#aro!dandelion

For a moment, there was only tense silence, as Dandelion smacked his lips, trying to find out what the potion tasted like and coming up empty.

“Huh. I don’t think it worked.” Not that Dandelion was disappointed. He truly couldn’t have cared less, but at least now he knew for sure that no one would ever be able to slip him a love potion and have it have any effect on him. “Maybe Yen isn’t as good a mage as she thought.”

He swirled the last drop of the potion in his cup, giving it an unimpressed look.

“Or maybe you are an idiot for trying something that you knew wouldn’t work,” Geralt said and –

Oh.

Oh. Huh. That was…weird. Since when did Geralt’s voice sound so silky smooth? And where the hell did that violin music come from that was playing a soft, dare Dandelion say, romantic melody?

Well, whoever had made these invisible violins appear, Dandelion would need to have a word with them. Everyone knew that the lute was the superior instrument and besides. This melody? This sappy, tooth-rotting sweetness that made Dandelion’s ears want to melt, was something that sounded as if Valdo Marx had written it. Dandelion could have done so much better.

He opened his mouth to say just that, when he twisted around to face his friend and saw Geralt.

He was…he was glowing. Literally, actually glowing, as if there was light coming from inside of him. He was radiant. He was -

“Geralt, you look ridiculous. Is that another witcher thing?” He squinted his eyes, poking at Geralt’s cheek. “Since when are you bioluminescent? Are you turning into a wraith?”

Geralt’s brows rose high into his forehead.

“Yen made me polish my armour.”

Dandelion tilted his head. “Yeah. Was about time. But that’s not it.”

Geralt’s eyelids fluttered, closed and opened incredibly slowly, making Geralt look up at Dandelion through his lashes.

Dandelion stared, not even bothering to suppress his snicker.

“Why on earth are you moving in slow-motion?”

“So you can finally follow.”

Dandelion shot him a glare. “Haha. I am a master of the seven liberal arts. I am not the slow one between the two of us.” He crossed his arms, which looked less dramatic than he had hoped, what with the cup still in his hands and the rest of the potion that nearly dropped into his clothes. “And just because I complained once about not being able to walk that fast because of my boots -”

“You complain all the time.”

“Of course I do.” Dandelion narrowed his eyes, when a clear laugh like bells escaped Geralt, that made him cringe. “But seriously, are you alright?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt said carefully, his voice sounding sultry and – oh! The violins were doing a crescendo. Now that wasn’t distracting from the conversation at all. “I think the potion might have an effect on you after all.”

“Really?” Dandy frowned at the cup. “I don’t feel any different. If anything, you are being weird.”

“I think – you are seeing me the way people see the ones they are in love with.”

Dandelion stared at him, frozen. His eyes went wide.

“This is how Yennefer sees you?”

Geralt gave an awkward shrug.

A snort left Dandelion’s lips and he felt tears gather in the corners of his eyes. “Oh! Oh, that poor woman. How does she not start laughing every time she looks at you? She must be a better actress than I gave her credit for.”

Geralt’s head tilted to the side. “What do you mean?”

“What do I –“ Dandelion spluttered. “Geralt, your hair is blowing in a breeze. In a room with no open widows! How is there a breeze? How is your hair not blowing in your face and getting stuck in your mouth? This is ridiculous. This is so stupid. I love it!” He threw his head back in a laugh and he had to lean against his best friend to keep his balance and not fall off his lap. “I will never be able to look at anyone the same way again, knowing that when they make lovey-dovey- eyes at someone, this is what they are seeing.”

Geralt’s lips twitched and, oh sweet Melitele, this was brilliant! One of Geralt’s exposed teeth was actually sparkling, like a little star!

“Geralt?” He said, putting his hands on either side of Geralt’s face, squishing his cheeks a little and letting out a delighted giggle when Geralt let him do that. Oh, he loved his friend. Whatever had compelled him to attach himself to his witcher’s side, it had made his life so much better. “You know you’re really important to me, don’t you?”

“Please don’t confess your undying love to me.”

Dandelion’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, no, I won’t. I was going to say that you are my very best friend on the entire continent, but if this –“ he gestured vaguely to Geralt’s flowing hair, his weirdly glowing skin and the cheesy stars sparkling in his eyes – “was what I was seeing all the time when I was looking at you, there would be no way that I could ever take you seriously.”

“You are never taking me seriously,” Geralt said in amusement.

“Of course not. You are far too easy to make fun of.” He nudged Geralt in the ribs. “And now that we’ve established that not even magic can make me feel the nonsense other people feel, what do you say, we get spectacularly drunk and cuddle until Yennefer comes back and cuddles with you?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Sounds like a better plan than drinking a love potion.”

“Oh no no, my friend. This was the best plan I ever had. My curiosity is satisfied and now, whenever you get all gloom and doom on me, I can just remember you looking like this and my mood will get better instantly. I’d say this experiment was a thorough success.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but put an arm around Dandelion’s shoulders.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly.

“Says the one who’s glowing right now.” He stood up and when Geralt did the same, he bumped his hip against his, before dragging him off to get to Yennefer’s not-so-secret wine stash. “Hey Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“I’m really happy that you’re my friend.”

The stupid creases wouldn’t come out of the damn hat.  The fucking feather broke halfway and hung pathetically.

Well no one fucking believed that anyway. All his friends from university who promised if we’re still single when we’re thirty we’ll marry and buy a big house for all our instruments. We’ll wander the continent together.

But they didn’t mean it. No one ever fucking meant it. Because romantic love. That kind of love. It was worth more than his house with rooms for each of them. More the wagon they’d ride on between towns in the warm months. Playing together.

No they all fell in love and got married and that always came first. Desire over friendship.

He understood that perfectly. How stupid he was to be the other way. Friendship over desire.

He cursed. The mud smeared as he tried to rub it off. The curses spiraled into every language he knew.

Of course Chireadan understood. They all understood. Desire. Romantic love. Eros. That was worth dying for. Even if you’d only known the witch a few hours. Even if you’d be leaving your best friend behind. Even if.

He threw the hat onto the splintered floor. Took a swig of beer.

But he couldn’t swallow. He squeezed his eyes closed and couldn’t swallow around the mass there.

What is wrong with me?

Let’s make a list shall we?

He spit the beer onto the floor. It wasn’t like the place wasn’t destroyed anyway.

Geralt had someone now. So he would never be more than second chair. The one he thought of after.

“Let’s go on an adventure.” He’d say.

“I have to ask Yennefer first.” He’d respond.

Be happy for him you miserable sack of shit.

Be happy he’s alive.

Stop this pathetic pity party.

Be happy for him.

Be happy you’re being left behind again.

You deserve to be left behind.

If you didn’t want to be you’d be something worth keeping. You wouldn’t cheat on your fiancés. You wouldn’t put think Philia before Eros. You wouldn’t hope your friends stayed single forever so you’d stay the most important thing in their lives.

He pressed his head into the rim of the mug and forced the tears back.

Be happy. He ordered. Be happy.

“There you are.” Came the deep rumble of Geralt’s voice. “Your feather broke.”

The chair next to him creaked as Geralt sat heavily down. The hat in his hand. Dusting it off.

He glanced at it. At his muddy lilac hat in Geralt’s hands. Forced them back to the reflection of the sky in his mug. The ceiling of the tavern having long since collapsed.

“Hm.” He didn’t trust himself to answer more.

“Have to head east. Won’t find any Herons this far from the coast.”

His head jerked up. Staring at Geralt. Terrible, wretched hope building in his chest. “Together?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes?” Like it was so obvious he was confused why he’d even ask.

He frowned. Reached out, cupping his face.  His thumb ghosting over the discolored skin under his eye. “That’s quite the shiner.”

He smirked. Didn’t pull away. “Yennefer has quite the right hook.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Well I don’t like that at all.”

The major shifted uncomfortably behind Geralt. His frown soured into a sneer as he let his hand drop. “Off to the coast then.” He smirked. “And you know Major Neville told me earlier he was so grateful you protected the town he’d pay you a fortune in thanks. Isn’t that right Neville?”

He shifted nervously. Cleared his throat. “Well I didn’t say fortune-“

“You did.”

Geralt elbowed him.

“But I’m sure we can work out some recompense for you, certainly, Master Witcher.”

“I’m sure we can.” He smiled harshly at him. The man paled. Remembering his speech about sacrifice, reverence, memory and the statues in the world. Be grateful he survived or I’d have made you worthless little town a tragedy.

Geralt nodded gratefully. Not turning back to see the curse of his face.

Off to the coast then. Together.

For the first time since the djinn reached out to strangle him his lungs filled.