him, nodded, and turned to leave again. Geralt watched him go, watching the graceful way he walked despite the clunky combat boots on his feet. Geralt couldn’t stop his eyes moving slowly up the man’s back, the black skinny jeans hugging his legs and hips snuggly, there was red bandana peeking out from under the blue and back flannel that covered his ass and hung nicely on his broad shoulders. He watched Jaskier pull the door open, he spun on his heel, giving Geralt a small wave. Geralt raised his hand in return and watched Jaskier disappear down the street. He looked back to his coffee, took a sip, and wished he’d asked for something with cinnamon.

“Well he seemed nice.” Geralt jumped as Renfri threw herself into the seat Jaskier had left empty. She stared him down, chin resting on her hands, a smile on her lips and a knowing look in her eyes.

“Shut up Renfri.” He grunted, pushing himself out of his seat and walking out the door.

~*~

He moves in two days later. And he was right when he said he didn’t have much. He brought a bed, a small dresser, one duffle bag of clothing, and two instruments. A guitar strapped to his back, and a keyboard hung over his shoulder. Geralt helped him with the bed and the dresser, the delivery men had just dropped them on the sidewalk. Jaskier had knocked on his door looking sheepish. Geralt brushed it off and easily carried his things in for him, helping him set his room up the way he wanted it. The room was spacious, Geralt lived in a good-sized loft, and Jaskier’s few items made it seem, achingly empty.

Geralt left him to his own devices after they got his things settled, letting Jaskier wander around the apartment, looking things over, his fingers drumming against his thigh, he was clearly forcing himself not to reach out and touch everything in sight.

“You can touch things if you want. It’s not a museum.” Geralt smirked when Jaskier jumped, but smiled when the musician smiled at him and turned back to the bookshelf he was walking by slowly, his hand immediately reaching out, fingers brushing over each title gently, Geralt noted that his nails were painted black. The smile stayed on his face as he looked through the books.

“I didn’t realize I was moving into a library.” Jaskier called over his shoulder, his mohawk was green today, a dark emerald color, it only served to make his eyes even more vibrant.

“You can read them if you want. What’s mine is yours.” Geralt waved his hand toward the bookcase as he stepped into the kitchen, shoving his sleeves up his arms.

“Is that so?” he could hear the insinuation laced in Jaskier’s voice and froze. He turned to look at him, Jaskier was leaning against the bookcase, book open in his hands, one foot tucked over the other, his flannel was red today. He must have felt Geralt staring, he looked up from the book, eyes wide, inquisitive.

“What?” he asked, his face a mask of innocence. Geralt actually couldn’t tell, if it was a mask or not.

“Nothing. Sorry.” He shook his head and continued into the kitchen, his shoulders rolling, trying to move the tension out.

“You hungry?” he called, opening the fridge.

“I could eat.” His voice sounds, far away. Geralt glances past the fridge door and sees him still standing there, nose in the book, his eyes darting back and forth over the page. Geralt starts grabbing things out the fridge, sets them on the counter.

“You like pasta?” he asks, watching him stand there and read.

“Hmm?” he hums, not listening at all. Geralt smiles then, really smiles, and turns to hide it.

“You can sit on the couch you know? You don’t have stand.” Geralt grabs pots and pans and spoons and all the things he’ll need.

“What? Oh. Thanks yeah. Hey did you say something about pasta?” Jaskier’s voice gets louder as he walks toward the kitchen, he throws himself onto one of the stools at the island, Geralt glances back at him and he freezes.

“Am I gonna be in the way here?” he points at the marble island top where he’s set his book down. Geralt shakes his head and continues working.

“Do you… want help?” Geralt can feel him leaning to the side, trying to see what Geralt’s doing.

“You know how to make pasta?”

“Well that depends.” He hears Jaskier flop the book over, keeping his place.

“On what?” Geralt turns then, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Is it pasta from a box? And sauce from a jar? Or is it like, pasta pasta? And homemade sauce?” Jaskier is smiling at him, not a bright smile, a soft smile, just tilting the corners of his lips a little.

“Which one can you make?” Geralt asks, trying hard not to return the smile, his resolves slips a little when Jaskier leans back on the barstool and grins.

“You look at me, and tell me which one you think I can make.” He flattens his hand over his chest, his palm covering the design of the band shirt he’s wearing under his flannel. Geralt snorts.

“Box pasta. All the way.” He shakes his head and turns back to the counter, his cheeks burning at the look in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Wooow! Unbelievable. Ye of little faith!” his voice is full of drama, and humor, and happiness. It makes Geralt’s skin tingle. Without his permission he turns back to Jaskier, body moving on its own.

“So you can make real pasta then?” Geralt looks at him, one eyebrow cocked high. Jaskier looks at him, smiling still, brightly this time, his tongue running over his bottom lip, teeth coming down to pull the lip between it, his lip rings making small sounds against his teeth. He doesn’t hold the stare long before he’s snorting.

“Oh fuck no. Look at me. I’ve been eating SpaghettiOs out of a can for three months. The best thing I can make is grilled cheese.” He flips the book back over, that maddening smile still on his lips.

“But it is a mean grilled cheese. Add some tomato soup on the side and it’s a gourmet meal for me.” He glances up at Geralt quickly and then back to the book, his smile falling slowly as he gets pulled back in by the words on the pages in front of him. Geralt watches him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes for the first time. He has them hidden so well with his eyeliner that if you’re not looking closely you miss them. Geralt supposes that that is the point. He sighs and begins cooking. Jaskier reading at the counter, the small noises of, him, a comfort in the normally silent apartment.

“I forgot to mention I was a musician. I hope that’s not a problem. I mean, I figured you’d have said something earlier than now, like when you saw the guitar, but you also sort of seem like the kind of person to not want to say much. Even if you really really wanna say something. So I thought I’d bring it up incase it’s an issue for you. But I do have headphones, so I won’t be like, having jam sessions or anything did you really make those noodles that’s insane, that you can do that.” Geralt jumped at the sudden talking, and raised his eyebrows at the sudden onslaught of words coming from the man behind him. He turned to look at him and found the book he’d been reading closed and pushed to the side, he felt his cheeks heat up at the thought that Jaskier had possibly been watching him for some time.

“Can you have jam sessions with an acoustic guitar and a keyboard?” Geralt smirked at him, Jaskier rested his chin on his hands and looked at him.

“I’ve had jam sessions with less.” He quirked an eyebrow at Geralt, challenging him.

“Hmm?” he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest again, the noodles boiling behind him.

“I have! I once had a session with nothing but a metal spoon, a bucket, and half a tambourine.” He dropped his hands onto the counter and smiled again. Geralt huffed, all this guy did was fucking smile. And the worst part was, it was warm, and infectious, and fucking genuine.

“Half a tambourine.” Geralt mused, turning away again, stirring the noodles and the sauce before walking to the pantry. He pulled out a loaf of bread and heard Jaskier gasp.

“Are you about to make actual garlic bread with that fancy Aladdin bread right there?” his hands were flat on the island top now, slender fingers splayed out in front of him. Geralt paused and looked at him.

“Aladdin bread?” he repeated back to him. Jaskier nodded excitedly, hopping off the barstool and walking around to where Geralt was standing, moving into his space slowly and taking the bread from him gently.

“Yeah! Aladdin bread, like in Aladdin, at the beginning when he’s stealing bread and running from the guards with Abu and it’s a perfect little loaf like this one?” Jaskier does a twirl, spinning easily in the small space and brandishing the loaf of bread like a sword, the end level with Geralt’s chest, the exact spot someone would shove a knife to strike his heart. Jaskier was still smiling, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Cheeky. Geralt brough his hand up the bread, curling is fingers around the loaf.

“Right. And, in this situation.” Geralt stepped closer, pressing into Jaskier’s space the way he’d done to him. He watched Jaskier swallow roughly, eyes wide, nodding for Geralt to continue.

“Are you Aladdin. Or the monkey?” his voice was dry, he pulled the bread from Jaskier’s grip easily, poking him in the chest gently to guild him out of the way. Jaskier squawked, mock offence filling his voice as he held his hands up in surrender and backed away, letting Geralt push him out of his space. He settled on the barstool once more and continued to watch Geralt cook.

Geralt was used to being stared at. People stared at him all the time. This was different though. This stare wasn’t… hateful. It was… curious. Jaskier watched him with eyes full of curiosity, tracking his movements like a cat tracking a bird through a window. Geralt could feel his gaze on his back, eyes moving over his body, and for the first time, in a long time, he didn’t feel threatened by it. Or objectified by it, though Jaskier was no doubt looking at him… in that way. Geralt could smell it on him, he could smell how… appreciative, Jaskier was. He rolled his shoulders as he began mixing the garlic for the bread and heard Jaskier sigh behind him, a small thing, barely there.

He glanced over his shoulder, the feel of Jaskier’s eyes on him gone now, and saw the man had rested his head on his arms. Geralt knew he wasn’t sleeping, his heart beating at a regular pace behind his ribs. Geralt lips twitched again and he shook his head, finishing the garlic mix and brushing it onto the bread. He popped it in the oven and waited, resting against the counter, and letting his eyes fall to the musician half asleep on his island. His green mohawk was scrunched against his arm, his eyes moving behind his eyelids, fingers twitching where they rested on his arm.

Geralt could hear his heartbeat slowing as sleep tried to take him. His eyes moving faster and faster behind his eye lids. Geralt was sure he was nearly asleep now, his heart beating slower and slower. And then he flinched. His whole body jumping as he sat up, blinking hard at the bright lights in the kitchen, Geralt turned away quickly. He watched Jaskier’s reflection in the window on the stove. He rubbed at his eyes and pulled the book closer to him, flipping through it until he found his place. He rested his chin in his palm and began reading, his tired eyes moving slowly, blinking hard a few more times. Geralt felt a tug deep in his chest, his fingers itching at his side, and then he jumped himself when the timer on the oven began to ding.

~*~

Jaskier doesn’t sleep. At least he hasn’t. Not for the week he’s been around. Unless he sleeps when Geralt is gone. Which is possible. But the dark circles under his eyes get darker every day. And Geralt hasn’t known him that long, but he’s starting to worry. He lays down that night, barely sleeping himself most nights, and he listens.

He’d told Jaskier he wouldn’t be home until late. And then he’d gotten home early. He got cleaned up, took a shower, peaked through the crack in Jaskier’s door and saw him sitting at his keyboard, headphones draped over his neck, his fingers moving nimbly over the keys. Geralt stared for a moment longer and headed to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, his body tired, the job hadn’t been terrible. Just chasing off a few rowdy young werewolves. They’d barely put up a fight before running off back home. But the small fight had left him aching, getting throw into walls would do that. He laid in the dark, listening to the small sounds coming from across the hall.

And then Jaskier started singing.

He realized he’d made a mistake immediately. The sound of Jaskier’s voice immediately making his head fuzzy. He pushed himself out bed with a grunt. His feet stumbling beneath him as the haunting voice filled the halls of their apartment. He used every ounce of energy inside himself to shove his body through his bedroom door. He took two steps and had to brace himself against the wall, his head was swimming, his ears ringing, Jaskier’s voice filling his ears and pulling him under. He made it another step before he fell, his body falling into Jaskier’s door and then slamming to the floor as the door swung open, hard, knocking into the wall. Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he jumped out of his chair and stumbled backwards, hands flailing as he looked toward the door with wide eyes. Geralt laid on the floor, still unable to move his body properly.

“Oh fuck. Geralt! Shit no no no, you aren’t supposed to be home why are you hear?” he sounded panicked as he ran over to Geralt, falling to his knees next to him, his hands hovering just over Geralt’s body.

“Shit. Fuck I’m so sorry.” His voice was small. The cheer and happiness usually tinting his words was gone now, completely.

“Geralt. Fuck.” His hands finally settled on his own knees, moving up and down his thighs, the air around him was thick with worry.

“M’fine Jaskier.” Geralt mumbled as best he could, his cheek pressed roughly against the floor.

“No. You’re not. Look at you. I- oh hang on!” his hands flailed again as pushed himself off the floor, across the room in seconds, digging through his dresser for something. He made a small sound when he found it, and was back in front of Geralt in seconds. His slim fingers wrapped around something small and brown, both hands holding it, he brought it close to Geralt’s face and snapped it in half. Cinnamon filled his senses, his head cleared almost immediately. He grunted and pushed himself to his knees, noting how Jaskier scrambled backwards, moving away from him.

“I’m- I should- I should leave.” Jaskier’s voice was shaky, barely even a whisper in the silent room. Geralt picked up the broken pieces of the cinnamon stick Jaskier had snapped in front of him, holding them in his hand.

“Cinnamon.” He said, maybe a little dumbly. He looks up at Jaskier then, and what he sees makes his heart drop into his stomach. Jaskier had moved as far away from him as possible, his arms wrapped around himself, fingers digging into his ribs where he clutched at himself. There were tears falling down his cheeks as he stared at the ground. He looked impossibly small. Geralt pushed himself to his feet.

“It’s okay Jas-“

“No it isn’t!” he almost screamed it, his voice rising louder than Geralt had ever heard it. Jaskier sunk to the floor. His arms pulling his knees close to his chest as sobs fell from his mouth. Geralt crept closer, clenching his fists at his sides as Jaskier hid his face against his knees. He crouched down next to him, his hand reaching out slowly to touch his shoulder. Jaskier flinched, but Geralt left his hand there, refusing to move it.

“You didn’t do it on purpose.” He soothed, his thumb moving in small circles.

“It was an accident.”

Jaskier snorted humorlessly and looked up at Geralt, eyes full of self-loathing.

“It’s always an accident.” He says, voice thick with, something.

“I can’t fucking control it. And I- I could have hurt you.” The tears fall down his face like rain on a window. He bites his lip and sniffles, pulling the sleeve of his shirt down over his hand and wiping at nose.

“But you didn’t. I should have told you I was home. I saw you didn’t have your headphones on.” His hand moves off Jaskier’s shoulder as he stands, keeping himself pressed against the wall.

“You’re trying to make this your fault?” Jaskier scoffs.

“It’s at least a little my fault.” Geralt says, taking a few steps back, giving Jaskier some room. He smiles at him then, trying to show Jaskier that he really doesn’t blame him. It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault. They had an agreement. The only time Jaskier would sing out loud was when Geralt wasn’t home. And he wasn’t supposed to be home. And he hadn’t let Jaskier know he was in the house. Sure, Jaskier should have heard him, but he had been writing music, and Jaskier rarely hears anything when he’s writing music, or listening to music, or playing music, and reading books. He gets lost in his head so easily. So yes, Geralt didn’t just think it was his fault, he knew it was.

“I should have let you know I was home. That was the deal. I broke it. It’s my fault.” He looked at Jaskier pointedly, kept his eyes on him until Jaskier finally looked up from the floor. His eyes shining with tears.

“It’s okay. Okay?” Jaskier pulled his lip between his teeth and nodded. Geralt nodded back and stepped further away. He watched Jaskier for a moment, watched his hands finally fall to his sides, watched him all but collapse onto his bed, sitting on the edge picking a hole in the knee of his jeans. Geralt walked out to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. He peaked back into Jaskier’s room, he was laying on the bed now, arm draped over his eyes.

“Hey.” Geralt called quietly. Jaskier peeked at him from under his arm, Geralt tossed the bottle to him, he caught it easily.

“Thanks.” Was all he got in return, Jaskier’s voice still small.

“Get some rest.” Geralt said, trying his best to smile again, and pulled the door closed. He watched the line of light under the door until it went dark and went back to his room, hoping that Jaskier would actually get to sleep.

He’d just about drifted off himself when heard the screams. He sat bolt upright, his hands fisting in front of him, ready for a fight. The screams stopped and he realized it was Jaskier. Across the hall. Screaming in his sleep. He focused his hearing, reaching out in the dark. Jaskier’s heart was racing, Geralt could hear him whimpering now. Another shout rang out through the dark and he heard Jaskier flail in his bed, and then heard a thud as he fell out of it. He heard Jaskier struggle to get untangled from his sheets, and then heard him pad down the hall to the bathroom.

He heard Jaskier climb into the shower, even heard him crying under the downpour of water. He listened to him get dressed and then heard him pacing. He walked to Geralt’s door four times. Stopping in front it, pausing, and then going back to his room. His hand had even touched the doorknob at least twice. Geralt waited for him to pace back, waited for him to stop in front if his door, and then called out to him.

“Come in.”

He heard Jaskier gasp. But the door opened, Jaskier shuffled into the room, his pajamas hung loose on him, baggy pajama pants barely hanging onto his hips. He looked small again and Geralt wondered how he did that, went from looking as tall as Geralt, all broad shoulders and long legs, to looking like someone Geralt could put in his pocket. He stood in the dim ray of light from the hall, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Are you alright?” he asked, not moving from the bed, pushing Jaskier to says something, for fear that if he didn’t, Jaskier would just stand there all night, saying nothing.

“N- no. No not really. And um… I’m gonna ask you something. And it might sound odd. And you can say no!” he hurried to add, his hands held out in front of him.

“Just ask.” Geralt grunted.

“Can I um… Can I sleep in here with you?” he asked, Geralt said nothing, sensing he was going to say more, his own heart began beating loudly in his ears.

“It’s just that. I uh… I have these dreams. Well, they’re not dreams really. Nightmares. I guess, is what they are. They’re nightmares. And uh,” he sighed, pushing his hand through his hair, Geralt just now noticing the his spiked up mohawk was soft from his shower, he could a slight curl to his hair.

“I um… I usually have… someone to… someone to sleep with. It- it helps. Having some one to- just having someone… to-“ he cut off, his eyes on the ground, Geralt could smell the embarrassment coming off him, he rubbed his hand over his face.

“To hold you?” Geralt prompted. Jaskier’s eyes snapped up from the floor, meeting Geralt’s in the dark. He swallowed hard and nodded.

“It helps. Makes me feel safe.” He was worrying his pajama pants between his fingers.

“I know it’s weird. I just thought I’d ask, I didn’t mean to-“

“Come here.” Geralt waved him over, lying back on the bed, pulling the sheet up in invitation. Jaskier swallowed hard and shuffled forward. He climbed in next to Geralt slowly, laying stiffly next to him. Geralt snorted and moved closer to him.

“Get comfortable.” He moved his fingers to Jaskier’s arm and felt him shiver at the touch.

“You’re sure? Like really sure cuz I get a bit… clingy.” He pushed himself up onto his elbow and looked down at Geralt, the moonlight from the window shinning in his eyes.

“Cling away.” Geralt said, pushing a lock of hair from Jaskier’s forehead with his finger, pulling another shiver from him.

“Okay.” Jaskier breathed, looking down at him, motionless, for a moment longer and then lowering himself down, pressing himself against Geralt gently. His head laying on Geralt’s shoulder, his hand resting on his chest, settled above his heart. His legs pressed against Geralt’s, his foot twitching a bit. Geralt reached down, curled his fingers around Jaskier’s knee and pulled one of his legs over his own so that it rested between them. He moved his hand up to settle on Jaskier’s hip and felt him sigh, finally relaxing completely against him. The only part of him moving now was his fingers, tapping out a gentle rhythm on Geralt’s chest.

“I hate it.” Jaskier whispered. Geralt moved the arm underneath Jaskier to hold his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“I hate that part of me so much.” His breath was warm against Geralt’s chest, Geralt dug his teeth into his lip, wanting to comfort him, be he wanted Jaskier to get it out, whatever it was that he needed to say.

“And everyone else hates it too. As soon as people find out what I am. The look in their eyes, it changes, ya know? It twists, into this, look. Like they- like they’re-“ Geralt can feel tears pooling against his chest, wet and warm. He hears Jaskier choke back a sob and moved his hand into his still damp hair.

“Like they hate you.” Geralt whispers, breathing the words into Jaskier’s hair. He feels Jaskier nod.

“They don’t even know me. I’m not… I’m not like that. I don’t like hurting people.” His fingers curl into Geralt’s shirt, clutching at it tightly.

“I know.”

“How can you know that? We just met. And you’ve seen it. You’ve felt it. What I can do.” He flattens Geralt’s shirt back out, pressing his fingers down against him, pressing out the wrinkles he’d created.

“Jaskier. If you wanted to hurt people, you’d be hurting people. And I’m not sure anyone could stop you.” He moved his fingers to Jaskier’s chin, tilting his head up, making him look at him.

“I don’t think even I could stop you. If you really wanted to, I think you could bring this world to it’s knees with that voice of yours.” He moved his fingertips over Jaskier’s lips, feeling him gasp against them.

“But you haven’t. And you won’t.” He moved his hand to cup Jaskier’s cheek.

“There’s too much kindness in you.” He presses his lips to Jaskier’s forehead and then looks down at him again.

“It shines in your eyes every time you smile. And you fucking smile, all, the time.” Geralt sighs, frustration lacing his voice. Jaskier snorts, his body shaking against Geralt’s. Jaskier pressed closer, his body moving into Geralt’s like it was made to be there, his arm snaking around Geralt and pulling him closer.

“Should I stop smiling? Sounds like it bothers you.” His voice was heavy with sleep now, the heartbeat pressing into Geralt’s side slowing. Jaskier snuggled his head harder into Geralt’s shoulder.

“Don’t ever stop smiling.” Geralt breathed into his hair. He felt Jaskier smile into his chest and moved his fingers slowly along his scalp, listening to his heartbeat and breathing slow as he finally drifted off to sleep. Geralt pulled him closer, holding him tightly in the dark, and let his eyes fall closed. He pressed his nose into Jaskier’s hair and hoped he could at least bring him some peace.