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janie_tangerine
Also, it was a four-day trip, it’s not like they could do that much anyway.
Except that no one had predicted that the first two days it would just rain all the fucking time and they’d get stuck in their hotel where of course they had separate rooms because Jaskier had to bunk in with the the others in the band and three people in a room meant for one would have been pushing it.
And he’s going completely fucking stir-crazy — he had gotten desperate enough to put on the damned pay-per-view porn channel before and fuck that if it meant he’d have to pay extra, except that anything he sees just doesn’t work and now it’s still raining, he’s frustrated as hell, the damned porn isn’t even working, he hates that Jaskier is bunking with Valdo Marx of all people but he couldn’t and he’s not going to think about how long he’s carefully kept hidden that he’s in love with his best friend, but what is he even supposed to be doing? If Jaskier was interested he’d have known, they’ve met in fucking high school, and he knows he’s not, so.
He turns off the TV, figuring that there’s no point in spending money for porn that’s not even getting him off, and then he realises that it has stopped raining. Or at least it’s not pounding water against his window anymore and when he goes to check he realises that yes it’s the case, but it’s also… late afternoon? Fuck. Two days totally wasted.
He sighs, wondering if he should try to do anything, and then his phone rings.
It’s Jaskier texting him to get to his room ASAP because they’re clear from The Asshole — Geralt supposes Valdo finally went to the bar or left the damned room. He puts on his shoes, noticing that his damned laces are worn out — how does anyone wear out their laces, he thinks bitterly, and then he remembers that his current retail shit job hasn’t given him much leeway to replace any of that and he could only afford the extra room because Vesemir insisted to lend him the money for that. Fuck.
He sighs, tying them together and hoping that he can just buy a new pair soon considering that his boots as a whole have seen better days, and then heads for Jaskier’s room.
Where he finds him sitting on a plush, padded red armchair that he wishes he had in his room, with Essi sitting on the nearby bed, and —
“Are you watching Drag Race?” Geralt asks walking inside, noticing also the five bottles of beer littering the floor. He’s also sure that the vague stain on the wood and the alarming amount of absorbent paper in the waste bin nearby have to be linked somewhat.
“I mean,” Jaskier says, “in our defense it’s the only passable thing on —”
“No,” Essi says, “you’re just drunk off your ass and have only been saying the only reason it’s superior to everything else on at the moment is that Michelle Visage is from New Jersey as if a lot of people aren’t from New Jersey, and I get that you and Valdo can’t stand being in the same room for two days and believe me neither can I, when it comes to him, never mind that he spilled that beer and I hate that we had to clean it up, but — Geralt, please, drag him out and let him have a walk before I lose my shit, we’ve been watching this for three hours and I need to sleep.”
Geralt, who absolutely likes her, differently from fucking Valdo, goes to Jaskier’s plush, beautiful chair and grabs his arm. “Let’s say that we might go take a long walk on the seaside.”
“Thank you,” Essi says, blowing him a kiss before she kicks Jaskier as Geralt drags him towards the door.
“That’s cruel,” Jaskier complains, “she was being so on point —”
“Go take a walk,” Essi shouts at him, and Geralt just — waves at her and drags Jaskier out of the room, kicking the door closed.
“Honestly,” he says, “how much have you had?”
“I had to room with that asshole for days, wish we could kick him out,” Jaskier shakes his head. “Hey, so it’s stopped? Does it mean we can go to the boardwalk? Please let’s go to the boardwalk, I’ve barely even seen it —”
“It’s literally over there, we’re going, and why can’t you kick him out of the band anyway?”
“Sadly not everyone can play bagpipes and the fiddle and we bank on medieval instruments, but as soon as I find a replacement he’s gone.” Jaskier sighs. “Anyway. Boardwalk? Fuck, I hope it’s cold. I should sober up.”
“You should,” Geralt replies, going down the stairs — thank fuck he has the key to his room in his pocket — and then dragging Jaskier out into the cold, crisp air. The sun is already lowering itself down and they shouldn’t be too far from the boardwalk — their hotel was on the sides, a few minutes’ walk from the carousel, and Jaskier for a miracle shuts the fuck up until they get there, and by then he’s actually walking straight. Good.
“Oh,” he says, “finally, I’ve been wanting to see it so badly. Can we go in?”
“It’s open, isn’t it?”
It is, and — well. They did become friends in high school based on being the only two people in that entire place who actually were into Bruce Springsteen, so of course he also feels like he’s walking into a bit of a sacred space as he crosses the threshold into the empty carousel, but Jaskier looks enamored and of course he would. They did watch the concert he played here countless times when it was released.
“Fuck,” he says, “I can’t believe he was here.”
“I can,” Geralt quips back, “he’s here every other week, but who knows. Maybe he’ll catch your show.”
“Don’t say that, my heart couldn’t take it. This is so pretty. I can’t believe they tore down the rest.”
“They did what?”
Geralt is into Bruce, but he never got as far as informing himself on Asbury Park’s topography.
“Oh, the carousel was part of a wholeass park near the casino but they demolished it in the Eighties because they couldn’t, like, take a smart decision to save their life — I mean, a late 19th century park would have looked so nice. But bleh, does this country even preserve anything? Whatever,” he waves his hand, “just wish I could have seen it. It sure as hell would have looked prettier than the one I used to go to.”
Geralt narrows his eyes at the non-sequitur. “The one you used to go to? In Poland?”
“Yeah, well, wasn’t there one where you grew up?”
They both had bonded not just on liking Springsteen but also on having sort of grown up there — well, Geralt was there for nine years before he got adopted overseas and Jaskier’s parents moved to the US for work and never left, but — they did. Just, they also came from very different places, and Geralt shudders when he thinks of the orphanage in Łódź that he’s only too glad he left behind.
“No,” he says, “we had a swing in the garden. I mean, maybe there was a park, but it’s not like we ever went there.”
“Well, mine was just ugly. Oh fuck, I never told you — it had the ugliest rollercoaster.”
“Did it,” Geralt asks, heading for the exit — maybe they should get to the shore before it’s full night at this point.
“Oh, yes. It was like — a caterpillar.”
“A caterpillar.” They step out of the carousel, heading for the boardwalk — he can see it from here, he doesn’t need to check the GPS.
“Yes,” Jaskier replies “It was like, the head of the rollercoaster was a caterpillar’s head and the rest of the carts were shaped like they were the whole… body of it I guess. And it was all green with a smiling face and crooked teeth. Fuck, it really was ugly. And it went so slow.”
“Isn’t that — against the point of rollercoasters?”
“Well, yes, I guess it was for young kids or shit, but like, the problem was that it was a small town so it was the only one, we didn’t have a fucking choice. It was just so fucking ugly. Couldn’t believe it when we went to Vienna once and there was a real one. Anyway, I’m sure the vintage park would have been way better.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Geralt shrugs, and oh, they are finally reaching the boardwalk —
And he almost fucking crashes to the ground.
He doesn’t because Jaskier grabs his arm and pulls him up and avoids him to end up face down on the wooden steps, and what the fuck happened —
“Oh, no,” he groans. His shoes did fall apart, laces first and the sole splitting open later.
“How long have I told you to get a new pair?”
“Yeah, well,” Geralt sighs, “it’s not like I have another upstairs.”
“I can… lend you a pair?” Jaskier offers tentatively. “I mean, I’m a size shorter, but I’m sure I have a pair of sandals that —”
“Jaskier, I’m not wearing your medieval sandals.”
“What do they have that’s not to your taste? Sandals are an entirely acceptable type of shoes,” Jaskier protests, motioning at the monstrosities with thin leather brown strips he’s wearing.
“Yeah, and you’re never cold and I always am, like hell I’m wearing sandals in this weather.”
“It’s barely September,” Jaskier protests, “it’s still summer!”
“And it’s been shit cold and has rained for the last two days, so no.” He’s not getting stupid sandals, fuck’s sake.
“Well,” Jaskier says, “there are shops on the boardwalk. Maybe we can find you something.”
“If I can afford it,” Geralt mutters, not liking the sound of it since he only wears boots, and follows Jaskier towards the pier.
—
Half an hour later, he just wants to hide in shame somewhere — obviously, this place is pricey as fuck which he should have figured out, and the only pair of shoes he finds that he could actually buy without ending up completely out of budget was fucking clogs. At least they’re black, but still.
“Fucking hell,” he says, throwing his old boots in the trash, “these are so fucking ugly.”
“I don’t know,” Jaskier grins, “they are a bit charming.”
“They aren’t at fuck all charming,” Geralt shakes his head. “And what it is you have there? Where — Jaskier, where did you find weed?”
“While you were busy trying to find which clog you liked best,” Jaskier winks, “and you know what? I think we should get down the pier, get to the first free piece of shore we find and take a few smokes.”
“You have a gig tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be very well rested before then.”
True, as far as he knows Jaskier always had some good resistance to weed, but still.
“Whatever,” he says, “can it even hurt my dignity at this point?”
“Excellent!”
Geralt tries to not gasp when Jaskier grabs his arm and leads him down the boardwalk, thankfully it’s evening so most people are flocking towards the restaurants and no one is paying much attention to them —
And then Jaskier stops in front of Madam Marie’s.
“You know she’s dead, don’t you?” Geralt asks before Jaskier can try to get into the shop. “And you don’t need cards read.”
“Of course I know,” Jaskier scoffs, “Bruce wrote a wholeass blog post about it, and of course I don’t believe in that, but. It’s Asbury. We’re here. Shouldn’t we at least get a souvenir? It’s the essence of the place!”
“You get one,” Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier grins very, very bright before walking into the shop and coming out of it with… two boxes holding each a pink rock crystal and a black one and a fucking… black toy iguana? It’s a small trinket, all made of terrible green plastic. What the fuck is Jaskier on?
“The niece was lovely,” Jaskier says, dropping the black crystal and the iguana in Geralt’s hands. “She assured me that this stuff really improves your health, if you let its essence take hold and take it in your hands while meditating and all that shit, there are instructions in the little box —”
“You don’t believe in tarots but you’ll buy that? And what’s with the iguana?”
“Maybe,” Jaskier shrugs, “or maybe I just think they’d look pretty in our respective rooms, so. Have your souvenir. Oh, and the iguana is your souvenir, too. I was glaring and it looks very goth. Reminded me of you.”
He’s so fucking impossible.
“Fine,” Geralt shrugs, grabbing the crystal and the iguana, wishing he knew where to put them. “Are we getting any closer to smoking that weed now?”
“Now you’re making sense,” Jaskier grins again, and locks their arms together before pushing forward. Geralt forces him to stop at a bar on the pier and buy a couple bottles of water, if they’re getting high then he thinks they’ll want them after, and it’s fucking icy when he takes the small plastic bag. Right. Maybe it’ll be a normal temperature when they drink it. They pass through the Convention Hall, and Geralt doesn’t even try to dissuade Jaskier from buying a cloth bag reading Greetings from Asbury Park on it, at least he can carry the damned crystals and the iguana in there, too, and by the time they’ve gone through the boardwalk twice and opted to go back to the carousel side, they find a small piece of beach where no one is currently sitting and where it seems like no payment is required. At this point it’s night and the full moon is shining in the sky as Geralt sits down on the sand and takes off the damned clogs — might as well go barefoot and not look too ridiculous.
Except that —
“Fucking hell,” he sighs as he realises that while sitting down his black dress shirt got fucking ripped.
“Christ, Geralt,” Jaskier shakes his head, “how long did you have that?”
He tries to think when he bought it, uselessly trying to patch the rip in his side, then just lets it go and takes it off. Good thing he never minded the cold.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Guess I’ll have to make it work with the tour t-shirt for the next two days.”
“Geralt, for fuck’s sake — I’m going to buy you one later, but will you ever consider listening to me when it comes to renovating your wardrobe once in a while?”
“When I find a job that doesn’t pay me for shit,” Geralt shrugs. “Are we smoking that weed or not?”
“Oh, right,” Jaskier says. “Coming up!”
This is a bad idea, Geralt knows.
He just can’t seem to really bring himself to care about it.
—
“Geralt,” Jaskier says a while later, after they’ve both finished one joint and started passing each other the second, “I can’t believe you never pondered this question!”
“You hadn’t until a second ago either,” Geralt mutters back, trying to enjoy the pleasurable buzz the weed is giving him, “and it’s a fucking stupid question.”
“It’s not! You can’t tell me you never wondered how it would feel to have a cat in your underwear.”
“Why would I even think of such a thing?” Geralt shakes his head. “It would be fucking uncomfortable and I sure as fuck don’t want a cat anywhere near my junk.” He can’t believe he fucking said that.
“But it would be soft,” Jaskier protests.
“It would have claws near your junk,” Geralt shakes his head, “and anyway, I think it has fucking ethical repercussions. The cat never agreed to be near your dick anyway, did it?”
“… That’s an objection,” Jaskier nods.
“That is what would make you reconsider it?”
“It would be soft,” Jaskier shrugs again.
“You’re high,” Geralt shakes his head, stealing the joint from him and taking a smoke.
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m being more dignified than you,” Geralt protests.
“Without a shirt and wearing clogs.”
“You were the one saying they were charming.”
“Fair enough,” Jaskier agrees amicably, grinning so bright Geralt’s heart loses a few beats. He lets out half a laugh, reaching for the water — fuck, he does need a drink. His throat feels sore as hell.
“That looks nice on you, you know,” Jaskier says as Geralt takes a drink from the refreshing cool water which is now not so icy.
“What looks nice on me? My lack of dignity?” Geralt replies after he moves the bottle away from his mouth, realising he drank half of it. Fuck’s sake. He passes it back to Jaskier, who does take a sip before staring at him with those blue eyes that look even bigger in the moonlight, and fuck he just wished he wasn’t whipped and hadn’t been since high school.
“No, smiling. I mean, I’ve known since high school that you always were the brooding kind, which is part of your charm, by the way, but lately you’ve just been looking so melancholic and sad, and I know why it is, but just — I’d ask you to get high more often if it meant that you stop it, once in a while.”
Oh.
Oh.
It’s not that it’s not true. He knew he had that fame. That’s why no one else except his foster brothers ever bothered to want to be friends before Jaskier decided he wasn’t a lost cause. Still —
“Have I been… more than usual? Really?”
“Was written all over your face, dear,” Jaskier shrugs, handing him back the joint after drinking the last of the bottle of water.
Maybe it’s true. Maybe he’s tired of working retail. Maybe that definitive break up with Yennefer really pulled a number on him. Maybe he just hates that this is the first vacation he’s taken in ages and that he can’t even afford to get himself replacement shoes.
“Sorry,” he shrugs, the damned melancholy crashing on him all over again — that’s why he doesn’t usually smoke weed. It feels good in the beginning and then it just crashes down on him, fuck’s sake.
“You know what,” Jaskier says, “enough of talking about cats in underwear. I think we should climb on top of the casino.”
“… What?” Geralt wheezes, completely taken aback by the non sequitur. “It’s a fucking ruin, Jaskier.”
“Looks sturdy enough to me. Think we could get on top of the tower with enough effort. Also, didn’t you do rock climbing for years? That shit would be like eating cake to you.”
Geralt looks at the barely lit building — admittedly, the space on the side where people walk through is wide open and someone is going through it, sure, but — the rest of the casino’s ruin looks sturdy enough. And there’s no security.
He knows he’s thinking that because he’s fucking high and sad and he wishes he just — he wishes it was just easier, but —
What the fuck, right?
“You bail us out if they catch us. And let’s just put the shoes in the stupid bag, I’m not climbing that fucking thing in clogs and you’re not doing it in sandals.”
“Splendid!” Jaskier grins as he stands up — for a miracle, his legs are steady. “Sure I will. So, shall we climb?”
Geralt stands up, leaving his torn shirt on the beach — good riddance.
He’s so going to regret this, except he can’t seem to be giving a shit right now, so — might as well.
—
Thing is, he hadn’t actually thought they’d make it.
He had also figured Jaskier would chicken out halfway through at worst.
Instead, not only Jaskier doesn’t, but also doesn’t risk breaking his neck, and before he’s even realised how exactly stupid they’re being… on top of the fucking tower. It took a lot of manoeuvring and passing through a bunch of dead steam boilers on the inside before they could climb out and reach the top from the outside, and he had to hoist Jaskier up, but — here they fucking are, sitting on top of the thing, and no one has noticed. Their feet are also dirty beyond imagination, and he doesn’t know how they managed to not cut themselves while doing it, but they did it and… he thinks it’s given him more of a kick than that weed actually had.
“Fucking hell,” he says, “we haven’t even chosen the right side.”
Jaskier laughs. “Well, if we were facing the side where the boardwalk actually is, we’d have been seen at once.”
“… Not wrong,” he snorts, and suddenly he feels light — he stares ahead, at the rest of the small city along the small river ahead of him, and breathes in air that feels so much more fresh and clean than what he’s adjusted to in his crappy Brooklyn apartment that’s about to fall to pieces but that he can barely afford. “Hey, uh. Thanks,” he blurts, and he hadn’t meant to say it, but he suddenly realised something and he thinks Jaskier has to know before he loses the kick the high is giving him and doesn’t say anything.
“For what? I talked you into doing something absolutely fucking illegal and if we break our necks falling down it won’t be pretty.”
“No, no, it’s — lately I just felt like nothing was giving me respite, you know? I just — work has been going worse and worse and they’re cutting shifts off, I can hardly go and ask Vesemir for more help than he’s already giving me, that asshole paired up with me keeps on making jabs about where we come from that would have been old in the forties —”
“Why didn’t you tell —”
“Please, as if HR gives a fuck,” Geralt snorts. “After it ended badly with Yen I just felt like shit and the bills are piling up and I sure as hell hope my cat keeps on being healthy or it’s a problem and again, this… is the first time in six months that I felt like I could stop and relax a moment? Even if it’s doing illegal shit like climbing abandoned building in the middle of New Jersey.”
“You’re welcome,” Jaskier replies, staring at him with such a soft look to his face Geralt’s breath gets caught in his throat. “I did notice. I didn’t invite you just for the Bruce tour, you know. I did hope you’d relax a bit. I mean, seeing you climb the entire thing shirtless with just that bag with you certainly was a park — oh shit,” he blurts, suddenly going red.
Doubt kicks into Geralt at once.
“Wait, seeing me shirtless was a perk?”
“I, uh, wasn’t supposed — I mean, yes, and I can’t say on a purely aesthetic level, but I know you’re not interested, so —”
“You know what?” Geralt blurts. He always thought Jaskier was not interested, but now that seed of doubt is creeping through his brain at too much speed for him to catch up with it, and —
“… Geralt, I doń’t know how to tell you, but I thought that when someone gives you the first copy of their first recorded Springsteen covers EP which are coincidentally your favourites, all of them, it’s kind of obvious they’re into you? And I thought I never hid it in high school, but —”
Geralt just stares at him.
“Sorry?”
“I thought you were only into women and it’s not like you haven’t been on and off with Yen for years, what was I going to assume? Anyway, if you’re not, let’s just pretend this never happened.”
“Fuck this,” Geralt says, and grabs the back of Jaskier’s head and pulls him close and kisses him right on top of the stupid tower, hand grasping that soft chestnut hair that Jaskier’s been growing nicely later, and when Jaskier immediately kisses him back, groaning into his mouth and pulling at his hair, making him moan, he feels like a full weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and when he moves back Jaskier’s smiling at him like that and —
Fuck.
“I am. Interested. I mean.”
Jaskier grins brighter.
“See if I don’t play a nice cover just for you tomorrow and I choose it from that EP.”
“Surprise me,” Geralt grins, “but I might really need a more decent shirt.”
“I’ll buy you one, I already said. Now kiss me again before we try to not die climbing down here, how about it?”
Geralt laughs and then does, but he doesn’t think they’re going to climb down anytime soon.
Honestly, if no one sees them, he’s not in a hurry at all.
End.
