#mwhahahaha

" WHAT THE FUCK??? WHERE THE FUCK AM I??? "

[Simon paused, looking behind himself at the rest of the shuttle.]

Geralt wasn’t sure why the kid insisted on bugging Geralt at the one place that was his and his alone. The first time the younger teen had shown up, Geralt had thought that perhaps the trust-fund baby had been dared to take a hike to the other side of the train tracks by one of his friends. That the motormouth was a fool that couldn’t keep his pie hole shut even when Geralt pulled his switchblade on the kid and told him to beat it or else.

The idiot took one look at the knife though, and just…sat down on the swing across from Geralt. He actually smiled wider, if that was possible, his perfect pearly whites shining in the faint light of the waning moon. And Geralt may have faltered a bit at that, but he hid his confusion and wariness behind a scowl, stalking away back to his trashy house, ignoring the whiny protests behind him. Geralt may not be as book smart as his brother, Lambert, but he had enough street smarts to know not to get involved with a lunatic that grinned at knives—especially not a rich one.

The problem came when Geralt showed up the next day, and within fifteen minutes the peppy brunet showed up again, this time with a plastic bag in hand. And okay, Geralt didn’t know why the kid was here, but he’d learned a long time ago the importance of setting aside his pride if it meant free food. Plus, the teenager—Jaskier, Geralt recalled hearing yesterday prior to tuning the boy out—seemed to be telling the truth when all he wanted in exchange for the food was his name. And it was a stupid trade, honestly, because Jaskier could easily take a picture of Geralt and just look him up online, but Geralt wasn’t about to point this out as he grumbled the one word response before snatching the bag.

Geralt rolled his eyes at the way the other teen practically lit up at Geralt’s response, testing Geralt’s name softly before continuing his energetic rambling, something about a stray cat he saw on his way here that had a pink tail, of all things. Geralt ignored him as he ate one of the packets of chips, then another, before stuffing the trash back in the bag to take with him. There were a few more snacks left, which he decided to share with his ever-hungry brothers as he abruptly stood up, pretending not to notice both how Jaskier was mid-story and the way the other shouted a goodbye as Geralt left.

After that, it became more common than not to meet the younger teenager at the park after Geralt’s shift at the mechanic shop. Geralt told himself that he didn’t enjoy the other’s company, that he was only there for the food, but he reluctantly found himself growing…tolerant, of the kid. It was hard not to with the way the other smiled at Geralt as if he hung the stars in the sky, how Jaskier made note of which snacks Geralt seemed to like best and made sure to get more of those, and the way Jaskier tried to get Geralt to speak but also seemed content if he didn’t say a word some nights.

He found out, reluctantly, that Jaskier was a sophomore at the private prep school all the rich pricks in the city attended. The kid (who wasn’t really a kid, who was fifteen, even if he didn’t look nearly big enough to be a year younger than Lambert) rambled on about his interests in music, how he played several different instruments but his favorite was the guitar, and how he wanted to be a full-time musician someday. Geralt made the mistake of snorting when Jaskier said that, but he had to hide his amusement at the way Jaskier reacted like a wet kitten, hissing fervent rebuttals and claiming Geralt didn’t get an opinion because he hadn’t even heard Jaskier play yet, the audacity—

It wasn’t long until his brothers cornered him about the extra food, worried he was using his money from the shop to pay to feed them. When Geralt reluctantly explained the situation to Eskel and Lambert, Geralt was left scowling as Lambert cackled about being imprinted on by a baby duck. Still, he took the time to reassure Eskel that Jaskier was harmless, and that Geralt knew what he was doing and would ditch the park for good at the first sign of trouble.

A week later, Geralt was reminded why he could never be as happy and naive as Jaskier when his foster parent came home after being cut off by the bar down the street. Why he both envied and resented the rich pest as Stregobor, who spent too much money on alcohol and not enough on food and clothes for the eight boys he fostered, took his frustration and anger out on Geralt.

Geralt did nothing but stand there with a blank face, reminding himself that he only had six more months until he, Eskel, and Lambert could leave. Until he didn’t have to worry about being split from his brothers again, put into homes where Geralt couldn’t make sure he got the beatings instead of them. He never wanted to see his brothers in a hospital bed again, he wouldn’t let it happen, not after Eskel—

Afterwards, he grimaced at the sight of his brothers in their shared room. He knew what they would say, saw the mix of emotions in their eyes as he stormed out of the house before they could open their mouths. His feet moved on autopilot, and he wasn’t aware where he was going until he ended up at the park again. He sat down heavily on a bench, and was using the faint light from the single lamp that still worked to try prying the shards of glass from his arm when the brunet showed up, chattering a mile a minute. And Geralt snarled, ready to lash out at the other, not in the mood for a night of needling and teasing, when the other froze.

For the first time since Geralt had met the teenager, Jaskier frowned, and stopped talking. He paused as he eyed Geralt’s wounds, then muttered something about returning soon before just…walking away.

Geralt stared at the back of his designer coat, baffled. It occurred to Geralt that this was the first time the other boy had left first, that Geralt wasn’t the one cutting their…visit, short. It felt weird, almost as strange as seeing the boy speechless and frowning.

Perhaps most bizarre, however, was when Jaskier returned with an extensive first aid kit in hand. The way Jaskier handed it over easily, only helping with the injuries that Geralt couldn’t reach, made Geralt feel…something. Confusion, mostly, especially at the way Jaskier didn’t ask about his wounds, or tell him to go to a hospital, or say anything at all, really, besides asking permission to touch Geralt and giving him warnings before cleaning a wound.

And even when everything was patched up, Jaskier didn’t speak, seeming to sense Geralt’s need for silence. It was off-putting, sitting next to the chatterbox in the quiet, listening to the owls and swaying of the trees in the light wind. He still wasn’t sure if it was a good strange or not by the time Geralt left an hour later, muttering a small thanks for the first time.

After that, Jaskier showed up every visit with a bag of snacks and the first aid kit, just in case. Geralt learned the other was surprisingly good at performing first aid, and had even learned how to give stitches from a video online. Geralt was obviously hesitant at first to let Jaskier anywhere near him with a needle, but when the brunet pointed out that it was him or Geralt trying to sew up the gash near his shoulder blade without seeing the wound, he reluctantly lifted his shirt and forced himself to stay still as Jaskier quickly put in four stitches. And when Eskel cleaned the wound the next day, asking if Geralt had been to the hospital, Geralt grunted and reluctantly admitted that Jaskier had a few redeeming skills.

It was eight months after meeting the rich kid, two months until Geralt and Eskel turned eighteen, that Geralt came home from his shift to find Lambert with a black eye. To the realization that Stregobor had been fired from his third job in a year, and had taken it out on the sixteen-year-old because Geralt had worked overtime to save up more money for an apartment for them. Because Geralt would never be good enough, strong enough, to keep his brothers safe no matter how hard he tried, no matter the promise he’d made to his dad before—

And Geralt needed out, he needed to be alone, he needed—needed—

Later, he would reflect that it wasn’t Jaskier’s fault for not realizing the mood Geralt was in sooner. That the light from the new moon wasn’t nearly enough for the young musician to see how Geralt was practically snarling down at the concrete even before Jaskier had started talking about how his classmate had stolen his favorite pen. And maybe it was the way Jaskier always seemed so carefree, how he complained about something as simple as a missing writing utensil, that had Geralt touching Jaskier for the first time, balling his hands in the shorter teen’s jacket.

If Geralt had been paying more attention, he might have seen the way Jaskier flinched at the rough handling, the way his grin became a little more brittle. If Geralt hadn’t started yelling at Jaskier, calling him a worthless rich prick who didn’t have friends because he was too annoying to keep around, that all he was good for was his money, he might have noticed how Jaskier seemed to shrink in on himself, his shoulders rising up to his ears. And if Geralt hadn’t been so pissed with himself, so tired of being unable to keep safe the ones he cared for, he never would have slammed Jaskier against the post of the playground, hard, as he told the other to frick off, for good.

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Errm

Oh yeah I went kinda crazy w the colours because I can, I'm learning guys

Also I like pretty colours

Dancing together

Hmmmmm

I swear they both can't look well drawn at the same time, one of them always looks like shite

Refs were from Pinterest, I drew these last night and passed out about halfway through colouring the second one

Also song recommendation if u wanna listen

Teto is literally my fav idk how I haven’t drawn her before hehe

But her hair made me wanna Kms WHY IS IT SO HARD

TETOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I COULD BE A FRIEND OR I COULD BE A FOE

YOU MAKE THE DECISION AND THATS ALL I KNOW

I COULD BE A SINNER

I COULD BE A SAINT

PERFECTLY DEVOID OF ANYTHING I AIN’T

I COULD BE A MARTYR

I COULD BE A CAUSE

I CAN BE WHATEVER EVERYBODY WANTS

OH

I COULD BE A CANVAS

I COULD BE A DOLL

I DON’T THINK IM EVEN SOMETHING REAL AT ALL

I COULD BE A WOMAN

I COULD BE A MAN

LOOK INTO THE MIRROR, TELL ME WHAT I AM

OH

I COULD BE A DIFFERENCE

I COULD BE THE SAME

TRY TO GIVE ME MEANING, IT’S A LOSING GAME

I COULD GO TO HEAVEN

I COULD GO TO HELL

DOES IT EVEN MATTER? I COULD NEVER TELL

OH

MAYBE I AM NOTHING

MAYBE I AM ALL

BABY MAKE ME SOMETHING ‘FORE I GET THAT CALL ‘CAUSE