Chapter Text
Geralt sighed as he walked down the street. The panic attacks were not even the worst part. The seemingly endless nightmares that left him screaming in the night were far more annoying. Or maybe it was having to deal with a pair of grumpy, half-asleep siblings bursting into his room to chase whatever was hurting their baby brother (which, hurtful, Geralt was the middle child). But it was all exhausting anyway, as he had once more explained to his shrink.
“Have you considered getting a pet?” was the rather unexpected answer Geralt had received from the good doctor.
Yes, Geralt had sometimes considered getting a pet. He had grown among animals, especially their father’s horses. And it’s true that riding often gave him some dearly craved for peace of mind. But right in the middle of the city, it seemed a bit complicated.
The therapist had then explained that service animals existed in all shapes and sizes, and were not reserved specifically to guide blind people across the street, contrary to popular belief. Some of his autistic patients had found great happiness and comfort in bonding with their cat, dog, or even iguana. Geralt had shrugged. He was neither blind nor autistic, as far as he knew of. The therapist had insisted that a pet could be of great help in his case, and Geralt still wasn’t sure he hadn’t wondered aloud if this wasn’t the confession of the good doctor’s incompetence, because he was sure the smile had wavered on his face. As a token of apology, he had promised to consider the matter.
Which was why he had visited the animal shelter today, looking for a companion that could help fix him, or at least his awful nights. The shelter people had explained that they worked together with a specialist that could train the chosen fluff-ball to his medical needs. He had met so many tail-wagging puppies and softly purring kittens that he was sure his dreams would be filled with high-pitched yaps and mews, but none of them had clicked with him. They were cute, soft, fluffy, adorable, but the spark that he imagined would ignite when he’d pet the right one for him hadn’t come.
So here he was, walking down the street, sighing, a nagging feeling of hopelessness and inadequacy slowly hammering in the back of his head. Nothing new. He barely noticed the busker twittering some pop standard that vaguely sounded familiar. The light was red. He waited to cross the street. He took a deep breath. Then another. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t… Breathe…
Geralt’s vision became blurry. He could have sworn that a moment before the little figures were standing still, or at least normally, and now they were dancing, undulating. Why? He couldn’t really ponder, though, because of the buzzing growing in his ears. Was he wearing earplugs? No, it wasn’t like that when… When what? Why was it all fuzzy? Why was there cotton in his mouth, all of a sudden? Who had left the oven wide open, turned on, in the middle of summer, in the middle of the street? Nothing made sense. But he couldn’t focus, because breathing was increasingly harder with every second, and it demanded an effort that he couldn’t provide. Everything was twirling so fast around him, why was the floor so close?
« ...r ...ir …onna ...ch ...ight? » The sound was nice, so far away, but comforting. A soft, foreign feeling on hand. Warm. Comfort. His hand was moving. Touching something soft. Flat, but swelling softly. Deflating. Swelling again.
« …eathe wi… me... »
A pulsation. One-two. One-two. It was nice. He wanted to follow this feeling. There was something before his eyes, a blurry figure. The swelling. The deflation. It felt nice following the movement. Is this how one breathed? He tried to do it. It was hard, but… there was a model to follow, under his hand. It was easier like that. He wanted to bury himself in that feeling and never get out ever again.
“That’s it, Sir, you’re doing an amazing job. Keep breathing with me.”
Geralt's eyes were finally focusing. The blurry silhouette was starting to make sense. A young face. A… Cat? Boy? With cat ears? Was he really this far gone? A new side effect of his meds?
“Do we need to call an ambulance?” Came an upset cry.
“No, it’s alright, thank you Ma’am. I’ve got it under control.” The voice was soothing. He could hear the smile in the words. The boy turned his face back to him.
“There you are! You really got me worried. Alright, can you tell me your name, Sir?”
The borborygm Geralt emitted could have been anything from his name to that of his father’s favorite horse, but the boy kept smiling. There was comfort in that smile. Warm, soothing hands were gently massaging his own. The world was still buzzing around him a bit, but the nice smiling face was reassuring and he kept focusing on the voice speaking to him. Geralt wasn’t sure what the cat-eared boy was saying exactly, but he kept talking, and it felt like a calming balm on his highly sensitive nerves. He finally got enough energy to stand up on not so wobbly feet, and the cat-eared boy asked him if he wanted him to escort him somewhere. Geralt shook his head no, and offered to repay him for his help. Before the boy could utter more than five words in denegation, his stomach made the most obnoxious grumbling noise, to his outright shame - a feeling outwardly expressed on his now flaming red cheeks, which Geralt couldn’t help but find cute. So, Geralt insisted that they’d go to the nearest burger place, pretending he suddenly needed a cool drink. If the boy knew that was some kind of lie, he didn’t say anything, and after all a cold glass of coke would sound divine for anyone after a panic attack.
So, Geralt found himself sipping the brown content of his glass while he watch with acute curiosity the efforts the cat-eared boy was making to not wolf down the cheeseburger Geralt had managed to make him order, before he himself pretended he was starving and got their table covered with fries, sandwiches and milkshakes, which he found himself suddenly not hungry for…
The boy’s name was Jaskier, Geralt learned, and he had been living in the street since his parents discovered he liked men. Geralt had frowned, and his fist had clenched tightly around his soda. Jaskier seemed not to mind, but the same way someone got so used to a terrible and heartbreaking situation that they didn’t pay attention anymore. The boy was well in his 23rd year, celebrating his seventh homeless year. He played a bit of music sometimes on the old guitar he had found in the junk one day, people occasionally gave him change for the tunes he sang, that’s how he could buy a sandwich every other day.
“Whifh ivn’t fo bad you know?” he said around a mouthful of fries. Geralt was intrigued. He was thinking that should sunshine have a face, it would that of a boy sitting across him with his mouth stuffed with fries. Cogs were turning in his head. Jaskier was babbling nonsense, asking questions, reacting to the answers, telling stories of his life like it was an exciting adventure, and Geralt had to admit that both, the non-stop noise and his presence, felt very soothing to his poor exhausted nerves. Like the knots in his head were slowly but surely untangling.
Eskel had often told him that spontaneity was a quality that should nevertheless be tempered by reflection to achieve balance. Right at this moment, Geralt chose to remember only the first part of his advice.
“What would you say to coming and living with me?”
The enthusiastic munching stopped, Jaskier stared at him.
“I… Uh… I’m not a- a sex worker.”
Though remaining perfectly stoic, Geralt flushed in the lovely shade of a ripe strawberry.
“That’s, uhm, that’s not what I was asking.” He marked a pause, trying to find words that would convince the boy, and reassure him he was neither a predator nor a pimp. “The panic attacks, they, uhm… They are recurrent. Persistent. It’s, uhm, pretty annoying.” He paused to sip a bit of his drink while looking for the right words. “My therapist, he thinks I could benefit from the right company. And I think you could qualify as ‘right company’.”
Jaskier scratched his head, seemingly thinking, when his finger touched the headband.
“A pet. You need a comfort pet. You want me to be your comfort pet.”
Geralt choked a bit, embarrassed, but he slowly nodded.
“Ye- Well, yes. I do need a pet for my therapy. And… You’re pretty calming it seems. So, what do you say?
- Well… What would the conditions be? He asked, worried.
- You would come live at my place, with my brothers, and… You would be there. That’s pretty much it I guess. You would be fed and get everything that you’d need, but I wouln’t ask anything improper from you, if that’s what worries you.”
- So, I would have three meals a day, access to a shower, and a roof over my head, and in exchange for all this, I’d only nee to be there when you are?
Geralt nodded.
- Yes, basically, that’s it.
Jaskier considered the offer for a whole of two seconds before agreeing enthusiastically.
“OK, I’ll do it! Show me the way to my new home, Master!
- Uhm, I’d rather you called me Geralt, he answered with a frown.
- Geralt? Ok, lovely name. Don’t know why I didn’t ask you earlier. Actually I think I did, but-”
Geralt chuckled as they got up while Jaskier kept on chatting away. Life just took a very interesting turn.