Sunflower

Chapter 1/1

"Do you know, I was thinking we ought to go to some taverns while we're staying here," Jaskier says thoughtfully. "I hear there are some good ones in the area," he adds.

"And where exactly do you hear that?" Geralt asks gruffly.

Jaskier gives him a short laugh. "Ah, well, you know, places." He inhales. "And yes, I know you've had more than enough to drink, but I haven't." Geralt discreetly looks at the bard through the mirror, staring at the back of his head as he washes his hands of dirt and dried blood.

Geralt had gotten back from a hunting trip (he'd killed a wyvern), back to the inn, soaked in blood and mud. Jaskier had immediately offered to help him with bathing – he'd been helping Geralt a lot lately, in fact. Jaskier turns to the mirror, standing behind Geralt and handing him another towel. Geralt wipes his face, then slings the towel over his shoulders. 

"So what do you say? There's this one great place nearby – can't quite recall its name, but I know the way there – and I bet we could make some coin, too," Jaskier suggests.

Geralt looks at him skeptically. "With your singing?" he asks. 

Jaskier scoffs. "Oh, this again? There's absolutely nothing wrong with my singing," Jaskier protests, rolling his eyes. "And frankly, I'm still hurt about the fact that you think my singing is like 'ordering a pie and finding it has no filling'."

Geralt grunts, losing interest in the conversation. "You did want me to be honest."

Jaskier shrugs, tilting his head. "More like constructively critical," he clarifies.

Geralt laughs mockingly. "As if you'd take 'constructive criticism'."

Jaskier gives him a look. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Geralt just barely refrains from rolling his eyes. He doesn't return to the conversation, but instead sits still and silent, listening to Jaskier rambling about something, enjoying the feeling of Jaskier's fingers running through his hair– Wait. What? 

Geralt's eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. "Jaskier," he says.

Jaskier flips his hand dismissively. "Ah, it's nothing, really, I was just thinking that–" Geralt has no idea what he's rambling on about now, not having listened to Jaskier for a while.

"Jaskier." Geralt's voice is more persistent, but the bard still doesn't shut up.

"You cannot possibly be that much against them – I mean, it'd be nice, don't you think? Just watching–"

"Jaskier." 

Jaskier finally lifts his head, making eye contact. "What?"

Geralt swallows, staring at Jaskier. "You don't have to do that."

Jaskier frowns, visibly confused. He stares back. "Do what?"

Geralt exhales. "Whatever you're doing right now." His face heats up, even though he's not sure why, and he doesn't like it. 

Jaskier blinks. "I'm not doing anything," he says. His fingers have stopped moving, and Geralt thinks that he genuinely isn't aware that he's even touching Geralt's hair.

"You are," Geralt insists. "You're braiding my hair." His voice is colorless.

Jaskier blinks, looks down at his hands and the small, nearly done braid he's working with. "Ah," Jaskier says, a blush creeping up to his cheeks. "So it would seem." He clears his throat. "Okay then, I'll just..." his voice falters as he lets go of Geralt's hair. Geralt doesn't know why, but he doesn't want Jaskier to stop braiding his hair.

"No," Geralt grunts, frowning. 

Jaskier's eyebrows shoot up. "No?" he blinks. "What– what do you mean, 'no'?" he questions. 

Geralt huffs. "You know what I mean." He doesn't want to say it out loud. Jaskier shakes his head slowly, beyond confused. "No," Geralt repeats, "as in don't stop braiding my hair." Jaskier opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure what to say.

"Um," Jaskier settles on saying. He frowns. "You don't want me to stop braiding your hair," he says. A question disguised as a statement. He laughs nervously, swallowing. "Why?"

Geralt's scrunches his nose. "I don't know. Just..." He sighs, looking anywhere but at Jaskier. "Don't. Stop." A series of emotions washes over Jaskier's features, from suprise to confusion to amusement. He raises an eyebrow.

"Okay," Jaskier drawls, and the expression on his face annoys Geralt to no end. He looks too happy with the current situation. "But you have to tell me, what made Geralt of Rivia allow such a thing?" Jaskier asks. "I mean, with the whole... brooding and all," he adds, gesturing vaguely at his own face and attempting to imitate Geralt's usual expression. 

Much to his own surprise, Geralt laughs at the demonstration. Jaskier grins gleefully. "Well," Geralt says simply. "I did have blood in my hair." He's avoiding the question, and he knows if. Jaskier narrows his eyes.

"But your hair's already clean, you know." Jaskier keeps working on the braid, his gaze turned down and his lashes shielding his eyes. Geralt tries to ignore the word 'pretty' that pops up in his mind upon the sight. "Braiding it doesn't make it any cleaner, technically," Jaskier states, and Geralt embraces the feeling of Jaskier's fingers in his hair.

"I'm a witcher," Geralt responds. "You never know." Jaskier snorts, looking at Geralt, unconvinced.

"And that gives you, what, magic hair?" Jaskier questions, scoffing. "Sure." Geralt shrugs, glancing at Jaskier through the mirror. If Geralt was being honest, Jaskier reminded him a bit of a sunflower. Bright, sunny and lively, a reminder that better times were about to come. If for nothing else, that was something Geralt respected Jaskier for. He was always there for him, even though Geralt had never asked him to be.

Jaskier's voice snaps Geralt out of his thoughts. "Well, what do you think?" he asks, holding his hands on his hips. Geralt already missed the calming effect the braiding had on him. Jaskier looks at Geralt in askance. The braid was cleanly done, a small braid at the back of his head, tied with a silky piece of fabric. It looked good.

"It's fine," Geralt replies, frowning. "I can't remember the last time someone braided my hair," he ponders. Jaskier looks at him softly, almost pitifully.

"Hmm," the bard hums. "Well, now you can." Jaskier offers him a grin. "What do you say we get out of here and grab a drink or two?" Jaskier asks. Geralt tenderly touches the braid. He has to stifle a genuine smile, which surprises him.

"Hm. That sounds... decent." Geralt slowly gets up. "Let's go." Jaskier pats him on the back, opening the door for him. Geralt glares at Jaskier. As if he couldn't have done it himself. Jaskier laughs, then follows Geralt out into the hallway and down the stairs. "Where's this tavern again?" Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow at the bard.

Jaskier smiles, and Geralt gets the feeling that he's not going to tell. "Somewhere," he replies. Geralt sighs, shaking his head. Jaskier tilts his head, amused. "You'll see."