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Hm.

[Silence. In the background, a faint, admonishing Geralt! can be heard.]

Call the bard.

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[It was a yes.]

[Jaskier leads him out to the dance floor and puts his hands into the appropriate positions-- or, at least, the appropriate positions for this kind of dancing. It would be scandalous even in the most lenient and progressive courts to have his hands like this, resting on Jaskier's waist. If there had been a woman in his place, Geralt might have been able to span the whole width of her middle with his palms-- as it is, Jaskier's more sturdily built than that. Solid. All of those years of walking alongside a witcher has done him some good, apparently.]

[The bard's arms drape over his shoulders. The dance is a slow, swaying thing that barely has steps; they're mostly staying in place. Years of learning fighting maneuvers and proper footwork has made Geralt adept at minding where he puts his feet, so Jaskier at least has little to worry about when it comes to the welfare of his toes.]

Hm. [Dancing was never a part of any of Geralt's winters. Certainly not at Kaer Morhen, even when roaring drunk. Though it's not as though there's any music at the keep, anyway, so what would they be dancing to?] Witchers don't dance, regardless of the season. You had plenty of opportunities for merriment in Oxenfurt, anyway, if that's what you were looking for.

[Even if Geralt had invited the bard to Kaer Morhen-- which isn't to say that he hadn't thought about it a few times in their long acquaintance-- Jaskier would never have said yes. Kaer Morhen is a cold, lonesome place deep in the mountains, cut off from any human comforts. He would have been bored in a few days' time even if he made it up the long trek to the keep, and then what would he have done? Once the snows hit, he'd be trapped there with a bunch of witchers. It was better to just not even ask than have to suffer through the bard's attempts at kindly rejecting him.]

[Jaskier never worries about the welfare of his body parts when he's around Geralt. The exact opposite in fact, he relaxes too much, if that's possible. Geralt would probably even call him careless, Jaskier just calls it trusting his witcher with his fucking life and knowing he won't let anything happen to him. Which, as far as Jaskier knows, is 100% true.

He can't help snorting and shaking his head when Geralt manages, once again, to spin his answer into something... well, not precisely negative this time around, but definitely shying away from the compliment and positivity Jaskier just pointed out.]

Indeed, my winters were full of merriment when spent in Oxenfurt. [He lowers a hand to playfully smack Geralt on his ~~mighty tit~~ chest.] But you weren't there, you big oaf, and that's the point I was trying to make. I wasn't talking about winters spent dancing, I was talking about winters with you. In your company. Which I enjoy.

[And right now, he's feeling rather merry, to use the word Geralt chose. Fine wine and good food in his belly, away from the shittiness of their world, content and cozy in the arms of his witcher, surrounded by soft music and affectionate couples... it's his good mood that raises his hand from Geralt's chest and dares to poke his nose.]

When will you finally accept that, dear witcher?

[Geralt cannot smell the happiness on Jaskier's scent anymore, not with dull human senses, but the bard seems pleased enough at the moment. He remembers what it was like-- a blooming honey sweetness, a lovely complement to his usual scent. He smacks Geralt's chest in playful admonishment-- he can tell the difference between the bard's serious and joking reprimands after two decades-- and it's barely enough to make a dent in him.]

[The general group of swaying dancers has shifted a little, and Geralt moves them along with the crowd to maintain the appropriate distance between couples. The bard pokes his nose, which briefly wrinkles in response-- the same sort of vaguely offended response that cats make when you touch their noses. Geralt frowns.]

You wouldn't have my company much at all if I had to stay on the Path through winter. Oxenfurt never has enough contracts for me to begin with, and certainly not enough for the whole season.

[And staying in a city like Oxenfurt all winter-- well, it would be nearly unbearable, he thinks. So many people like Jaskier, all full of questions and curiosity for someone like a witcher. He's only passed through there a few times since making the bard's acquaintance, and the more the years have passed, the less wary the citizens of that city seem to become. It doesn't help him much with contracts-- it doesn't matter how little they fear him if they don't have any monsters that need killing-- but it does make them annoyingly persistent in their sociability. He's had people approach him when he's sitting in dark corners of taverns, just trying to eat his fucking dinner in peace. Who did they think they were, Jaskier?]

You entertain yourself just fine without me. You told me about it every spring.

[Jaskier always had endless stories of the things he got up to during winter, from the joyful nights playing in taverns to his most scandalous affairs to the horrible things his students would turn into him for their writing assignments. It was good to hear about all the ways that the bard enjoyed himself during those bleak months, and helped solidify Geralt's decision to leave him in Oxenfurt when he made the trek northward in autumn.]

[Geralt wrinkles his nose and-- well, it's such an adorable reaction, really. Jaskier has to bite his lower lip not to make a cooing sound that would probably get him dropped right there in the middle of the dance floor. The witcher doesn't like it when Jaskier implies he's cute, a softie, or...

Anything positive, to be fair.

And there he goes again, spinning what he's said into something gloomy. Geralt's mental gymnastics should have a song of their own, because that's how epic they are. Jaskier huffs and even pouts.]

It's not about entertainment or being bored! It's about sharing winter and the holidays with you! Didn't you hear a word I say about your company?

[He probably did and ignored it, as he does with many things Jaskier constantly must remind him. Like take better care of yourself, you deserver better and just because you can get hurt doesn't mean you should. What does he have to do to get through this oaf's thick head? After twenty-two years?

His hand falls on Geralt's chest again to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, the tip of his tongue peeking it as it always does when he's composing or thinking too hard. He supposes a bit of confessing is in order, this stubborn witcher better appreciates it.]

If we were to spend winter together, it wouldn't be on the Path, you fool. [His tone is scolding but also fond. And his eyes... they don't meet Geralt's, they stay on the buttons. Thank the gods this dance is very simple and he doesn't need to pay extra attention to his feet - he can lean in against Geralt, safe in his arms, and find comfort in his presence while he confesses his daydreams.] Whenever I imagined us wintering together, it would be in Oxenfurt. Food and bed would be free, and coin would come from my teaching, as it always does when I winter there. I would just sneak you into my quarters! So no need for contracts. It would be the vacation you need. You could spend all your time in the library correcting monster books, or riding Roach on the beach, or fishing, or even simply napping in a bath that you'd reheat with Igni. [His voice has become incredibly soft as he describes his fantasy - this isn't Jaskier the storyteller, this is the guy that said just trying to find what pleases me.] And when I was done with my classes, I could introduce you to the best seafood, and the Gwent shop that makes custom cards, and let's be honest, Madam Maxine's brothel. [He smirks to show he's teasing - or is he?] Oxenfurt would still be incredibly crowded for your taste, I know you hate it there. And while I selfishly would want you the whole winter with me, I don't know if I could keep you away from your brothers. I have you the rest of the year, after all, and them you only get to see in winter. You're a different man when you return from the keep - from your home.

[Because no matter how many times Geralt says he doesn't need people, the effect seeing his family (yes, family, don't try to deny it!) has on him is incredibly obvious. Jaskier has always wished he could have that effect on the witcher as well and--

I walked the Path for six fucking decades before you and never brought anyone along. Just you.

A little smile appears on his face, but he still sighs.] And since you won't take me to Kaer Morhen, daydreaming is all I had. So yes, Geralt, excuse me for thinking this sweet moment right now exceeds any expectations of a winter with you I could've ever had.

[It's not a fair comparison, considering they're on a whole different bloody realm, but let's ignore that part.]

[Jaskier's hand rests on Geralt's chest, plucking idly at one of the buttons there. The bard has always needed something to do with his hands, whether it's gesturing widely or plucking at lute strings or rubbing his fingers together from nervousness. This is a thinking-face, though-- his tongue is peeking out from between his lips in a manner that he knows plenty of people have considered charming.]

[He paints a pretty little fantasy of what he'd like a winter together to be-- free room and board from the University, the two of them sharing Jaskier's quarters; days spent in the library with bestiaries, or riding Roach, or at leisure by the river. Good food and gwent and good company, either from the bard or from the many whorehouses that Jaskier knows. He makes it sound as though being in the company of a Witcher would be a good thing, not disastrous for his reputation. That it would be selfish to keep him, as though a Witcher is a thing to keep.]

[And his brothers. What will happen when winter comes in their realm, and he doesn't go up the mountain or send word? They'll think the worst has happened to him.]

Kaer Morhen wouldn't be to your taste, bard, no more than Oxenfurt is mine. [He could endure Oxenfurt, of course, if necessary. But it wouldn't be a place that he feels comfortable in, or secure, not in the same way that he does in Kaer Morhen's halls.] You'd be bored of it within a week. A whole season might kill you from boredom. So, for you, I suppose this is better than any winter you could've spent in Kaedwen.

[Geralt mentions how their personalities don't match each other's homes, which is kinda funny yet sad at the same time. At first, Jaskier thinks it's only Geralt being Geralt, with his dry sense of humor and negative way to look at things because he doesn't think he can have them. But then the witcher keeps talking and--

Surely he's reading too much into this, right? He can't possibly mean... No fucking way.]

WHAT!

[Jaskier's high pitch echoes in the dance floor, earning him a few looks from the other couples (wait, other?). He smiles at them charmingly and tells them sorry, sorry before turning to Geralt again, glaring at the witcher as if he's just broken his lute.]

You dunderheaded witcher! [He hisses as he leans in, both hands resting on Geralt's chest now for support. Their faces are so close to each other their noses are almost touching, and if it wasn't for the frustration currently fueling him, Jaskier would find this situation very awkward. Instead, this is his way to scold Geral while still getting to dance with him, because he's a fool that gets angry at his witcher but will always want his affection anyway.] What makes you think I'd hate Kaer Morhen? That place is a piece of history that has been frozen in time! And your brothers would be there, too, so I could ask them for stories! Is THIS why you've never invited me? Unbelievable!

[His whole speech is hissed, because he doesn't want to cause a scene. Which is very unlike Jaskier, because he loves causing scenes, but again: can't risk the chance to miss this dance.]

[The bard's outburst takes him a bit by surprise-- he shouts, and Geralt cocks his head at him a little in a curious sort of gesture. Nothing that he's said is all that shocking, is it? The fact that Jaskier would hate being stuck in Kaer Morhen for the entire winter is as plain and simple as anything. As readily apparent as the fact that the sun rises in the east.]

[Jaskier's hands press against his chest, using it for support as he leans in. They're of a height, so he doesn't have far to go before they're nearly nose-to-nose, and the witcher is sturdy enough to take the additional weight. It slows the 'dance', though it really can barely be called as such when all they do is sway.]

Jaskier, you can't even stay in the same bed for an entire season. [It isn't an unkind accusation-- just a statement of fact. Jaskier's attention has never been a steady thing, flitting from one interest to the next.] You wouldn't last a week after the snows hit before you'd be begging one of us to take you down the mountain. You'd have nothing to do and no adoring audiences to play for.

[And-- though he does not say it-- the selfish thing would be to keep the bard for the whole winter, when he already spends most of the rest of the year with him, too. As the bard enjoys reminding him, he has plenty of friends scattered across the Continent, and the winter months are the few that he has the chance to go and see them. To sing duets with that troubaritz friend of his in taverns, find out the latest gossip, do all the things that he can't do when he's following around a witcher. Who's he to deny him that, all in the name of a desire that he shouldn't even have in the first place?]

There isn't that much history left, unless you're fond of looking at crumbling architecture. Half of the library's rotting. [The structural work takes up most of their time, and even when they have it, none of them specialized in book binding or repair.] You wouldn't be able to sing about the keep, either, even if there was something worth singing about.

[Part of the reason that they can remain in Kaer Morhen is because of the fact that people think that it's abandoned. They had one pogrom already-- they don't need to invite another because of a few ballads.]

[Sorry, Geralt, but Jaskier takes it as an unkind accusation anyway. He leans back, huffing and rolling his eyes, but his hands stay on Geralt's chest because... reasons. Look around, it's not uncommon to rest them there instead of the shoulders, okay?

And part of him knows he shouldn't be mad at Geralt, because he understands the logic he's going for - it's true, Jaskier is on a constant search for new experiences. But there's also the fact he has exceptions, and it hurts a bit that the witcher can't still see that after two decades. Hasn't his loyalty been proven already?]

A week? We've spent many a week camping in the forest with nothing but trees and grass as company! [How does that not count as "you'd have nothing to do and no adoring audiences to play for"? Jaskier is feeling so frustrated right now.] How is it that you still can't see?

[He sighs and looks down, a hand moving to pluck at the buttons again.]

Is this why you've never invited me? Because you think I wouldn't stand a whole season surrounded by only witchers? Have you learned nothing about what truly pleases me after so many years traveling together?

[He isn't sure what this says about their friendship, really, and he's afraid of what he may find if he analyzes it too closely. Then again, it could be simply blamed on Geralt being Geralt and keeping every person and every want at an arm's length.

Let's go to the coast. Get away for a while.

Coast, keep, it matters not. How more clear can he be?]

[A week or two camping on the way to a town or city isn't the same beast at all as being stuck in a keep for four months at the minimum-- the former is just travel time, the cost of going from point A to point B. The latter is being stuck, unable to leave a place for too long. And, of course, he stays in Oxenfurt for much of the winter, but he isn't forced to stay there. He always has the option of traveling up to Novigrad to visit friends, or going wherever else he pleases. Winters aren't as harsh on the coast, not like in the midst of the Blue Mountains, so he wouldn't be so restricted. It's in Jaskier's nature to be free to wander.]

[His fingers fiddle with the buttons on Geralt's shirt. Fidgeting is a nervous little habit that he's had since he was a teenager, one of the few tells that Geralt has now that don't rely on his witcher senses.]

You've told me that Oxenfurt is your home. [Since Lettenhove, apparently, isn't. Geralt doesn't know the full story of why Jaskier abandoned the place, but if he wants him to know, the witcher doesn't doubt that he'll tell him. And if he never wants to tell, well. Men are allowed to have their secrets.] You wouldn't keep me from mine, and I won't keep you from yours.

[Again-- not that he thinks that Jaskier would accept. It's easy to say that he would want to go to the keep when they're here and Kaer Morhen is a universe away, but if it came down to it? If they were actually on the road again, standing at the crossroads between Oxenfurt and Novigrad, and Geralt asked him to go north with him, would he really be able to say no to the pleasures of his alma mater, the steady income, the luxury of his comfortable apartments?]

[Just trying to work out what pleases me, he had said on the mountain.]

Did you? [It feels like a heavy question, especially for how close they are right now. Jaskier's head is tipped downwards, and Geralt has to turn his own a little, lest he end up with his nose in the bard's hair. He can still smell the fragrant floral soaps and oils that he used when he bathed, the scent far more pleasant without his witcher senses.] Work out what pleases you.

[Indeed, Oxenfurt is his home in a way Lettenhove never was - but that doesn't mean he's obliged to return to it every year. Above anything else, Jaskier is a wanderer. There've been a couple of winters spent somewhere else already, like with the Countess de Stael. Going to Kaer Morhen wouldn't be too different.

Besides, who says you can only have one home? Or that home must be a place? A person can be home, too.

He should tell Geralt that, but the witcher surprises him with one hell of a heavy question. Bollocks. And an enhanced nose that tells him how others are feeling would be handy right now, because Jaskier... well...

Falls unusually silent.

His feet are still dancing, of course, and his fingers don't leave Geralt's shirt buttons - there goes the tip of his tongue peeking out as well. But not a word, that lost in thought he is.

The dragon hunt... it had been a shitshow by itself, nobody can disagree on that, but Jaskier had already entered it feeling a bit off-center. His confidence is as true as it comes, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have doubts every now and then, he's only human after all. And he had been having a couple of rough days with Geralt before the hunt started - the witcher's comment about finding a worthy travel companion just being the first step of going from rough to fucking hell thanks to said hunt.

If I were a man of more merit, if I were a man of resolve, I’d leave you behind, get my fair peace of mind from a bottle of grain alcohol.

The original lyrics of Her Sweet Kiss are still there on his notebook, a constant reminder of what he was feeling that day - a day that feels like it happened ages ago now. Just trying to work out what pleases me, he had said on the mountain, as if he hadn't known the answer. It just happened that the answer wasn't entirely working for him, something Geralt proved right when he told him to fuck off for good shortly after.

But the witcher is trying now. He truly is doing his best to make Jaskier's private answer work for both of their sakes. They're fucking dancing, for fuck's sake! If that isn't a sign, what is it?

Yet Jaskier hesitates to reply, and he can swear his heart is about to explode with how strong it's feeling this mess of emotions.

You. You are what pleases me.

Their friendship has just become a thing again - and even if that wasn't the case, expressing his answer like that would still be too fucking much. He's not about to scare Geralt off after twenty-two fucking years and a chance to start over in another realm without any of the ties that could bother them at home has been dropped on their laps.

Jaskier is a master of the words... so words he uses in his favor.]

Being your traveling companion. [He finally confesses in what is almost a whisper.] That's what pleases me.

[Honest enough without revealing too much, he hopes.]

[Jaskier is silent for several long moments while he considers the question. It's times like these that Geralt wishes that he had his sensitive nose again, so that he could have some idea of what's going on in Jaskier's head right now. So that he could at least know if the question upset him, rather than just having to wait for a conclusive response. No wonder humans are always so messy in their relationships-- no one knows what the fuck is going on with anyone else. Jaskier could tell him something that isn't the truth, and how would he ever know?]

[Some strange feeling sits right behind his breastbone, burning there. Anticipation? That makes little sense. He has little investment in whatever most pleases Jaskier, whether it's women or wine or writing poetry that wins him awards at festivals. Whatever most pleases Jaskier is fine, as that's his decision and his desires, and as a good friend, Geralt should help him achieve that. Especially since, as a witcher, Geralt has no real wants of his own, and thus the question of what pleases you is a moot one at best.]

[He didn't expect that Jaskier's answer would involve him. He says it so softly that Geralt almost doesn't catch it, but the music is winding down enough that the whisper is still just audible.]

You have it, for as long as you like. [Until, anyway, he decides that someone else is what pleases him.]

[The song comes to its end and the band, apparently, needs to take a break. Geralt removes his hands from the bard's waist and steps back, out of the close quarters that this dance had put them in.]

Your one dance.

[He has fulfilled his promise. And, since everyone else is settling back into their seats, it's a good excuse for them to do the same. There's a drink waiting at the table with Geralt's name on it, anyway, and he feels like he needs it after how... fraught the past few minutes have been.]

[You have it, for as long as you like.

It means a lot to hear that, especially after the mess in the mountain. Sure, they did work things out when they arrived here, but it was mostly Jaskier having to do the pushing for words, as always. This time, however... this time Geralt just says it unprompted, in a context he probably isn't truly comfortable in. Whatever you want, he had said, and it looks like he fucking means it.

Many a novel Jaskier has read about special (miraculous even!) things happening in Yule. Getting a dance and an unprompted promise from Geralt surely counts as such - at least his heart thinks so, considering the way it gets stuck in his throat as he stares at Geralt in shock...

And just like that, it's over. Your one dance, Geralt calls it. The most important dance in my fucking life, Jaskier would prefer. The witcher is stepping back and Jaskier could swear he already feels colder, but that's probably his feelings talking. Smiling wide enough to almost split his face, he bends an arm over his stomach and bows for his friend, going for playful to hide the emotional mess he is inside.]

Thank you, good sir.

[They make it back to their table and it turns out, the band is choosing this moment to take their break because it's time for the countdown. Merry Christmas the entire crowd cries out when they make it to zero, and Jaskier raises his glass to tap it against Geralt's.]

Blessed be your Yule, old friend. [He sips his wine before talking again.] I have something for you.

[He retrieves his bag from under the chair and hands Geralt a simple package - Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn't stop to appreciate elaborated wrapping, but he had to do something, just a plastic bag wouldn't do. So simple brown paper, a rope and a little plant it is. Inside, Geralt will find two things: a big, black scarf with the wolf logo from his medallion painted on in white, and a small box containing sound-canceling earbuds.]

[Jaskier does a deep, theatrical bow at the end of the song, like Geralt's one of his pretty court ladies who just graced him with a dance. He frowns at the sight of it-- the bard ought to mock him less, considering that he's the one who wanted a dance so badly-- and turns on his heel to go back to the table. He hadn't thought that the dance had gone terribly, all things considered, but there must have been some deficiency for Jaskier to ridicule him so quickly afterward. Well, the bard's gotten his dance and Geralt never has to embarrass himself like that again.]

[There is still wine at their table when they return to it, and Geralt is glad to have a drink in his hand again. They're back in their seats in time for celebrations to begin, and Geralt lets the bard tap their glasses together with a little crystalline ping. Then he bends and reaches down underneath his chair for the packages that he'd brought with him, which he reveals are presents for Geralt.]

I don't need anything. [His protests, of course, fall on deaf ears, because regardless of whether or not Geralt needs something, Jaskier got him a gift anyway. It's simply wrapped, which he prefers even if he knows that Jaskier would have rather been elaborate about it, and Geralt carefully pulls off the brown paper so as not to make a mess. He touches the soft black fabric of the scarf, taking it out of the box enough to see the full image of the wolf medallion blazoned across it. It's an accurate recreation-- Jaskier must have brought a picture of it to whomever made the scarf. With it is another little box, this one containing an electronic device. Noise cancelling, it says, something that Jaskier must have gone looking for specifically. They are very... considerate gifts. Thoughtful.]

...Thank you. [Geralt's stomach feels strange; there might be something off about the wine.] I didn't bring yours with me. It's still back in the room.

[Because though he didn't expect anything from Jaskier, he had gotten something for the bard. But it's a practical gift, so that's all right.]

[The protest definitely is eyerolled at. As far as Jaskier is concerned, Geralt needs tons of things, he's just too damn stubborn (and, to be fair, traumatized) to admit it. At least he isn't turning down the gift, so Jaskier will take it as a victory, which saves Geralt from any possible scolding.

He can feel the warmth he lost after the dance returning to his chest when Geralt says thank you and he opens his mouth to say you're welcome... but then the witcher adds that little bit at the end, and Jaskier's mouth stays open, staring at his friend as he had grown a second head.]

...you got me a gift? [Suddenly, a dramatic gasp.] YOU GOT ME A GIFT! [Jaskier laughs with joy, his expression so bright it could light up the entire Dark Cave they visited a couple of days ago.] Oh, I want to see it! I need to see it! [He grabs his glass and downs the rest of the wine in one go.] Finish your drink, I'll pay.

[And just like that he's off to find a waiter, running at a speed gained from years of running away from angry fathers and cuckold husbands. When their bill is taken care of, Jaskier wastes no time in grabbing Geralt by the arm and dragging him back to their inn room, where he doesn't even take off his shoes or cloak. Too excited for that!]

Where is it, where is it! [He exclaims as he flutters around Geralt like a hummingbird.] I want to see my gift!

[Apparently, Jaskier wasn't expecting the witcher to get him anything for Yule, because his whole face lights up in surprise and joy when Geralt tells him that he did. It's a low bar, really, but Jaskier acts as though it's the best thing that's ever happened to him, even though he doesn't know what Geralt got him yet.]

[Before Geralt can protest, he bolts the rest of his wine and is gone, off to find the waiter to settle their bill. He says he'll pay for it, so Geralt really can't complain that much, except for the fact that he has to finish his own drink quickly rather than enjoy it. Wasn't Jaskier the one always telling him to savor good food and fine wine?]

[Once the bill was taken care of, Jaskier grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off, with barely enough time to put the earbuds in his pocket and wrap the scarf around his neck.]

Jaskier--

[Geralt frowns at the bard's impatience, even when they're back in the room. He's like a child on Yule, too excited at the prospect of gifts to settle down. He grabs the bard by the shoulders and pushes, making him sit down on the edge of the bed just to get him to stop pacing around.]

Wait. [Then he kneels down on the other side of the bed, reaching under it to get the package that he'd hidden under there, underneath his bedroll and behind a pair of his boots. The woman had the store had offered to wrap it for him once she was told that it was a gift, and he had let her. What colors does he like, she'd asked him, and all Geralt could think of was the blue of Jaskier's eyes and the gold doublets he favored for royal banquets, so the fucking present's wrapped up in blue paper with gold ribbon. It's not seasonal colors, apparently, but fuck it.]

Here. [He drops the package into Jaskier's arms a bit unceremoniously.]

[Underneath the paper and ribbon is a ukelele case, one with a hard outer shell that he was assured would be sufficient for keeping the weather out. And on the inside, the interior is plush blue velvet and dense padding to protect the instrument, so Jaskier wouldn't have to worry about it getting damaged if it got knocked around a bit. A good case to take on the road, and one that was... not exactly within Geralt's budget, but he had worked things out with the seller. He would still have to pick up a few more odd jobs to make up the rest and have some money to live on, but it was fine. Jaskier had done the same for him when his armor was in dire need of repairs, after all.]

[Of course he's like a child on Yule - this IS Yule! Well, technically anyway. And while the prospect of gifts does excite the hell out of him, it's the fact that Geralt has gotten him one that has him vibrating enough to match a kid with a sugar high.

Wait, Geralt says, and Jaskier pouts but does as asked anyway, because he knows Geralt well - he's sure the witcher would absolutely cancel any gift-giving if he didn't behave. And while the package is being dropped without any Yule wishes or gentleness, really, Jaskier doesn't care. First, because this is Geralt, so he doesn't expect any "ceremony" from him in the first place.

And second (and most importantly)... because these are his bloody colors. They're not Yule colors, but who cares? They're Jaskier's. Geralt remembered. By the gods, he's already smiling like an idiot and he hasn't opened it yet (although judging by the shape? he can already take a guess).

Usually he would be ripping the wrapping off in freaking seconds, but he's feeling so touched by the color choice and the gesture in general that he first allows his fingers to stroke the paper a couple of time before finally opening it by actually carefully pulling the tape. For someone that was desperate to get his gift mere seconds ago, this sure counts as patience.

As soon as the case makes its appearance, blue eyes widen as he gasps.]

Geralt... [Calloused fingers start gently stroking again, first the outer shell, then the gorgeous and very soft blue velvet inside. He can't believe what he's seeing! The kind of gift that says Jaskier all over it. It's practical, it's thoughtful, it's...] It's perfect.

[Smiling from ear to ear and feeling his heart beat way too fast to be mere excitement, Jaskier gently puts down the case on the bed, then looks at Geralt and after a moment of hesitation where he keeps the tip of his tongue peeking out...

He runs up to Geralt and hugs him with as much strength as he can manage.]

I love it. Thank you, old friend.

[Geralt expected that Jaskier would just rip the paper off like the overexcited child that he is, but Jaskier opens it carefully, unfolding the paper from around his gift without tearing it. Once revealed, he touches the instrument case reverently, as though it's something unspeakably precious and not a tool to be used in keeping his ukulele in good condition. Though Geralt is not overly fond of the small stringed instrument, it's something that's important to Jaskier, and it ought to at least be well-protected if it's going to be brought on the road.]

[The bard opens it and marvels for a moment at the soft velvet interior. It's a fine fabric in a shade of blue that Geralt couldn't have found back home outside of some master dye-maker, which no doubt contributes to the price of the case. But it's Jaskier's color, those particular blue shades that he always says brings out his eyes. When there was a case in the shop that had already been lined with it, it had seemed like the obvious choice.]

[In gratitude, Jaskier throws his arms around the witcher, and Geralt stands there for a moment with his hands held away from his body, unsure of how to proceed. He rarely experiences this kind of open affection, even from Jaskier, who usually limits his contact to touching him with his hands, not his... whole body. After a long and awkward moment, Geralt pats the bard on the back, returning his gesture, albeit uncomfortably.]

I was told that it would be suitable for travel, even in poor weather. [He lets go of the bard once Jaskier has decided that the designated acceptable hugging time is up. Geralt is unsure of how long this kind of contact is supposed to go on between friends-- even with his brothers, their contact is generally limited to clasping each other's arms manfully, or perhaps a brief arm around the shoulders.] You'd said that the damp would ruin your lute, so I assumed it would be the same for other stringed instruments.

[If there's something Jaskier learned the last two decades is that he has to be patient with Geralt. He doesn't always follow his own advice (Jaskier isn't a particularly patient person after all), but during moments like this? It's easy to do. Geralt isn't pushing him away, and that's a big fucking deal, so Jaskier waits. Basks in the feeling of being allowed to stay, and--

Ah yes. Here we go.

It's awkward, which he's expected, but most importantly, Geralt is trying. For him. Jaskier's smile continues to grow, because somehow that's still possible - how can it not be, when Geralt has added a cherry on top to an already perfect night?]

You assumed right, my friend. Look at you, having learned a thing or two about music after all. [He teases as he steps back to give Geralt his beloved personal space. But that doesn't stop him from grabbing the witcher's wrist to drag him to the desk.] I can protect my instrument, now let me teach you how to protect your ears. It's time for a little lesson with Professor Jaskier!

[Be a good student, Geralt, and you shall have your blessed silence.]

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