Geraskier One-Shots

You are. (I am.) You always have been.

Fluff and Angst/unrequited Love

Happy Ending

Word Count: 4,939

Geralt's POV of "I am? (You are) I am."

Song Recommendation: Heathers - Conan gray 

______

There was no forgetting December 3.

Geralt could try, but he'd fail.

There was no erasing the clear scent of the rain. Or the darkening of the pavement as droplets grew heavier, morphing into a full downpour. The winter air that swept around him, gently threading through his hair, dyed strands falling over his eyes. The grey of the sky as it hid the bright sun behind dense clouds.

But really, he couldn't even miss the sun because it stood right next to him.

Bright and unyielding. Geralt heard of this guy, 'Jaskier' everyone called him, but that seemed wrong. In Geralt's opinion, you should call him the sun. He was kind and warm, gentle and musical.

There was something about him.

Anxiously, he brought a hand up, toying with his necklace, trailing his finger across the ironworking. It was something his brother, Eskel made for him in his shop class. A dear gift.

In his peripheral he could see the Sun shiver, a long shudder that ran through the brunette's figure, rocking the guitar strapped to his back.

'The jacket,' something provided, voice small and distant, 'Give him the jacket.'

Geralt debated for a moment. To the Sun, he was a stranger, a nobody. Why would he offer him his sweater? But that voice came back, nagging, 'Just give it to him.'

So, he did. Pulling the leather from his shoulders, blush rising on his cheeks, "Here."

The brunette faltered, eyes wide, "You're giving me your...jacket?"

Geralt mentally facepalmed. This was stupid, of course, it was.

"Thank you," Jaskier said, voice soft and a little breathless.

Geralt simply nodded, quickly turning away, heart racing.

"My name's Julian, but everyone calls me Jaskier," the Sun said, extending a polite hand, a smile pulling at his lips.

'Yes, I know, I already know.'

"Jaskier?" Geralt questioned, crossing his arms, leaning against the brick pillar behind him, "That's quite different from 'Julian'."

Jaskier just laughed, the sound melodic and beautiful, "Well, I took Polish in eighth grade and my teacher gave me the name."

Something picked away at Geralt, "What's it mean?"

"Directly, it means Buttercup, but it can also mean Dandelion," he explained.

Geralt sucked in a harsh breath, this was an introduction. He does plenty of those, this isn't supposed to be hard.

"Geralt," he says finally, slipping his hand into Jaskier's.

It's difficult, so very difficult.

There's so much he wants to say, so many things he wants to ask, but he doesn't. He lets the silence fall between them once more, quietly side eyeing Jaskier. The brunette is pulling his bags off his shoulders, setting them carefully onto the ground. His pastel blue shirt ruffles as he pulls the stark black leather jacket on. It almost looks wrong on his shoulders. Too dark, too heavy.